A Thud of Frozen Rust
A hefty thud against his rump and blinding crimson of dawn flooded his eyes, waking his hunched form. A blistering emptiness fills his hand, did he drop it? His shoulders crack as he shifts, the quiet chatter of the cart fills his ears. Did one of the others take it, aged dwarven fire rum ain’t cheap. Surely, surely they would at least ask. The eye crust flakes off. His eyes landing to the figure before him, a stumpy blonde half-elf. The cream ivory tankard doesn’t look to be anywhere on… Treave? He couldn’t recall their name but it began with a T he was sure of it. His tongue trods against his lips as another tremorous thump hits, blood dripping from his tongue.
Crashing to the side he could barely brace himself. Forge mother that hurt like an orcan axe. If he was younger he could have taken the brunt of it without worrying about cracking a bone. It didn’t feel broken, a silent sigh left him, thankfully his hammer tends to rest in his left rather than his right. His tongue on the other hand hurts like a tiefling’s horn shaving treatment. The groaning of those around him invade his ears, for those who once slept they were now awake. The delicate scrapings of glass rolling drew his attention back to the half pint elf. His eyes dart to the half-elf, the bastard, he’s still asleep. He will bark at the half-sized elf later, when he could give him a proper thrashing.
The tankard cracks slightly, barely a droplet of the rum escapes. He glares back at the half-elf, the bastard truly did drink it all. Why else would his tankard be under the young bastard. A sulken breath escapes his teeth, his eyes slam shut, and he breathes again. He softly stramples over to his tankard, picking it up with his hand he turns it over once or twice. The crack left a maggot sized hole through the side of it. He should have known better not to pass out, let alone drink from it around the others. Then again he didn’t have another one to drink from. Looks like instead of food in town he was going to spend the gold on a new tankard. He looked over the side of the cart to see the wheels came completely off the axle.
“Ah, it was shoddy this entire time.”
The dusken complexion of the coachman came from around the side of the cart to greet him. He didn’t know much about the caravan’s crew other than they came from a not so trustworthy guild. Then again that would explain the metal breaking.
“Oh you’ve awaken Dulrik Bronzehammer , then again everyone should be after this blasted thing flew off.”
The man let out a bellowing laugh. With a wrinkled half-smile he decided to humor him.
“Everyone but the lad in front of me, poor bastard wet his tongue of a wee bit too much on fire rum I think.”
Elves are barely able to hold their liquor let alone an elf barely taller than himself. Dulrik planted his feet down from the cart, the crunch of the snow crackling under his boot. He might as well look at the cart to see the specifics of what was wrong.
“Oh the guard, poor kid.”
Guard? This blasted thief is a guard? Kind of young aint he?
“He work for you then?”
A laugh blasts out from the man, Dulrik followed his gaze over to the drunk.
“Seven heavens no, the half-pint wouldn’t stop running his mouth when paying for the trip. Ah. No offense Dulrik.”
“None taken.”
Dulrik bends down to check the axle, the wood is still good. From what he could tell, his nail scratched his face as he glanced at it. Wood work ain't much of his expertise but he could tell the wood is somewhat decent. The metal on the other hand could barely pass for korbold grade iron, the thing is full of holes and rusted to all hells. Dulrik caught the coachmen’s form in the corner of his eye slide down next to his own. His brow raised toward the coachmen glancing underneath, it's his carriage he should know whats wrong with it. It took a few seconds of him squinting at it for him to do something, a smile and his hand struck his palm. He turned to Dulrik and pointed to the broken axle.
“Can you fix this.”
With his mouth agape and eyes wide he turned to the axle before going back to the coachman. He can’t be serious.
“Sorry, not without materials and pay. I need to replace a tankard.”
“Are you sure?”
“Enough to walk away to clear out my system. Be right back.”
He walked away from the coachman a good 10 yards, the cold nipping at his scalp and nose. As we walked he could hear the man curse out, apparently he had a spare but it came out of his pay. The wind wasn’t so bad but if it were worse it would have frozen his liquor. There was a decent divit to use in the distance, roughly two yards of iced green to walk over. He stood over an elvish elderberry bush, naked from the cold of winter.
Fresh prints trailed from behind him as he made his way back to the carriage, his attitude much more sociable after his business had concluded. Maybe instead of giving the guard a thrashing he will just charge him more for his wares. The guards are good business anyway. The kid is probably a young conscript anyway, can’t blame him for wanting to get wasted. A warm chuckle escapes his mouth before he stops. The thud of his foot beneath the snow, dwarven iron?
A kick once more, it's definitely dwarven iron. Bare fingers brush the snow off the metal, orange and rusty. That was probably a mistake, then again if the world hasn’t killed him yet then this won’t. He stopped to look at his fingers briefly before tucking them into his sleeve. His muscles strained as he pulled it from the snow, whatever it is, its light as a hare but stuck in frozen mud. It's broken, probably part of a cart, no, a shard of a blade. The craftsmanship is familiar but he couldn’t place it. The other side is lumpy, a brand maybe? Turning it over, it fell, entrenching itself back into the ground. The crest, he knew that family crest or atleast the blacksmith.
“Nornan.”
His pupils constrict locked onto the object before turning to the cart. That’s where he ran to after he left. He couldn’t tell if Nornan was running to Mythrite or running away from it. Dulrik began to hustle to the cart, he could not determine what was worse. Knowing his pupils fate or confronting them.
Crashing to the side he could barely brace himself. Forge mother that hurt like an orcan axe. If he was younger he could have taken the brunt of it without worrying about cracking a bone. It didn’t feel broken, a silent sigh left him, thankfully his hammer tends to rest in his left rather than his right. His tongue on the other hand hurts like a tiefling’s horn shaving treatment. The groaning of those around him invade his ears, for those who once slept they were now awake. The delicate scrapings of glass rolling drew his attention back to the half pint elf. His eyes dart to the half-elf, the bastard, he’s still asleep. He will bark at the half-sized elf later, when he could give him a proper thrashing.
The tankard cracks slightly, barely a droplet of the rum escapes. He glares back at the half-elf, the bastard truly did drink it all. Why else would his tankard be under the young bastard. A sulken breath escapes his teeth, his eyes slam shut, and he breathes again. He softly stramples over to his tankard, picking it up with his hand he turns it over once or twice. The crack left a maggot sized hole through the side of it. He should have known better not to pass out, let alone drink from it around the others. Then again he didn’t have another one to drink from. Looks like instead of food in town he was going to spend the gold on a new tankard. He looked over the side of the cart to see the wheels came completely off the axle.
“Ah, it was shoddy this entire time.”
The dusken complexion of the coachman came from around the side of the cart to greet him. He didn’t know much about the caravan’s crew other than they came from a not so trustworthy guild. Then again that would explain the metal breaking.
“Oh you’ve awaken Dulrik Bronzehammer , then again everyone should be after this blasted thing flew off.”
The man let out a bellowing laugh. With a wrinkled half-smile he decided to humor him.
“Everyone but the lad in front of me, poor bastard wet his tongue of a wee bit too much on fire rum I think.”
Elves are barely able to hold their liquor let alone an elf barely taller than himself. Dulrik planted his feet down from the cart, the crunch of the snow crackling under his boot. He might as well look at the cart to see the specifics of what was wrong.
“Oh the guard, poor kid.”
Guard? This blasted thief is a guard? Kind of young aint he?
“He work for you then?”
A laugh blasts out from the man, Dulrik followed his gaze over to the drunk.
“Seven heavens no, the half-pint wouldn’t stop running his mouth when paying for the trip. Ah. No offense Dulrik.”
“None taken.”
Dulrik bends down to check the axle, the wood is still good. From what he could tell, his nail scratched his face as he glanced at it. Wood work ain't much of his expertise but he could tell the wood is somewhat decent. The metal on the other hand could barely pass for korbold grade iron, the thing is full of holes and rusted to all hells. Dulrik caught the coachmen’s form in the corner of his eye slide down next to his own. His brow raised toward the coachmen glancing underneath, it's his carriage he should know whats wrong with it. It took a few seconds of him squinting at it for him to do something, a smile and his hand struck his palm. He turned to Dulrik and pointed to the broken axle.
“Can you fix this.”
With his mouth agape and eyes wide he turned to the axle before going back to the coachman. He can’t be serious.
“Sorry, not without materials and pay. I need to replace a tankard.”
“Are you sure?”
“Enough to walk away to clear out my system. Be right back.”
He walked away from the coachman a good 10 yards, the cold nipping at his scalp and nose. As we walked he could hear the man curse out, apparently he had a spare but it came out of his pay. The wind wasn’t so bad but if it were worse it would have frozen his liquor. There was a decent divit to use in the distance, roughly two yards of iced green to walk over. He stood over an elvish elderberry bush, naked from the cold of winter.
Fresh prints trailed from behind him as he made his way back to the carriage, his attitude much more sociable after his business had concluded. Maybe instead of giving the guard a thrashing he will just charge him more for his wares. The guards are good business anyway. The kid is probably a young conscript anyway, can’t blame him for wanting to get wasted. A warm chuckle escapes his mouth before he stops. The thud of his foot beneath the snow, dwarven iron?
A kick once more, it's definitely dwarven iron. Bare fingers brush the snow off the metal, orange and rusty. That was probably a mistake, then again if the world hasn’t killed him yet then this won’t. He stopped to look at his fingers briefly before tucking them into his sleeve. His muscles strained as he pulled it from the snow, whatever it is, its light as a hare but stuck in frozen mud. It's broken, probably part of a cart, no, a shard of a blade. The craftsmanship is familiar but he couldn’t place it. The other side is lumpy, a brand maybe? Turning it over, it fell, entrenching itself back into the ground. The crest, he knew that family crest or atleast the blacksmith.
“Nornan.”
His pupils constrict locked onto the object before turning to the cart. That’s where he ran to after he left. He couldn’t tell if Nornan was running to Mythrite or running away from it. Dulrik began to hustle to the cart, he could not determine what was worse. Knowing his pupils fate or confronting them.
I quite like the language of the vignette. I feel like your choice of words helped to very clearly convey the type of people Dulrik and the coachmen were. However, there were a number of grammatical errors I saw. There were a few times that a comma was used when I believe a period would've been much more appropriate, or there's a period where a comma would probably suffice, such as "Dulrik bends down to check the axle, the wood is still good. From what he could tell, his nail scratched his face as he glanced at it." I personally would've written something like this as "Dulrik bends down to check the axle. The wood is still good, from what he could tell. His nail scratched his face as he glanced at it." Nornan also seems a bit shoehorned in at the end. I expected the end of the vignette to be related to Dulrik fixing the caravan in some way, so a new character being introduced at the very end for nothing to happen with them leaves something to be desired. I largely imagine that's because of the constraints that come with the vignette being about 1000 words, though.