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Bruzog woke in a cold sweat, ragged breaths escaping parched lips as the dogged summer heat permeated the tepid night. Some small sum of moonlight crept through his window, shedding a small amount of light in a small room. He watched the dust filter through the silvery blue light. The book he had been reading lay open on the floor where it had fallen. His heart beat in his chest, rapid but steadily coming back to pace as his surroundings sank in.
Being plagued by unsavory dreams was nothing new to him, but his unconscious mind rarely recounted his younger days. His wife and children, his eldest brother’s death, those were normal for what hunted him in his restless sleep, but this time was different. It was a day he would never forget. The death, destruction, the dragon’s fire….
The day he saw war for what it really was.
Bruzog stalked through sporadic gouts of smoke, the ground beneath his feet crumbling ash. He watched ahead as an Imperial war dragon made a strafing run. It flew high overhead, wheeling around and swooping low as it unleashed a torrent of flame through the enemy legions. Each slow, powerful flap fueled the flames it spewed forth. The smell was overwhelming. Ash choked the scream filled air, bodies and armor smoldering in the indescribable heat of the beast’s hateful fires.
He watched as it careened upwards against its own weight as it reached ever higher elevations. As if it could not get worse, as it reached its desired altitude it turned in a wide arch back towards the survivors and those seeking to aid the wounded. As it soared overhead, the trio of riders worked to unlatch their quarrels. As they reached the drop point they let them fly.
Shrieking through the sky flechettes of iron rained down on those few remaining soldiers of the enemies forward assault. Those remaining were shredded and reduced to pieces strewn about a fresh hell of the making of men.
A series of harsh blasts cracked through the air, a succession of Dwarven Cannons firing one after the other. The dragon roared as its left wing was pierced. It wobbled off kilter, leading itself inadvertently into the rest of the cannon fire. No one would expect such a shrill sound to come from such a titanic monstrosity, shattered ribs and rent flesh watered the fields with blood as it plunged ever lower to its ultimate demise. The furrow it left in the earth was treacherously deep and filled with a carnage of its own, broken bodies were its herald.
The battle had gone on like this for two days, an open field of untold horrors. A month of attrition lead to these sorrowful days, erratic skirmishes and entrenched defenses against them waged back and worth for twenty-seven days prior to the bulk of the two forces arriving and engaging each other in open warfare. He knew he could not linger here any longer and set forth to regroup or seek shelter(whichever came first).
Each step he took compacted under his weight, the mail swinging on his arms as he stumbled down an incline. His hand recoiled as he caught himself, the ash was fresh and what lie beneath was naught but a bed of shallow coals eager to harm the unwary.
The smoke thickened and mingled with the dust from the great reptile’s landfall, stirring around everything in offset gusts. One moment you could see the next you were blocked off or enveloped. He staggered from one patch of clarity to the next, trying to differentiate the sounds from all directions. Screams echoed distantly, here and there all around the clattering of armor rang out, muffled by the raging flames bored into the ground or enshrouding the twisted hulls of wagons and once proud warriors.
Another cannon shot split the air, deafening his acute hearing. His equilibrium was thrown untoward as he stumbled to his knees. He slid in the settled ash, the silence was pierced by a dire ringing as he clutched his piked ears.
He struggled to regain his bearings as he staggered upwards to his feet, trying to navigate the unpredictable wafts of obscuring soot. As he lurched through one he was greeted with the full force of another person. So focused on fleeing was this individual he hardly had time to notice the Orc aimlessly staggering towards him.
Bruzog recoiled and caught himself against the battered wreckage of a catapult, shaking his head to fight the delirium he was ensnared by. His wits were returning in some semblance, a spike in adrenaline bringing focus to his reaching mind.
Eyes met and assessments were hastily doled out. A young man stood, frightened, sword in hand albeit shakily. He could be no more than twenty years, his hair hung in sweaty tendrils down to his shoulders. He looked half present as if there was a part of him that would never return after the things he’d seen on this cursed field of death.
Bruzog’s grip on his resting place slipped and the sudden movement instigated an unsteady response. The boy stabbed at him but fell far of a killing blow, the Orc falling backwards with an inappreciable gash to his side. Hand over hand he crawled back and away as fast as he could, the look of fear from his adversary now one of malicious intent. It was not a truly hateful intent, simply one’s misplaced anger protecting them from their own fear.
He’d lived through too much to let this be his demise, this day, the one before, and all the years that lead to this moment in time couldn’t end like this. He wouldn’t be another body laden with a thickening layer of ashfall. The lad raised his sword to strike downwards but was met with an expeditiously swiped handful of balled ash. The lump erupted into a great plume in the face of the man, Bruzog taking the opportunity to sweep his attacker’s legs out from under them.
It had quickly escalated to a deathly grapple as the two young soldiers clutched at each other. Hands turned merciless by desperate need clenched around the Orc’s neck, stifling his breath. Bruzog’s vision blurred from the pressure and the impactful reduction of his circulation, his hands urgently grasping for anything. His hand steadied at the touch of cold iron, then texture of wrapped leather, tightening his hand around the familiar grip of his belt knife.
His version was turning from a blur to encroaching blackness when he lashed out, awkwardly stabbing wherever he could until his lungs swelled with ragged intakes as breath returned to his body and clarity to his mind. He fell to one side as the man rolled away holding his bleeding arm. Bruzog coughed and choked, turning over to see his adversary scrambling towards their far flung sword. He reached out and dug his claws in deep, the nails biting into the flesh of their calves, pulling himself on top of his enemy. He pinned the humans reaching hand with his own and with his other plunged his knife deep, with a resignation he pushed deeper clenching his eyes whilst trying to block out the stifled sounds of pain that couldn’t truly escape the blood filled lungs of his foe, the quiet horror filled his ears and tore at his heart.
After a long moment silence settled.
Bruzog started his day as he normally did, making his rounds around Meadowmere to make sure everything was as it should be. He took count of everyone he saw, checking off a list he kept in his head of all the citizens. Anyone who he couldn’t account for he would ask around about and ascertain if they were about or had gone abroad(many of his constituents liked to wander and quest). After that he would take an early meal, frying up some beef he’d been saving with some sliced apple(for flavor, he was a consummate carnivore by nature), and some cheese he’d been given.
He sat in a chair under a tree, watching the goings on, occasionally answering a question from someone in passing. It was a good day, not as hot after the rain but complaints about the humidity were on the rise. He’d have to ask Raine if perhaps he could put his icy gifts to use to alleviate those woes, perhaps in the tavern. He finished his breakfast and set about his work.
He started with working towards the palisades he’d been wanting to erect around the town. He draped his his leather jerkin and robe over a low tree branch and took up his axe. He’d been gathering cut poles for some weeks now, and now it was time to ready them. He put them in a vice and then made four hacks each turning a dull end into a four sided point ready to be driven into the ground. He kept at this until noon and went to wait out the heat of the day indoors.
This is when he usually took complaints and concerns, someone tripped in a Johnny hole(some said it was a badger’s doing but Bruzog was convinced Johnny was still digging hither and thither), Aikenn had field dressed a deer and left the entrails by the path, some beast had made off with someone’s lunch and other such things. He took the time to hydrate and encourage others to do so as well, and then set about dealing with these issues. First he grabbed a shovel and filled the holes, then went about scooping up the guts with the aforementioned tool, and then gave the lunch thief forty wacks with it(a giant bug of some sort, he turned what was left of it over to Willow). As the heat began to wane and the sun began to lower, it was time for his other tasks.
Namely he would gather firewood, he liked to make sure there was a large and ready supply available for anyone to take from near the town’s center. He’d then go on to check his traps and forage for edible plants and fungi(he happened upon a great sum of blackberries and filled a bucket, and caught a young boar in a heavy neck snare). He felt if his people went to bed cold or hungry he wasn’t doing right by them. Afterwards he took a short leave to the creek to bathe. The water was cold but refreshing as he washed his face and hair. Once clean he sat on the bank for a time combing his hair and beard, thinking about the day and what should be done tomorrow and the next. He thought about the war and the ultimatum that was delivered to him by Jon Pierre. He wondered if he’d made the right decision choosing to stand against him. Things were different now, not everyone was a warrior and he was not a the leader of a warhost anymore. He was just a man trying to keep a community safe. And maybe that meant being ready to lead them away from war instead of into it.
He redressed and headed to the tavern as dusk began to settle as the day was coming to a close. It was good to spend the evenings with his friends and fellow citizens. Hearing their tales and troubles over food and drink was how he liked to end his day. Hearing them, that’s what was important to him. He stayed for several hours before bidding them all a good night. He took one last lap around the town before retiring for the night. Settling into bed he stared at the ceiling for a long time, rest had not come easy to him of late.
He read for some time, each page becoming harder than the next until finally the book slipped from his hand and sleep fell over him in a warm embrace.
To Meat
I respond to you now reaffirming my commitment to aid you in your quest, I am with you. I shall prepare myself for the journey and head to Ashton with all due haste. I agree with you that discretion is ideal, we are a group of many skills but we are too few to realistically stand a chance against a garrison. I’ve taken towns and cities before, but that was with an army at my back.
I will come armed as you have advised, though I think for the sake of the appearance of propriety I should make myself inconspicuous. Of our companions for this endeavor I imagine I am perhaps the most obvious to most passerby. I shall seek to acquire a more subtle attire for this, most likely including a hood and a helm for obvious reasons. With all this said, I shall see you soon my friend and hopefully we can find the answers we seek.
And… yes… it is an odd and unfortunate occurrence what with the not infrequent mind control and near friend slaying….
~Bruzog Shatterspine~
- Final Entry
I have taken some weeks to record the final entry for I was, at the time, too preoccupied to truly capture the moment as it was. Nor did I feel compelled to hastily jot down what could’ve been my final thoughts or a guide for the next unfortunate soul where I had found myself. No, in truth I feel I managed to make it work out for the best for all parties involved. The Goblins were no longer compelled to thievery or malice with their master dead, but still needing a strong hand to guide them; Ardith provided that.
With access to the Goblins tunnels for storage, Ardith was able to store more food and drink and expand her services considerably. In exchange for storing her goods and some work, a fair portion of those supplies were then the Goblins to do with as they pleased. I taught those Goblins with a grasp for the common tongue keywords to help them communicate with her, and some of those of the Goblin language to her as well. I taught the most able and cunning the basics of trapping and fishing, though they knew well hunting already and are certainly more nimble than I.
I showed them where to avoid the giant spiders and what signs to look for to know if they were nearby. I found a smaller(but still uncommonly large) spider in one of my traps, transferring it to a wooden cage meant for fowl(and with no small amount of swearing). I left off to work on turning the small cave I’d found earlier on my trip into something more, a more permanent residence for myself. Not too far from anyone should they need me, but entirely my own should I want it to just be myself.
I was given leave to borrow some old tools from the town, and set about squaring off the entrance so as to inset a place for a wooden doorframe. After that I set about recycling some wood from an old abandoned wagon for the frame though I had to buy new nails. After the first three days of doing no ill to it and providing it sustenance the spider seemed to have an inkling that I meant it no harm and at least stopped trying to bite me as often. We both settled into a routine and daily rhythm after that. Wake up, eat, feed the spider, don’t bite the Orc, get to work on the house. It was… a simple time, a much needed series of mundane, ordinary, inconsequential happenings that impacted nothing in the long run. Just me and mine.
In my spare time I started journaling separately(I am prone to this you see, as I don’t like muddling my thoughts together) about my world, where I come from. I wish to remember it for as long as I can and as clearly as I can at present recall it. I fear my mind will gray with age, and I will die in alien lands and nobody will know the truth of me or the lands that truly made me. I started first writing about my own kind, for there are many tribes and clans of Orc where I come from and no two are alike besides in spirit and flesh. I doubt I will capture them in the most accurate of detail for I only know my own clan’s ways intimately, even those I call friend I know only as that; as an outsider with invitation.
Once the door was complete I made my first attempts at bonding with the eight-legged beast, letting it out to roam. Unsurprisingly it was skittish for several days, only venturing out to take food from me, I admit freely it was unnerving trying to sleep with it watching me from the a high place on the wall. It never accost me though, so I view that as progress. As it stands now, I would say I still have a long ways to go to truly consider it… tame(assuming that will ever be applicable). I made some crude furniture so serve me until I can make or come by something more suitable, but I found myself needing to return and confer with my peers back where I left from before this small journey began. I still had obligations to tend to and friends I wished to see. I close this recounting with some contentment at least, I feel I did some good after all.
- ~Bruzog of Clan Shatterspine~
Day VI
Morning entry: I write now at more regular intervals as I am at a standoff with my captors. I took one of them hostage when they made their rounds this morning, they seem more scared of me than afraid for their compatriot’s well-being however. More’s the pity
Midday entry: I have taken the tunnel outside my small prison and now must plan my escape through the common area. From what I’ve managed to spy before they hurl rocks and other debris at my head the chamber itself is situated around a large fire pit overlooked by a platform made from stone and wood. I can finally sit fully upright at last here; they’ll be hard pressed to gain ground on me now.
Afternoon entry: I don’t know why I included the estimate of the time today, I still don’t know. I’ve made no progress with my Goblin prisoner, it seems to understand some of the common tongue but refuses to enter into talks and keeps biting me. I swear I’ve had my fill of Goblins for a lifetime. I was assigned a mercenary band of them during one engagement when I was a Captain during the closing days of the Horizon Wars, it was like lording over a horde of violent, armed, and malicious children. I see a small sledgehammer across the chamber they must have pilfered. I don’t have much choice but to try for it. Drelakor, Sagril, Kuth-rak; greet me if I fall and praise me if I rise.
Evening entry: I have, with some luck, survived. When I made my run for the hammer and I hurled my prisoner at the small group that was meant to take me if I emerged, giving me enough time reach the platform. That is where I encountered my primary problem. On the platform was their leader(I’m assuming, he was the largest) and several other Goblins brandishing clubs. I intercepted the incoming swing of the first and launched him off the platform, the next I struck with my fist, and then was face with the largest who had a long punch dagger and a short whip.
He stabbed forward and made a shallow puncture, then catching me across the forearms as I shielded my face and throat from a lash of his nine tails. I blocked his arm on the attempted back swing with my own, bringing my knee into his ribs. I caught him in the chest with a kick forward, which lead to an unfortunate demise. He was hurled into the flames bellow. By this time many more had gathered and I knew nought what else to do than take up the hammer as I originally intended.
I was not expecting this, but as I watched the assembled horde, I realized they were not looking to me with hatred or malice. They weren’t looking at me at all. Their gaze was transfixed on the charring remains of their leader, shock I’d assume. As I watched in surprise, I took to realizing they all bore the marks of the lash. They were not grief stricken, they were unshackled from fear. I’ve seen the look before on the faces of prisoners freed in raids, known the feeling myself from time I spent as a prisoner of war, after weeks, months, years of suffering standing over the corpses of your abuser is as harrowing as it is freeing.
As they started to look and whisper amongst themselves, shooting glances as the chattering grew in volume, I feared they would descend upon me. But a racket began as they shrieked and howled their battish songs of rejoicement. I was left unbound but I wouldn’t say unaccosted as I was pulled and yanked by a gleeful gang of waist-high and smaller thankfuls pawing at my person. They fished out and feasted upon their former leader, there seemed to be some ceremonious element to it besides the age old adage of waste not want not. I politely abstained. As the evening draws to a close on their celebration I find myself trying to find sleep under a heap of Goblins….
Day V(?)
I write sparingly in haste, I have been taken into the bowels of the earth by Goblins. There are many, I find myself kept in a side chamber adjacent to their communal space. I fear this may be my last entry. If anyone should find my journal deliver it to the leader of the Consortium Tannas or Captain of the Guard Simon.
Second entry, several hours have passed: I’m being kept alive, and aside from the bash to my head when they initially took me I’m unharmed. The little bastards keep poking me with small makeshift spears however. They stripped me of my possessions and I am bound, but there is some for movement of my arms, I’ve managed to keep my journal hidden in my tunic as I’m hunched over in a oversmall dirt hole essentially.Their language is largely unknown to me but familiar and recognizable enough as the tongue of Goblins. They have fed me once, maggoty bread, perhaps a water ration later? Best not to anticipate such things. They seem to only come in here for specific reasons, to take from me and give to me thus far. I shall search for a rock or other sharp implement, but I can always resort to using my teeth if needed.
Last entry: I’ve worn through most of the cordage binding me, enough that I can break it if need be but not so much as to be obvious to my captors at a glance. I shall endeavor to sleep now, they don’t seem to be in a hurry to be rid of me yet. Perhaps they have a plan for me? As a laborer or meat for the stew pot most likely, either way I shall sleep light.
Day IV
Morning entry: My suspicions are confirmed. When I descended into the cellar I myself was met with a trap. My ankle slipped into a loop of cordage when I stepped off the ladder, triggering a small number of barrels to hurtle from a shelf towards me. I’m bruised and sore, but otherwise unscathed for the most part. Ardith insisted on tending to a cut on my brow from the edge of a barrel’s ring, she was unsettled by these tidings I recounted to her; as am I truth be told.
Midday entry: I investigated further and found numerous tracks as well as pilfering of some of the new goods. Whatever these are they seem to prefer meats and fruits, easy and rewarding foods. The tracks were not like animals nor were they like that of most folk I’ve met. Long clawed toes on long feet, though they seemed to walk on their toes more often than not as if they were not ones to rest in one place for long.
I scoured the cellar in search of a nest, but there was none to be found. I fear these creatures tunneled in. I shall endeavor to move some of the crates and barrels from the walls later today, but for now, I shall venture into the wilderness once more. I do not think they will be a bother during the day as they seem most active at night. Regardless, I shall keep my trek into the woods brief.
Afternoon entry: I set some live traps in the forest to see what I might catch, ideally a worthy creature. I’ve used bits of raw meat to bait them. I’ve set one near the creek, one near the spider den, and one more deceptive one I left behind in the cellar of the inn to hopefully catch one of those things unaware.
I’ve found at least another cave now, preferably lacking in giant spiders this time around(it seems to be uninhabited from the outside). It is promising but not as I might have expected or initially hoped. It is uphill slightly and set back into a drop from the hill’s crown(not quite a bluff in my opinion), the entrance is narrow but could be widened with mason’s kit. The inside was a good temperature and it wasn’t particularly damp, it has several chambers and passages and one even goes down to a clear pool. I’ve yet to establish my own residence, I’ve simply been living with my fellows of the Consortium since I joined them. It is an ideal place, perhaps a less than a half day’s walking distance from where I set out from and perhaps a half hour from the small town I discovered during this most recent outing of mine. I think I shall stake a claim to this and try to make a home of it.
Growing up, my parent’s home was partially set into the side of the mountain with stacked and hewn stone making up the exterior. It was in the Gutridge settlement, far flung from our Clan’s seat of power at Bleakstone; but home nonetheless. My father was skilled with stonework but my brother Urig was to follow in his footsteps, though I remember enough that I feel I can make due here. I have spent more time than I intended out, I shall return to the inn for the day.
Evening entry: I have got one! When I returned Ardith warned me there was a terrible racket from below in the cellar, she thinks from the trapped creature thrashing around in the box trap I set. I’ve gone down now and shall write my findings as I go, so that my reports shall be accurate and fresh in my mind. I was wise to tether the trap, for the creature inside the trap or others of it’s kind have drug it into a tunnel; finally revealing how they’ve gotten in.
I’m going to endeavor now to haul the trap back though my initial tug was met with resistance, I think they may still be trying to free their fellow miscreant. I shall resume writing once I have it out. This should prove interesting….
I have it out now, I’m truly… surprised but yet again not. I should have known it would be them, what else could it have been?! In truth I hadn’t expected to see one for a good long while, but they are pervasive, lucky not to step in one’s burrow just turning around. Ha! How foolish of me, I haven’t even written what they are they’re so familiar to me, I keep this journal just in case something happens to me so that someone might learn as to my fate! Anyway, they’r….
-The writing cuts off abruptly, smudged, and a duo of dark blood droplets stain the page-
Day III
Morning entry: When I woke this morning I set about to keep my word to innkeeper, going down to assess the apparent vermin situation of the cellar. I found some small sign of rats but saw none in the flesh. I set about setting some traps the inn owner already had, rigging up several of my own as well and placing them were the rats seemed to frequent the most.
When I emerged from my task I found a meal waiting for me at the bar’s end. An unexpected but welcome kindness beyond the terms of our agreement. I sat and reached for my ale, the old man beside me getting up in a hurry. I was not surprised but I wouldn’t say one ever truly becomes accustomed to frightening or discomforting others merely by being near to them.
I set out again to observe the spiders, and to see if anything else was afoot. In my world there are many breeds of giant spider, but the ones I’ve seen here thus far seem much different. The Hobgoblins from my plane or origin were well known for their husbandry of such eight-legged beasts, keeping them as mounts, guardians, and even household pets. I was told it was their intelligence what made them tameable, not like a common spider that would see us simply akin the fly; a morsel. These ones that I have found, seem somewhere between the two. Neither untameably feral nor of a higher beastial intelligence like a hound.
Midday entry: I watched for an hour or so as smaller spiders like the one I tracked on my second day abroad scuttled forth to seek out prey while a small few larger ones(roughly the size of a goat or sheep) set about laying fresh silken lines and mending those damaged by storm or passerby. Near the end of the hour I witnessed a young deer make it’s final mistake and step through a strand. Two of the larger spiders rushed forth, one from above in a tree and one from the cave’s mouth below. It was a grizzly sight to behold as they seized their prey and dispatched it.
If one of the smaller ones(or better yet a hatchling) were to be captured and tamed it would make a formidable companion if such a thing were to be possible. I fear if kept in numbers they would turn on whosoever called themselves their master. Perhaps I should look on elsewhere. For now I shall return and give warning to the townspeople to avoid this area.
Afternoon entry: It was a quiet afternoon, the traps in the cellar were untouched though some of the bait had been taken. It seemed as if the trap was thoughtfully skirted around, which I’ve never known the average rat to do. Perhaps a weasel or something similar was here as well. I found myself restless so I assisted with the unloading of a wagon that came for the inn’s owner. She and I struck up conversation as we moved barrel and bag alike, her name is Ardith. Born and raised in Jernigan lands, she started the inn herself with little more than ambition for a better life and some skill at woodworking from helping her father work at the town’s lumbermill. She appreciated my help, she’s been working the inn alone for some time now since a sickness took her helper and friend Bordin.
Evening entry: There was something strange about the cellar when I went to make my last check of the evening. The bait was all gone and only the most subtle of the traps had been tripped. But it was torn apart, twisted and knotted and thrashed to pieces. There is something at work here beyond the odd rat or other common vermin. Later in the night I woke from sleep thinking I heard voices, faint whispers. But when I stirred there was silence for a moment then a scurrying sound from the cellar below….
Day II
Morning entry: I have spent most of the morning hiking into the wilderness, I have seen many song birds and the occasional squirrel but little else. I spooked a deer as I crossed a creek, the current’s sound obscuring my approach. I decided to stop to eat shortly thereafter, laying out my cloak to sit upon while I made myself breakfast(a wedge of cheese, dried fruit and smoked meat). It was quiet aside from the water’s flow and the singing of birds. It was very peaceful; a nice retreat after everything that’s happened recently.
Midday entry: I went several hours without seeing anything after I packed up and moved on, it looks as if a turn in the weather is coming though. I may have to seek refuge as I have gone too far to turn back without getting caught in the rain. I shall continue, my map says there is a township nearby so I’ll endeavor to not stray too far from that at least. I have seen several trails left that look promising.
Afternoon entry: After choosing the oddest trail I’ve come to recognize it as not many creatures, but one many legged beast. By weight I’d estimate it to be lesser than the size of a cat but greater than a squirrel. I followed it to the edge of a gully leading down towards a cavern’s entrance. The tracks disappeared into the washed out puddles but the aged and fresh silken strands told me all I needed to know. Giant spiders of one sort or another, how large they grow to be I do not know but I may return early another day to observe them if possible.
Evening entry: The rain caught up with me as I left the spider’s den, so I made haste to the town I mentioned before. I was met with some suspicion, whether it from being an Orc, blue, or appearing from the woodline or some combination of the three I do not know nor care. The rooms of the local inn were all spoken for, but I came to an agreement with the owner to use the storeroom for the next few nights in exchange for helping her with clearing the rats or what have you out of the cellar in the mornings before continuing my own endeavors after midday.
Day I
I, at the recommendation of others, went to what they called a… “Pet Shop”. I went to two of varying qualities. At the first I was immediately met with the stench of soiled bedding and stagnant water, the animals were all less than appealing and in poor condition. After breaking part of the owner’s face(nose or jaw I do not know nor care) I left under the threat of my return should he not improve the running of things. The second one I was met with the stench of perfume and was treading fine carpets walking between pens of hounds of the finest inbreeding and pedigree; I felt as if I was at a gathering of nobles. Likewise I found nothing of interest.
I was also directed to a livestock exchange, and while I met a very kind sheep I do not think it an ideal pet for my lifestyle. I do not think I will find a desirable companion animal in any of these nearby towns, beyond that I have spent a lifetime befriending my own beasts from the wilds. The search continues. I shall rove the nearby forests tomorrow.