Broken promise

Turning his eyes away from getting cookies out for his new friend, he ponders for a moment.

"Would like that, never hurts know how live through fight instead of wake up after. Would love to play fight to learn real fight after I work at Flynt Farm. Would you like a cookie too? Maybe juice as well? . . . what your name, new friend?"

Trunk looks at his new position : 3 people talking to him at the same table, no one fighting, everyone polite . . . "If I in wrong place, let know. Don't want be bother to meeting or something. Can wait outside if need be."
 
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Fargal smiles and says," My name is Fargal but my friends call me Rock. You can find me at my smithy. I will gladly have a cookie and juice. I am also good with weapons. I am glad to meet you Trunk."
 
Roann glances up briefly, long enough to sneer at nobody in particular, then look lost in thought a moment before quietly returning to his writing, stopping only to wipe excess ink on his pantleg.
 
"I rather don't think it's me" was all she really offered. Fargal and During were offered faint smiles though.
 
Roann clenches his jaw as he writes, gently rolling the glass orb across the table and catching it a couple of times, a murky purple vapor swirls within. He stops it's motion and sets his quill aside, producing a thin and well-worn dagger which he uses to carefully cut the page free from his journal. He neatly folds the page and slips it into his vest before setting about writing once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose before continuing to fiddle with the glass orb as he works.
 
"Good meet you Fragel named Rock." Trunk then puts more cookies onto what is becoming the community plate and fills another cup full of juice. Trunk leans toward Fragel, "True I need get better at weapon, but think need get better at smart stuff too, like fixing things or something. I see enough hurt in past, hope less later on."

Trunk glances at the angry human grinding his teeth, sweating, and obviously having a bad day. "Excuse Trunk for moment." Trunk then gets a plate, with 2 cookies, and a cup of juice, and takes it over to the man too deep in his work. "It look like you have long hard day, so this for you." He gently sets the small plate and cup to the side of him. "If you do not want, just leave here, I clean after. But if it help your day, then make me happy. Everyone need to eat." Trunk then comes walking back with a smile on his face.

"New friend Fragel, what you do besides smash and fix armor? And new friend Durnic, would you like cookie?" Trunk drags off the last vowel almost as if egging some one on childishly. "And I not know what you do besides smash . . ."
 
" I also make weapons and always could use help in my smithy. I could teach you Trunk to fix and create armor. Besides that I spend time helping around town.

You can also find me working with my group called The Brother's Creed adventuring and I am rather known im the kitchwn for being the dishwashing dwarf."

Fargal looks at the man and waits to see his reaction. He remembers Durnic from the fight against the Legoon.
 
Stops writing, clenching his jaw once more until after Trunk has placed his bounty and stepped away, at which point Roann glances to the offering, across to Trunk, and then returns to his writing with a faint shake of his head.
 
"Thank you, Trunk, but I will pass on the cookie, "Durnic takes another puff on his pipe, blowing the smoke out through his nose, where it then splashes against the table in two thin tendrils. "Would you like to learn more about sword play? Maybe how to use a shield? Your people are strong fighters and we can always use another in the shield wall."
 
"I do want feel part of town, part of shield wall is good too. Not much for sword, but will play fight any day to learn more. Just want get better at smart stuff a little."
 
Roann finishes another page and carefully folds it after cutting it free. He closes the journal while tucking the page into his vest and cleaning up his belongings, slipping the glass orb between two fingers as he finishes up. His cold eyes settle on the juice and cookies briefly before he turns and moves towards the tavern door without a word.
 
Gally watched as Roann left, starting to relax as he left her view before turning back to the conversation, quietly packing up her own things.
 
"You pack up like go . . . Is ok. I just happy make new friend in you. You seem like special person. You only one not want me to hurt people."

He looks rather unsteady on his words, like a child standing up for themselves for thw first time.

"Maybe some day soon we draw things together. Would like day without hurt."
 
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"It's not you Trunk." She smiled at him. "I have a message to take. I'll see you when I get back from taking it. It's far away, so I may not be back right away." She headed out with a wave
 
Turning his attention away from his recently departed new friend, he spreads his attention to the other two fine folk at the table, considering what they had to offer with the deepest thoughts that Trunk can come up with.

"I think shield wall good, shields keep people safe, not hurt people. I seen enough hurt where I from, so much broken parts and bloody people, I had enough. Would rather make people safe, not hurt anymore. Trust, I know some need hurt, but would rather live nice with people." He pauses to drift into a memory, that comes up in it's own special way. "Glad have same bed most night, glad have food most night, glad have choice how help, glad not face lash, glad not face rack, glad not face bad men have bad day. Very glad have new friends nice to me, glad be here." Trunk seems visibly unsettled by the memories, tugging gently at his rope, nearly jerking on it at the mention of some of the less tasteful details.

"Maybe if learn shield wall, make more friends. Then maybe when the bad man comes, I stay here, instead of go with to bad place . . . " Trunk pulls on his cord violently at the though. "Do not want go, want stay here, with good people. I want do good for people here. then when trouble come, maybe good people help me?" In an interrupted fashion, he gets up from the table, and clears the space where Roanne once sat. He takes the time to wipe it clear, push in the seat, and even straighten up the table cloth.
 
Durnic's eyes turn slightly cold, "why do you wear a collar, Trunk?"
 
Zeth, who was relaxing near the side of the tavern, by the trainer's posting board, perks a single ear in the direction of Durnic's voice, and his question.

His eyes narrow in confusion, clearly not have hearing the earlier conversation. As his eyes travel to the High Orc's neck, they narrow further in recognition and displeasure, but he says nothing, clearly waiting to see where the conversation goes.
 
The door of the tavern swings open and a gigantic axe head enters followed shortly by a man clad in furs and well worn armor. He looks around breifly and seeing Trunk he swiftly crosses the room, reaching under his cloak, his face unreadable. As he nears, he exclaims "Trunk! I have a present for you!"
 
[oog : prior to the entry by the proverbial kool-aid man]

Drifting deeply into a memory, staring off into it blankly, "When small, raised as animal. When scared, told pull cord, make sure still safe, not lost. I still scared, so still pull, sometimes pull hard, that way know safe not lost. If without collar, bad man might . . . " [oog : enter Bjorn]

Trunk skitters to the floor, seemingly unaware of the entrance of Bjorn, and only waking from his memory long enough to hear his name yelled out by someone, and coming back for the last two words. Trunk scrambles to all fours, shoving the chairs around him out of the way, spilling his buffet on the floor like someone hiding for their lives from the boogie man. Nearly unconscious of his current reality, he cries out with childish inflection, "TRUNK NO WANT GO BACK! LEAVE TRUNK HERE! TRUNK HAVE NEW FRIEND, NO WANT GO!" He goes quiet, and begins to chant to himself, rocking erratically, "Lost and scared, pull the cord, safe and sound till we hear word. Lost and scared, pull the cord, safe and sound till we hear word . . . "

He pulls at his collar, now knotted around a part of the table. The table moves abruptly and violently with his uncontrolled movements. Upon further inspection of the troubled soul, you see fresh blood from under the collar, and his book open to a few horrifying images in his coloring book. He continues to pound his arms into the table and chair legs while tearing at his cord for a few more seconds before hearing nothing of his nightmare. His breathing is heavy, sweat beating down his face, his eyes warily darting from face to face.

He sheepishly states through a the coughing spittle of a seizure patient, "Trunk sorry make fuss, I clean mess . . . so sorry." As he moves, his hands are notably shaking, covered with as much sweat as his face. "Bjorn, good see you friend. What say?"
 
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