The Longest Journey - When Formulists Meet

Hello there. For this article a mild warning: we have some spice at the end. Be warned, otherwise enjoy. :)

Vitugár was tired. Frightened to a degree and relieved, that he could leave the Emerald Planes unscathed except for the loss of his handaxe - the Druids don't take lightly with sharp weapons maybe usable for cutting plants and trees - and a few holes and scratches in his Formulist robe.

The good news was: his tome was half full, his ink and the spare paper nearly depleted. He could document a lot of new mushrooms and got a few phials filled with their seeds in his backpack.

The bad news: he just had to go north to take the route around the northern mountains of the Long Neck mountain range. The problem was that his provisions were also neary depleted and he had to think about his route and possible settlements. With a bit of luck he could reach the Electorial Congregation and ask for some provisions and maybe another weapon. Without it he felt naked and what is a dwarf without his weapon? Right, a weaponless dwarf, what did you expect?

In the distance he could see the massive black stone which were the mountain range. Well, "distance" was relative, maybe a day or two before he would reach the slopes of the mountains. Wasn't there a trading post? He couldn't remember if it was from the Divided Feast or the Desertwalkers, but some merchant guild had set up shop somewhere here. Or did he already passed it?

From the location of the stars he felt a wave of disappointment, because he probably passed it already and would lose a lot of time and resources to find the outpost. So his best chance was to march towards the mountains, cut his provisions in half and reach the Electorial Congregation before he would starve.

Hunting was not an option, he was a dwarf and, which was the most annoying thing, not equipped to hunt. So he could use leaves, herbs, berries, roots or other things he could find. Or maybe he crossed paths with a farmer and his settlement. That would be the best outcome. For now he had to tighten his belt and march towards the mountains and to reach the Electorial Congregation.

---

Vitugár filled his water skin with clear water from the spring he had found. It was just a small pond with nothing in or around it. Wasn't too surprising, it did look like it wasn't here for long. He definitely could see grass which was disturbed not a long while ago, probably by some deers or other wild animals. Hopefully not from an Owlpanther. He was dead serious that he couldn't withstand the screech of an Owlpanther.

The mountains were close and the sun was low. He could reach the slopes within the next hours and then, finally, he could walk over hard, true, familiar stone. The heat from Pisocenia was more and more vanishing since it was late autumn. Sometimes the sun was there, strong and warming like a bonfire, then she was just there, spending light, but no warmth and it was cold and sometimes freezing.

Autumn was a wild time. He did enjoy the red apples though, and someone gifted him a huge bottle of strong mead. Which was already half empty at this point. Just as he thought about emptying it against the probably cold of the night, he could see a small glint in the distance, between rocks at the feet of the mountains.

"Hm?"

He cocked his head to one side. A wandering merchant? That would be good, because he had coin, but no provisions and he made the experience very early that dwarves might like precious metals, but those were not edible.

Sad.

Well, anyway. He wasn't very hungry, but could eat a bit and maybe they - whoever they were - would share a bite. Or their fire. Maybe even both. Fire would suffice, a bite would be top notch. And he could offer very good mead. Not dwarven mead, to be honest, but for human-made mead it was really good.

He set his steps in the direction of where he saw the glint of light. The sun was nearly gone and he could feel the cold of the night creeping in. At least his boots were still in a good condition, his coat was only rags after the first encounter with the Druids. Luckily he had survived that.

He made a bit of extra noise while walking as he came closer to the huge boulders. There was indeed a large fire between the broken stones, which were smooth on the surface and not so sharp around the edges. Shaped and smoothed out from the weather. Wind and rain indeed do that to natural materials.

"Hello there?" he asked and heard a rustle, but not too much, only a bit startled maybe. "Can me come closer?"

"Slowly." said a female voice. "But don't be shy, step into the light so I can see you."

Vitugár shrugged and did as she has requested. His eyes were not used to the bright light, so the first thing he could see were bright flames. Warm flames, which emitted enough heat to warm the surrounding stones.

There was no horse or donkey or anything. Just a human woman. Well, just was not the right word for her. She had raven-black hair, her skin was slightly brown from her travels on the road. She wore a robe like himself in different colours, a black mask with an intricate silver pattern rested beside her on a stone. A backpack was behind her, next to a thick blanket and something which could be another blanket or a coat she used as a pillow.

But the most interesting, frightening, and intriguing feature of her was not her small frame or her scent or her stare, it was her eyes which glowed in a red-pink hue.

"Ya're a Formulist?" Vitugár asked before she could even say anything.

"Yes, how do you know?"

"Ya eyes glow. Me is a Formulist meself, me is writing a book about mushrooms." He pointed at the stones at her side, only two or three steps away. "May me sit?"

"You may." She nodded, one leg was stretched out, the other one close to her body, used as a table for her arm where her head rested on top. Apparently Vitugár had disturbed some thoughts or just idle staring. "You aren't armed?"

"Nah, sum Druids thought me would chop some of their woods and nearly made me one of their own." His backpack landed beside her mask. "But with a bit of honey around their ... well, they don't have really lips anymore, but with a few words and a bit of work they let me go."

"You're a Stonekin." she mumbled into her arm, then lifted her head a bit and looked at him. "What's your name?"

"Vitugár." said the dwarf. "And ya are right, me is Stonekin. Born and bred, so to say. Until me became a Formulist. Now me is researching various topics just like the mushrooms. But ya know that. Did ya come in contact with some demons?"

"No." The one corner of her mouth lifted itself a bit. "Just magic and strange rituals. It was a while ago, so not recent. The name is Fiadhur by the way."

"Hello." He smiled. "Ya are a Hulwar citizen?"

"Not really. My parents live there, as far as I know. But I'm an orphan, was raised by my master. She is dead. She was the one who got into trouble with demons. Became one and some Mortal Gods took care of her."

Vitugár knew what that meant: they killed her, probably with a lot of chaos, screaming, blood and tears, sprinkled with some entrails.

"Me sees..." Vitugár coughed and pulled out the bottle with mead, half full. "Me don't have much, but care to share?"

"I have bread, sausages, a bit of cheese. I know it doesn't make two dinners, but still..." She smiled again and patted her backpack.

"Ah, we could mix." He grinned behind his oiled beard. "Me has bread as well, but a lot more cheese, some shroomies, and a few chunks of dried meat. Thought me could ration it so me could reach the Electorial."

"Oh, I'm going there as well." She pulled out an iron-cast pan. "We can walk together if you like."

"Me would like that. But say, why are ya so willing to travel with me? We don't know each other."

"Well, for one I would like to have some company." She put the pan inside the flames of the fire, then threw the sausages into the frying tool. "Second I can just barbeque you in a matter of seconds if you are doing something shady. And third: you are a dwarf. You have honour. Doing something to a woman without her consent is not in your blood. So I'm more than willing to travel with you." Fiadhur grinned herself, showed perfectly white teeth. "Besides, we are both Formulists, so why shouldn't I trust you?"

"Oh...good points, ma lady." Vitugár smiled, added his mushrooms to the pan and later some cheese to make it a bit more hearty. They ate in silence, except for a few groans and rumbling noises of stomachs getting stuffed. After that Vitugár poured out his mead in two clay cups which were filled and both could still get one big gulp out of the bottle as well.

Vitugár gave Fiadhur dried meat and she nestled herself with her blanket next to him. For a human she was small, only a tad larger than a dwarf. Still, with some curves at the right places and without a beard, but small. And she smelled like Vitugár did: like dust and sweat and the smoke of the campfire.

Above the stars blinked, accompanied by a crescent moon, nestled into the black fabric of reality. That was nearly romantic.

The dwarf placed himself on his back, staring up to the sky, Fiadhur beside him. Her eyes even glowed while she wasn't looking at the fire and that was interesting enough to keep Vitugár looking. She noticed after a while.

"What?" She smiled a bit shy which was a different kind of behaviour as she showed before. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Uh, no." He smiled back and thanked Greybeard for the rest of the beard oil, he wasn't smelling bad. "Me was... uh, what did ya research? Or are ya researching something?"

She chuckled, it was a pleasant sound. For a moment he wondered if her eyes gave her nightvision or could create a bit of light so she could see in the dark.

"No. I am researching various methods and variants of Cavern Whiskey."

"Cavern Whiskey? Thats a thing?"

"It is, yes. Expensive in comparison to a normal bottle of whiskey. Right now I figured you need to have specific locations, the right circumstances, a certain way of distilling the malt or rye..." Fiadhur reached into her backpack and pulled out a notebook, worn and used. Papers sat loosely between other pages and were covered in a neat, small, and tidy handwriting. "You know how whiskey is made?"

"Yeah. Malt mostly. Distilled, filtrated, caged in barrels for a certain amount of time." nodded Vitugár.

"Good. Cavern Whiskey is... uh, not so different from the traditional way, but nearly everything is made out of stone. Except for some parts of the distillery." She opened her notebook and started to talk, showing him patterns, variants of distilleries, a lot of possibilities to store the whiskey for a long time so it can age in peace.

Minutes evolved into hours and Vitugár couldn't avert his eyes from her. She was burning with passion about this topic, she was cute, smelled good, and had a lovely voice.

As the moon was vanishing and the sun was rising in the distance, she stopped talking, drinking the last bit of mead out of her cup and smiled as she looked back at him.

"What?" asked Faidhur again, then she came closer. So close, that Vitugár could see small red particles moving inside her pupil. "You smell good."

"Ya too." he answered surprised and coughed. "Yeah, me mean it..."

"You wanna kiss?"

"Me...what? Sorry, what?" He looked for a sign that she was jesting, but she had that stern look of a woman being very serious.

"I asked, if you want to kiss. Me, preferably, if not the stone." Teasingly she raised an eyebrow. "I'm craving some company and touches. Don't think I'm doing that with every fellow traveller. You are the right person at the right place during the right time."

"Me... uhm..." Vitugár chuckled. "Me was inclined to ask as well."

"Why didn't you?"

"Ya said it yaself: honour."

"Eh." She moved on top of him, blanket on her back, encapsulating them from everything besides themselves and the fire. Fiadhur placed her hands beside his head, caressed his beard, before she laid her lips on his, making a relieved moan as she would draw breath coming from out of some deep water.

"It is cold." he murmured after a while of kissing, tender touches, and a bit of cuddling. She was already opening the buttons on his shirt he wore under the robe. He was patient. The bulge in his pants not so much.

"So?" She kissed his chest, looked him in the eyes, kissed his nose and made this small, teasing smile he adored from the beginning. "We have to move quicker."

"Me mean, if thats..."

"Psst." She closed his mouth with her lips. "Shut it. Yes. I want you. Can you do me good?"

"Trying me best, but the last time was a while ago..."

"Thats all I'm asking." She opened his pants, which were gone before he could even move a hand. She took a measuring look and smiled satisfied. Was that really a factor? Well, good, me guess?

"Shall me..." But Fiadhur was faster. Her trousers underneat the robe were gone before he could even finish the sentence, the robe followed closely behind. She did a little dance on his hip while removing her shirt, her warmth between her legs very welcoming. The rest of the moons light caressed her shoulder, the sun painted her breasts - a tad larger than an apple, a bit smaller than the inside of his hands - in a faint orange glow with a hint of shadows.

Fiadhur lifted his manhood, measured, and welcomed him inside her slightly slippery warmth with a relieved sigh, a moan, and an expecting grin. She bent down to him, kissed Vitugár greedy, her tongue warm and curious.

"Do me good." she ordered with a movement of her hips. Vitugár grinned, one hand at her breasts, one hand at her butt, kissed her again and did what he was ordered to do.

He did her good.