[network] @Bowman; day 005 9:24 PM; Dramatic Irony [open] [eventual death]

[pointnshoot]

[It was only a matter of time before Bard's habit of packing his tablet up with everything else during the day came back to really bite him in the ass, and it looks like today is that day. If he'd had it out, he might have caught the warning to get inside; why, if he'd even remembered to check it last night after that excitement running into a whole two other people, he might have seen Clayton's own post about getting locked out and thought to travel more carefully today.

But no. Bard doesn't have the right set of habits for either of these warnings, so when he got back to the house he'd thought to spend the night in, the door refused to open. So, too, had those windows he could reach, so before long Bard retreated to the first pile of rubble he remembered that had an actual corner to sit in. With a little effort and judicious application of force, he was able to break the boards he'd been carrying into smaller pieces; it wouldn't be enough firewood to get him through the night, but it would last him long enough to put together the day's notes for Stephanie and get his thoughts in order.

Which brings us to now.]

[Video]

[So. Here's an old(-ish) guy, lit by the blue light of his tablet screen and a bit of amber light that might be from a small fire off-screen. A couple of you might recognize him, but for the most part he's been keeping to the metaphorical shadows so far. Tonight that's not really an option. The vaguely displeased look on his face--well, it's actually pretty normal for him, but in this particular instance it's appropriate.]

I suppose it's going to be unreasonably cold yet again tonight. Perhaps I will endure it to see the morning come, but if I should pass, there are things I would say. First: I am wearing a hauberk and have with me a knife. Struck together, they make a reliable enough spark for starting fires, and anyone who needs such a thing is welcome to them when I no longer do. If you would prefer to use the knife for other things only, I'm by the northern wall of snow next to a house with many boxes full of rocks, some of which should be small enough to use as part of a flint and steel.

Second: if any of you get out of here and find yourself able, please take a message to my children. They can be found in the city of Dale, south of Erebor, and their names are Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda. I would have them know that I died here, and that I would have returned to them if I could.

[He pauses for a moment, thinking things over, before continuing.]

I suppose that's really all I have to say. If anyone wants to try to keep me company through the night, you'd be more than welcome, but don't feel obligated to sacrifice what rest is to be found here.

Comments

[croi]

I've nowhere else to go. [Well. Why not. He does like irrational promises.] You have my word, bowman. If I find a way to your children I'll tell them what came of you and look after them as if they were of my own blood for as long as they need. And...if I can I'll also avenge you.

[pointnshoot]

I don't know what I've done to earn such a kindness when we barely know each other, but you have my deepest thanks.

[Yeah, he's one of those guys who can dish it out but isn't used to taking it, except replace violence and insults with boundless decency. It really means a lot to him, though.]

[croi]

Ha. [A long drawn out ha.] Well, if I'm taking the time to find them in the first place then I might as well stay there for a while, and if they're as young as you say they'll need the help. Besides, it's not like-

[THUMP. After a moment:]

Sorry. [The football fell.] Ignore that.

[pointnshoot]

[Bard is totally about to praise Lancer for being such a good and selfless man, but--]

Are you making a mess over there? These houses are ruined enough as it is.

[At least he doesn't actually sound serious. Maybe some interesting clue would be revealed by breaking something.]

[croi]

I didn't do anything. [Also is amused.] A ball fell. [After a moment a picture is sent over to Bard. It is what you'd expect.] The walls here are so worn that the slightest nudge sends things tumbling down.

[...]

Sorry.

[Because at least he's got walls.]

[pointnshoot]

[Huh, that's the same kind of ball Bard found the day before, in the house he wound up staying the night in. The reminder that Lancer is safely indoors while he isn't completely passes Bard by.]

Are you near the wall of snow? The one to the north. I've seen a ball like that one recently.

[croi]

[Either that reminder passed him by or Bard's facing his incoming death with stoic bravado and manly grit, so 10/10 either way.]

I haven't been that far up. I started near the other wall. Headed west and then north. It's a strange shape for a ball, isn't it. Makes me wonder what was passing through the mind of the first person who made one. Accident or something else?

[pointnshoot]

[Well, he does have pretty deep reserves of both, but in this case Bard's running on something else entirely.]

Something about making it fly farther, with points like those. [He's an archer, he recognizes these things.] If you were in the same house as I was the other night, I thought you might be able to provide overlapping information for Stephanie's map, but it seems instead we've got ourselves a sport that was popular among the previous residents. That may still help determine where we're supposed to be.

[croi]

There's other things of that kind as well here. Look.

[Picture #2 is sent. There's a lacrosse racket, a frisbee, and other miscellaneous bits of junk which are so junk they're not worth mentioning.]

I'm thinking of taking the racket. Strange as it might sound, it's felt weird walking around without something I can poke at things with. Maybe I could use it to throw the ball. Send it over the wall. See what comes of that.

[pointnshoot]

[Hmm. Hm hm hm. It certainly isn't much, but it's still more than nothing, and that lacrosse racket at least looks like it could be useful enough.]

It might be useful for digging in the snow if you lined that net with something, but I know what you mean about feeling better. My little knife has been a comfort these last few nights, though all I've used it for is starting fires.

[croi]

You don't realize what you're used to until it's taken away.

[...and that caused him to pause and stare at the stick, thoughtfully.




And this is the point in which he got up, grabbed the lacrosse stick, and twirled it around slightly (only slightly, because it was a tight and enclosed space) in a way which would imply that he spent some time handling large sticks which probably had a pointy end, but given that this is voice and not video all of this would be lost on Bard. What wouldn't be lost would be the slight noise of relief he made. Because he lost his magic the first time he died. He also lost his berserker fits. Then he lost Gae Bolg the second time he died. Given the pattern, if he'd picked up the stick and realized he had no idea how to poke it around in a vaguely menacing fashion because it's a lacrosse stick and not a spear he'd be...startled and annoyed, and yet deeply unsurprised.] You know what I miss?

[Lots of things. Fortunately 'how to poke with stick' wasn't one of his losses, but lots of things.]

Having an obvious enemy.

[pointnshoot]

[Lancer's right, of course. Bard is used to having little enough, but even at home there had been resources--parts for passable weapons, animals to hunt, wild plants to forage. This place is nearly as barren and hopeless as Dale had been, and it frustrates him beyond the telling.

But he catches that little relieved noise Lancer makes, and he cannot resent his finding something.]

Aye, that would be a fine thing to have about now. Someone to hold responsible and defeat so we could go home without any more fuss.

[croi]

It would be a nice thing. We're poorly armed but we could at least daydream about punching the bastard in the face and finding a way out, and we'd have a name to curse. And we could get our things back. They took a spear from me, like I think I told you.