Vigil, Part IV

The first search, made while still heavily influenced by drink, yielded nothing. The largest of plainstriders, the tallstriders, were apparent to him even through his blurred vision. His windrider had set down among them, a fair enough distance that he only aroused their suspicion without tempting their attack. It was the sense of self-preservation of the windrider that brought him to such a place.

The bull looked around, his legs wobbling after dismounting the windrider. The subtle changes in the pitch and yaw of the island, disconnected from the rest of Outland and floating in the void, coupled with the strong drink kept Mograg off balance. The ground seemed to fall away from him and rise up to meet him at different times. He grasped his polearm in both hands as if to wield it, but found more often he used it to prop himself up.

In this manner, Mograg stumbled about the island, searching through the fog of drink for any sign of Slyvos. Twice a tallstrider took offense at his presence. The first of these attacks he managed to deal with, though not without difficulty. He was very fortunate not to draw attention of other tallstriders as he hurled curses at it, yelling his hatred and demanding to be brought to his druid friend immediately.

On the occasion of the second attack, he faired quite a bit more poorly. He was taken by surprise. A tallstrider charged out at him from behind a tree. The beast had little trouble getting past the polearm, used less by Mograg for offense or defense and more for support. The strong drink in his body finally overcame him and in the middle of battle caused him to collapse. Though his judgment and faculties were severely impaired, the second nature of his long years of training took over. To all outward observation, he had fallen over dead. The tallstrider, unwilling to eat meat and lacking proper utensils even if it had such a desire, quickly became bored with the alleged corpse and returned to its previous occupation.

He was told later that when he appeared in Garadar he was fast asleep. According to the note they had found on his person, a hunting party had found him and activated his hearthstone. He had slept in the inn well into the late morning.

He had always enjoyed watching the orcish children play their chasing games, their shouts of "No, you're the ogre!" heard easily throughout the village. He had never previously felt his head throb as it did.

Most of his day was spent in quiet, very quiet, contemplation. He kept to himself when he could. When others threatened to find him, he took the form of a fish and found a still, quiet place in one of the many streams. The water soothed his head.

By the time An'she's last light was leaving the sky and Mu'sha would soon appear, he was more himself. His head did not throb, and his mind had calmed. He sought out the clan, who would gather that night for songs and tales. Where he had been this past day was not a tale he would share.

Tomorrow. He would search the island again tomorrow. This time would be without the counsel of the pink elekks.