9th of Patchwall 381 ONT, South Promethean River, a crummy cell in Dampwatch
Meager stood on his drooping lily pad. He had been explicitly warned not to try and leave the lily pad else the toads “would not be responsible” for what happened to him. Meager was not willing to risk it; he was wet, cold, hurt and exhausted. After an uncountable amount of time had passed he begun to hear a distant voice
“MEEEEGARrrrrr… Meeeeegggaaarrrr” the accent was unmistakable, he eagerly looked around for Benjie, but saw no ghost. “Meeegaaaarrrrr…. You’re how you say…. Fuccckkkkkeeeedd”
“Really? That’s the great otherworldly advice you bring me? Can’t you save me? Can’t the weave save me?”
“Nay Meeeegar, it cannot, you are in Dampwatch… a place where the weave is very hard to use”
“Why Benjie? Why can’t I use it here?”
“You have seen the ugly toads? You smell, the odors here? You see the terrible rotting growths in the water around you?”
“Yes” Meager responded
“Can little Meagar stand in spite of all these things? Nay… only the most devote of Guard Mice could tap into the weave in a place like this… I am saddened Meager… hopes for you were, how you say…. High”
“Well thanks a lot Benjie, why don’t you just give up on me right away”
“I had thought that this was what I had implied my dear Meager… I am sorry if I was too subtle and…”
“Fuck off Benjie… I’ll get myself out of this”
Meager was left alone again, to think of what to do… nothing came to him. For countless minutes… hours? He was left there wet and cold trying to come up with a way to go, trying to tap into the weave, the solution alluded him. Finally from the oily depths of the pool that surrounded him Oykamon rose.
“YUUUURRRRRRP… come” the toad croaked. Meager, seeing no other choice followed, hoping an opportunity would soon present itself. The toad submerged Meager held on tight holding his breath as he was pulled through the thick brown water. Eventually they surfaced once more and he crawled onto the hall floor; shivering, gasping and retching. It took a few moments before his sense returned, but when they did he found the toad was speaking in a language he did not understand to a tall otter.
The otter stood at least a foot and a half tall when on his back legs. He wore an easy fitting tunic, a light brown cloak and carried a long spear. The conversation seemed to wrapping up. The otter looked down at Meager and spoke in the common tongue for the first time.
“Let’s get goin” a quick jab of the spear left no room to broker argument, and soon Meager found himself marching out of Dampwatch and towards the tall bulrushes. On the way out, Meager noticed the stalwart hornets who stood vigil along the tops of the Bulrushes, ready to swam and attack any offending creatures. “You made ride me, but don’t be trying nothing eh?” the otter grumbled as he eased into the pond. Meager climbed upon his back, eager to be far away from this wretched place and hopefully gain the opportunity to use the weave once more. The two swam in silence down the little creek and pulled into the South Promethean River, the Otter stayed near the centre and swam up stream at a good pace. About twenty minutes into the journey he pulled over to the eastern shore. The otter shook off and turned to Meager, the little Waylen thought the end might be upon him when the otter surprised him “My name’s Folgrim eh, how’s about you?” Meager was a little surprised by the apparent friendliness in the otters tone, and decided to respond in kind
“umm, My name is Meager, Meager Pickins” the otter extended a hand and offered a hearty shake.
“Ya got’s to be careful little fellow, those of us of Holt aren’t too many these days, though my folk aren’t keen on the Wyzells rule, or the bastard Shepard…. Well no one wants to risk too much… you understand of course” Meager didn’t but he nodded all the same “So anyway, let’s get her done with… been a while since we played this game… think all take ‘er in the left if that’s not too much trouble” the otter bent down placing his face just inches from Meager…. The Waylen looked at the otter in utter comfusion. “Come on fellow, let’s make it quick there eh” the otter said
“Make what quick?” Meager asked. Folgrim looked at him funny
“Well, ya can’t be expecting me to go back untroubled eh? That’d get me right hung in a hurry… so throw a quick jab, give me a shiner, and it’ll look like I put up a bit of a struggle der bye” realisation dawned on the Waylen that he was being rescued, he balled his tiny hand into a fist… it took about seven jabs against the thick otter hide to actually bruise him, Meager felt bad as Folgrim stood and took the abuse. “So I can’t be seen with ya eh? Longer were together the more like a toad or Wyzell or even an avian is going to see us and then ya’d be hooped somthin fierce eh… so follow the river upstream a ways, I put out a call to old Basil… he ought to be able to get ya home der bye” Folgrim dusted himself off and got ready to jump into the river. Meager raced over to him and shook his hand
“Thank you Folgrim, I think you saved my life”
“Oh, ya… no worries there eh? Just you be being careful… and it’ll be good for my folk to know that there are some Waylen back… maybe we can be free once more eh? Good luck little buddy, and stay safe der bye” with that the otter jumped into the river and quickly headed into the current, rocketing away downstream. Meager shook his head in wonder, this day was getting stranger and stranger, he started to walk up stream wondering who or what Basil was.
It was about an hour of walking later that he decided to rest in a small glade. He had found a shady spot and had just sat down when he heard the loud voice
“Hullo, Little fellow, understand you got into aggro, but found a slivey and are needin to doddle out of the dodgey parts of ‘ere” the creature before Meager was a grey hare, he wore a red and golden coat,w ith a sword at his side.
“Hi, My name is Meager Pickins, ummm… what?” Meager was sure the hare had spoken common but he was damned if he knew what the fellow was talking about
“Basil Stag Hare at your service little Waylen chap, I’m with the Fur and Foot Fighters of the 47th Hare Border Rangers; Folgrim said a chap such as you’d be looking to whitetail it on towards the tall folk of Gully, that about so?” This time Meager picked up the general meaning of what the Hare as said
“A ride back to Gully? Yes please” Meager said hoping to his feet.
“Jolly Good! A Hare serves those of Fur and Foot! Tallyho!” he scooped Meager onto his back and soon they were racing through the woods towards Gully