Silent Slough

[Drathiranon]

Silent Slough is a wood soaked wetland veiled in a mist. There are only two ocrs inhabiting a small, deserted village in Silent Slough. Though there are many empty homestead structures, there are only two orc inhabitants. They 0are about the same age, unrelated, and in fact, barely take notice of one another.

The Grab. Root, & Growl General Store

The Grab, Root, and Growl is a general store across from Slog's Mill. It's the only store for miles around in a vast peatland paradise.
The general store is owned by Bludgeon, a fair orc maid. She keeps an assortment of farming tools, hardware, and general food supply/spirits displayed on shelves and walls behind the counter for her patrons. There are a 3 barstools in front of the counter.  Bludgeon's hair is usually worn in an updo with a few accessories. She wears a stunning fur robe with matching fuzzy fur slippers. You can find her most times scrubbing, cleaning, painting her fingernails, or cooking up a fine stew.

Slog's Mill
Across the road is an old grist mill. It is worked with a very large, weathered water wheel crammed into a sort of reservoir. It is powered by flowing water from a meandering stretch of stream leading back, deep into the swamp.

Slog's Mill House stores horse chestnuts, wild rice, bitter oats, barley, assorted nuts, and grains along with some interesting produce. He grows everything himself. The grains are separated from the chaff, bagged, and taken to his grind shop.

A peculiar odor lingers and curls of smoke can be seen drifting up to the sky.
Slog is a simple orc man. He doesn't talk much. He wears a , plain floppy leather farming hat, loose-fitting denim overalls, and carries a pike over his shoulder.  Most times, you can find him scratching his backside, stroking his chin, or staring blankly while pondering over problems of the day.

(Yes, this is comedy roleplay. I like to think of it as taking a short break from serious roleplays, which can help regenerate and inspire creativity. All are welcome to come and go as they please at any time. At times, I may make additional posts to carry the story along. We are always open unless Bludgeon goes fishing. It's just clean fun, no rules except what is mentioned in the general group rules posting. Thank you for your valued patronage.)

[Drathiranon]

Bludgeon

The orcan woman takes a long slurp from a large bowl of strong black kudzu coffee. Breaking her gaze across the green slime topped water of the swamp, she notices it's getting cold.  She can feel it in the air. Autumn is coming, bringing longer nights and hunting season. With a delighted shiver, she pulls the belt of her robe tightly around her waist.  Her furry slippers drag with each step back inside the Grab, Root, & Growl General Store. Bludgeon thinks about growing up in the clan. No more competition, no chief to answer to, no more competition with the women orcs. She has it made in this little abandoned village, by herself, with only the occasional traveler passing through by boat or land. Life is good. She smiles, exposing her tusks.

The orcan woman walks through to the back porch door to draw water from a hand pump well.  Once filling the wood slat bucket, she tosses in an old cloth rag, a bar of scrubbing soap, and a hand brush. Today is a good day to open the windows, clean the wood floor, and catch up on the wash.

As she heads back inside, a few chickens cross her path, nearly causing her to trip and fall. The orc manages to save the bucket of water but not without stomping the poultry. She looks down with a heavy sigh.

" You no look out, now I make stew!"

With her free hand, Bludgeon snatches up the wriggling poultry, snapping its neck. She tosses the bird into the sink behind the counter and commences to scrub the floor.

[Drathiranon]

Slog

Meanwhile, across the way, an orcan man notices the trajectory of the sun beams and, looking down, lowers the brim of his hat.  It's going to be a long day, but before he gets started, Slog figures he will need a quick inventory of the tools he left laid out on the ground. He takes up his old slingblade. The handle is strong enough to last another season, maybe. He scratches his backside while thinking, a sharp blade is as handy as a button on a shirt. The blade is bent from use but still springy to the touch. A horse chestnuts falls from a branch overhead. Slog hears a tap, feels the slight vibration behind him in the fallen leaves. The orcan farmer turns around, crouches down to take up the shiny chestnut, and  inspect it more closely. He looks over at the Grab, Root, & Growl general store, noticing the smoke rising up. His grimace reveals short but gnarled tusks.

[Drathiranon]

Bludgeon

Bludgeon trudges out to the back porch to toss out dirty water from her bucket. The sky is clear of clouds. The sun radiates its warm embrace. The cool breath of wind rustles in the leaves. The orc woman's dark hair is disheveled. Her muscular arms work the water pump once more to draw water for her laundry. She sits on a medium-sized, moss spotted boulder and begins pulling feathers from the mangled bird she had stepped on earlier in the morning. She frowns, holding up the chicken in the sunlight for further inspection.

"Now what I do? No more eggs!"

Once the chicken is cleaned, she singes the hair-like feathers remaining on its body and tosses the carcass into a hanging cast iron pot full of water over a smorldering fire.  The lingering smell of burned down doesn't seem to bother the orc. She grabs a bit of straw and a healthy chunk of log to bolster the flames. Bludgeon  then removes her slippers to warm her large feet by the fire. Wriggling her toes, waiting for water to boil, she thinks she has a few carrots in the outside storage box. Maybe a potato, radish, or small cabbage.

As soon as the water boils, the orcan woman slips on her shoes. With a machete, she hacks up the vegetables to plop them in the boiling pot. She was once quite an artistic style of warrior with the Red Eye Clan. She was considered less desirable for a mate as her eyes were not red and her temperment was not very comely under female orc standards. Her cool green eyes flash back to her laundry, soaking in an old wash tub. With a deep sigh, the orcan woman finishes scrubbing up table cloth linen she had woven last year. It was her first try, and she was very proud of the results. It took more patience than she thought to have possessed. Bludgeon plans to make a few barrel chairs and tables for the store. Even if few customers pass this way, it would be nice to have a place inside to sit down for her meals rather than standing at the counter.

The orc hangs the linen from a cord tied to the porch support poles and goes back down for a rest by the fire.

She hears the front door open and the bells hanging from it jingle. Her massive frame rises from the boulder. She smoothes her dark tresses back from her eyes.

"Hmm... no one here...why bell ring? Must be wind."

[Drathiranon]

Slog

Slog places his tools in a rusty old wheel barrow. He tries to keep down a smile, like having a secret. The orcan man walks over to the general store, parks the wheel barrow, but can't help peeking through the dusty front windows.  He rubs the window a bit with the cuff of his sleeve to get a better veiw. He sees though to the back porch where Bludgeon is hanging laundry. It has been a very long time since he has looked upon an orc woman. Slog doesn't know whether to feel happy or ashamed.

Truthfully, he never really thought much about such things. The orcan man likes solitary life, even if it can be lonely sometimes. Of all places he chose to create a homestead, where did she come from?  Was she thinking of bringing her tribe along with her?  Oh, he dread the thought of more orc clans taking over HIS deserted village. Slog thought he finally found the world of his dreams and SHE had to go and ruin it!
The orc man sees the place is in shambles.

"She not good housekeeper," he mumbles.

He realizes it is a general store and wonders what else she has inside. He slowly opens the door. Bells hanging from the top of the door  jingle, alerting him this might be a mistake.

Slog feels his blood race. His feet want to escape. Anxiety creeps into his mind. Out of some strange instinct, he removes a leather drawstring pouch from his overall top pocket and tosses it on the end of the counter before backing right out the door.

He hurriedly pushes his wheelbarrow down the hill, out of sight. His heart is pounding, his body is covered in a cold sweat, and Slog feels the urge to laugh. Why did he do that? What is wrong with him? He ponders his odd feelings while packing a hand-made clay pipe with old dry tobacco. As soon as he takes a few puffs and a swig from his flask, the memory fades away. The orcan man taps his pipe on a tree to clear it, then gets straight to work, harvesting his crops as if nothing at all happened.

[Drathiranon]

Bludgeon

Once Bludgeon enters the store, she finds small tools and objects that once hung up neatly for display now lined up in straight vertical angles across the floor.  All the windows are closed. All the jars of preserves are turned around to make the labels face the wall.  Toothpicks have been poured out in a pile on the countertop like pixie sticks. The sink is full of spilled flour.  All the cabinet doors are  wide open.

A murder of crows suddenly arrives, touching down onto the branches of the horse chestnut tree across the way, by Slog's Mill.  They thrust their heads up and down,  cawing loudly with rattles and clicks among their voices. The annoying disturbance is carried with the autumn leaves, echoing off the deserted homes, throughout the bogland of Silent Slough.

Bludgeon's deep green eyes take on an angry, dull emerald glow. The orc woman sees no one around.

"What?! All this no good!"

She looks inside each cabinet before slamming the doors shut one by one. Her long muscular arm drags over the countertop, pulling the tooth picks down into a  trash can. She spies a leather pouch at the end of the counter. Her thick black brows furrow as she snatches it up. Loosening the drawstring, she finds horse chestnuts inside.

"Hmmph, what this?  Why big mess!"

Bludgeon grabs an old broom leaning against the back door frame and begins to brush all the things scattered on the floor together to pick up at once. She discovers her tube of pink lipstick had been used to draw designs on the walls. The orcan woman grits her teeth, growling,

" Nooooooo!"

She snaps the broom over her knee, breaking it in half. Her attention is drawn to the pile on the floor she had swept together and notices large footprints of suet everywhere she moved through the store.

"This too much!! I find you!"

With a sudden flurry of rage, Bludgeon tares through the whole store, searching for the culprit. Her feet leaving more suited foot prints on the floor.

[Drathiranon]

HOLE IN THE WALL

INHABITANTS FROM FEYWILD

Meanwhile...

There is a hidden hole inside the wall, behind a stash of fish barrels in the Grab, Root, & Growl General Store.

A barbaric tavern rat sneak attacks from the side of the hole, grabbing hold of her waist from behind, dragging her within. The base of a thick embroidery needle is pressed against her tiny neck. His deep voice reverberates inside her pointed ears.

"Speak! If ya want to keep yer life!"

Inside, there is a group of 4 mice sitting at a matchbox table, paying a card game.

"It's just me! Mouxsie Meadowfly!"  The fae replies quite terrified.

Beady little brown eyes look up from a handful of tiny playing cards.

"Meadowfly?!"

The old grey field mouse wearing a faded yellow mack replies in a most condescending manner.

A dark brown mouse's nose and whiskers  twitch. He also then speaks up.

"Heh, yeah, we remember them once upon a time."

Another field mouse coughs, slapping down his tiny handful of cards.

"Never any tanks." He says dryly.

"I'm outta 'ere, mates."

He rises from his popsicle bench using a walking stick made from a chestnut twig and hobbles off into the dark recesses of the hole.

The fae wriggles out of the tavern rat's grip.

"What do you mean? Where is your honor?"

The fae stands in shock with a side of disbelief, searching the other tiny faces before her.

Another grey mouse with black stripe down his back stands up from the matchbox table and turns around to face her.

" Dat's wha de ole gawd stood fo."

He rubs the back of his neck with a tiny paw.

"Now, it's evwemouse fo emsewf."

Mouxise retorts ,

"I don't believe ye! It canna be true! Me father,  doesn't lie! "

She pauses, "Well, he may expand on the truth a bit, but he doesnt lie!"

The mouse wearing the raincoat raises his paws up in front of him as if to block any further verbal attack.

"Aye, tis true, Evermeet, she's lost to seige. It was an awful bit of business."

He places a paw to his chest and his other paw to his friends.

"What you see here are what remains of a time long past. Our defenses exhausted. We just... ran away."

The tavern rat holsters his embroidery needle.

"Aye, an Duskwood."

He has the red blushed look of a drunkard and the swagger of an old player.

"Tis is no longer safe."

[Drathiranon]

Bludgeon

Cicadas sing in the marshland trees.  Their voices mingle harmoniously with with the bullfrogs. The silvery moon's reflection cast in the swamp water near the back porch makes the night seem colder but tranquil.
The Grab, Root, & Growl general store is restored to order. Bludgeon sits cross-legged on a barrel positioned by the counter.  She slowly reads over each leaf of an old homestead magazine. Her large head rests in the palm of her left hand. Glancing up from her reading, she sees the little draw string pouch of horse chestnuts. Curious, Bludgeon pulls one out and holds it up between her thumb and finger against the subtle warm glow of the hanging oil lamps.  The morsel smells like dirt. The color appears striped with black and mohogany. It has a slight sheen on its shell. The orcan woman  pops it into her mouth, savoring the rock like crunchy goodness. The general store is permeated with the comforting aroma of fresh, simmering chicken stew.
The orc daydreams that someday there will be more travelers once the boardwalk and the pier are repaired.  It will take time but until the work is finished there will be more luxurious evenings to enjoy alone.
She thinks about the store being in disarray earlier in the afternoon.  She can't remember the last time she had a customer.  It just didn't seem like the handiwork of rodents either. Bludgeon has a better look around the room, searching for evidence she might have missed. She's tired. It's late. The orcan woman locks the doors and turns down the oil lamps.

[Drathiranon]

Llelanni

A long and arduous journey brought her boat through waves so powerful that it flew up into the air. The elf's small ebon hands clung to the sides of the rowboat as it fell down a steep waterfall and dropped back into a swift running stream of turbulent rapids. Water rushed everywhere, covering her screams. The violent movement overwhelmed her senses and the torment knocking her clean out of consciousness. The dark elven woman's small boat eventualy settles on smooth placid waters, crawling lazily through twisted channels of tall grass and catails.
She murmurs incoherently while rolling over to one side of her boat. Fumbling through her garments, the elven healer removes a vial and downs its potion. Peacefull are the lapping sounds of the currents of water against the wooden hull as the small vessel is slowly drawn through green water until it approachs the pier behind the Grab, Root & Growl. The aroma of chicken stew hangs in the misty air.
Her head still facing over the edge of the boat, the healer can see her reflection. Her once neatly tied hair appears frayed, wisps springing out from the gold bandings of her gem embedded braids. Her breath cast little clouds of water vapor. She closes her almond shaped eyes tight and rests a hand to her chest. The elf then rolls back around to face the river of stars in the sky above.

[Drathiranon]

Slog's Mill

Across the way, Slog has finished stirring a simmering pot of water and crushed blackberries. Withi a wide grin he smokes his pipe, waiting for the pot to cool. Another pot at his feet is filled with an aged mixture of honey, water, and sprinkle of bread yeast. The orcan man removes the lid. After straining he pours the blackberry juice into the matured potted mixture at his feet. They are now ready to be bottled and corked. With the work finally finished, Slog is pleased with himself and places the mead inside a hollow under the mill's floorboards.

Slog then steps outside into a pool of bright moonlight. He locks the door and looks over to the Grab, Root & Growl. He watches as the lamps dim and remembers the moment he first saw her.  She looked lovely, standing by the clothesline with a mouthful of clothes pins and her hands decorated with bright pink fingernail varnish. Her strong arms stretching out the linen to hang in the earthy, sulfurous wetland breeze. Her unkempt hair, her furry slippers peppered with soot.
Slog is greatful those bells were hanging on the door. He has no idea what he would have said to her if he did meet her.  He shakes his head, trying to push away the memory. 

The orcan farmer walks over from the mill to his modest but cozy little shack. Inside there is a fire burning at the hearth. He sits on a wooden chair, the seat lined with a large cushion of straw. As the logs on the fire pop and sizzle, he takes a carving knife from his overall chest pocket and begins to whittle a stick of wood. His face reflects a visage on heavy concentration as his hands work through the night. Slog doesn't sleep much. Perhaps from past war party stress or the evils he's witnessed and partisipated. He is happy to be far from those days and living a life more rewarding. The land to a farmer is as the sea is to its sailors, the one true and constant love of their lives. Always present. Always a mystery waiting to be discovered. He smiles.

[Drathiranon]

BLUDGEON

Bludgeon rises from her wood pallet bed at the crack of dawn. Sunshine lights up the shear worn fabric folded over the simple opening of her window. The orcan woman happens to catch the familiar scent of elf. Her dark eyebrows raise with surprise.

"Someone here!"

She quickly slips on her cleaned, dried furry slippers and hurries out to follow her nose. As Bludgeon steps out the back porch door she finds an elf laying face down in a row boat. The orc ties the boat then takes up an oar from the pier to poke the elf.

"Hey! You no sleep here!"

The orcan woman continues to poke until she sees movement.

"You want bed? You work!"

Bludgeon pulls the elf up by her arm from the boat and guides her over to the moss covered boulder. She rests her hands on her hips, sizing up all the possibilities. This elf prolly can't pay for goods judging from the condition of her clothes and boat. The orcan woman finds this very suspicious. Could the elf be running away from something? Could she be an innocent victim of an attack? Only time will tell. Bludgeon figures it must be some kind of omen and will require yet more patience to find out.

"Ok, you work, I give food and bed!"

Bludgeon scoops up two bowls of simmering chicken stew. She hands one to the elf and downs the other. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the orc then sets the bowl into an empty pot for washing. She pumps two buckets of water and throw a wash cloth in one to set it at the elfs feet.

"Clean front windows!"

Bludgeon cheerfully walks back inside with a mop over her shoulder and the other bucket in hand to clean the floors.

[Drathiranon]

LLELANNI

The dark elven woman holds the bowl of chicken soup with her two small ebony hands. It's warm, inviting. She breathes in the steam. Her glazed, ruby eyes lower to close as she drinks in the comforting sustenance. It is good.

Lielanni sets the empty bowl with Bludgeon's for the wash, then fumbles again through her tattered robe. This time she finds no more elixir. At least she made it to the wetlands. Hopefully now will be able to find the herbs to make a temporary medicinal compound.

Llelanni looks down to the bucket of water at her feet. The elf rings out the cloth and dabs the cool liquid over her face. Llelanni can hear the orcan woman mopping gleefully. She covers her mouth to stop a laugh. Never had she experienced such hospitality from an orc! Maybe Bludgeon knows more about this area.
The elf takes her bucket and heads inside the Grab, Root, & Growl general store.

The place is clean and neat as a pen. So many jars of preserves on the shelves and hand tools hanging about. The elf finds it all fascinating.
Dipping her cloth in the bucket, the elf rings it out and starts washing the large store windows. While cleaning, she sees another orc working his way up a field and smoke curling up to the sky. The mill spins at a snails pace. It makes her tired just watching it move. Once finished with the inside, Llelanni dumps the water out from the back porch. Try as she might, she doesn't seem to have the strength to pull the long cast iron lever hard enough to draw water as fast as Bludgeon. It seemed to take forever to pull even a glass of water much less fill her bucket.

[Drathiranon]

HOLE IN THE WALL

MOUXSIE

Having strawberry flaxen hair pulled into twin tails, the fae creature, no taller than a daffodil, stands blinking her eyes and twitching her tiny nose with little hands tightly closed in fists at her sides. Her cheeks flushed as she belts out her thoughts on the matter.

"Look o the cut o ye! And what do ye take me for, a benevolent wish granter?!"

Her frail little body trembles hot with anger and disbelief. The pixie's red ribbon-like mouth draws fixed into a bow.

The group of mice don't seem to realize or even take notice of the level of disrespect they have perpetrated on their colleague.

"Ye crowd o eejits! When ye accept me gift and spit on the deal there is no way out of an oath until the work be complete."

These rodents seem to be laughing behind their paws, really testing Mouxsie's patience. They completely ignore her indignation! Her silvery moth like wings buzz and rattle with pressure building up as a bottle of spoiled wine.

"Then a wish me be grantin' ye! "

Mouxsie sends a tiny hand gracefully in the air facing the mouse hole. A green flicker of magic twinkles from her fingertips to create a screen over the opening, creating an entrance to a random plane. The pixie then plays her little thumb harp and with a few words in song, the rodents begin to dance uncontrollably, feeling an irresistible urge to shuffle, jig, and ceili step dance right out into the unknown plane!

The pixie closes the portal and brushes her tiny hands together.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!"

Mouxsie cautiously steps outside the mouse hole to have a look around. She drifts up to touch down atop a chimney brush that is laying along side the hearth. The busy flutter of her petite wings cast up minute specks of dust. It's a good thing Bludgeon is so avidly into her mopping. It makes it easier for Mousie to slip past her.