Ch. 8: Through the Looking Glass (Pt. 2)

When we last left our very earnest (if slightly slow) hero, Jarthen and Jellihondor's battalion had just emerged on the other side of the Klevarcht Mountains and encountered an angry giant! In this section, we find out how Bertronius, Nelhoepher, and Lem have been amusing themselves in Perejin, as well.
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Bertronius’ ears burned a bright red as the tavern wenches sang the last lines of “Huzzah! You’re the Birthday Chap!”. At the conclusion of the song, the lasses ruffled Bertronius’ auburn hair (which was now slightly shaggy and overgrown), giggled, kissed him on the cheeks and went back to work. Bertronius, who felt a bit dazed and lightheaded after all of that attention, dug into the mushcake the wenches had brought over enthusiastically.

Nelhoepher reached over and cut himself a slice of mushcake. As he did so, he turned to Bertornius and said in a hushed tone, “Now, don’t let Lemmy know this…but I had been tryin’ me luck on them wenches earlier! They wouldn’t give me the time o’ day! Tell me, Bert….what’s yer secret?” Meanwhile, Lem continued to watch the barmaids openmouthed from afar with an amusingly dazed look on his face.

Bert grinned and blushed again. Truth be told, he was himself a little taken aback by the attentions of the bar maids. He was about to respond, but as he was opening his mouth he noticed McNab making his way across the bar carrying four large flagons of ale. A grin broke across McNab’s face as he spied the remnants of the mushcake. “Well, well! Where did that come from? And ye didn’t happen ta leave me a slice, did ye?” McNab handed each of the three young spies a large mug. “Here ye go, Bert! A pint o’ gnomish ale for ye on yer birthday! Oh, but not fer you two,” said McNab, noticing Nelhoepher and Lem’s eager faces. “I brought ye apple juice instead.”

a barmaid bearing mushcakes

*******
Though the giant was clearly very annoyed at having been so rudely awakened by the unexpected travelers, he also seemed slightly confused at their presence. He gazed at them with a suspicious look, his relatively small, close-set eyes (though in reality they were considerably larger than those of any of the rebels) scanning the party through what Jarthen recognized as the haze that comes from too much ale and too little sleep. In addition, the lad noticed a huge, but seemingly empty wine skin, and a rough-hewn pipe lying next to the broad, flat stone upon which they adventuring Rebels had caught the giant sleeping. The giant moved his immense club over his shoulder as if he was winding up to throw the weapon at the unfortunate rebels. Jarthen felt Rethnaki, who was standing next to him, tense up at the sight of this threatening movement, but the giant paused without launching an attack, and then proceeded only to scratch his prodigious back with the weapon.

After several moments spent in tense staring, the giant at last spoke in a deep, wary voice that boomed loudly against the side of the mountain. The unknown giant spoke in the strangely musical language of the giants that, to the ears of those unacquainted with this exotic tongue, often reminds the listener more of an operetta than a conversation.

"He says, ‘are ye the sprites what took me pipeweed’?" Zartheim said, translating the Ogrish dialect breathlessly. The rebels could do nothing but look at one another perplexedly, which prompted the giant to continue, with Zartheim repeating his words in common tongue for the rest of the party simultaneously.

"I was jes' mindin' me own business, jus' tendin' to me flock o' goats ye know, when a pack o' sprites snuck right up on me and took me sack o' poppletysnuff. O' course, I chased 'em far as I could, but they right-disappeared at the foot o' the mountains here, so I been watchin' this spot e'er since...I only jes shut me eyes for a quick rest when lo and behold here ye lot be."

Zartheim, after quickly conferring with Jellihondor in a hushed tone, addressed the other giant in a diplomatic tone. His conversation with the other giant in Ogrish ran as follows: "Greetings, brother giant, my name is Zartheim and I, along with the rest of these brave souls, are members of the rebel army on a mission of the utmost importance. I can assure you that we are not the perpetrators of this grievous offense against you, and of course sympathize with your plight."

The other giant looked a bit skeptical, but Zartheim continued courageously in Ogrish, "In the spirit of camaraderie that exists amongst our people, I offer you this, good sir," Zartheim said proffering his own pouch of pipeweed to the unknown giant.

"Yer a might bit small fer a giant, ain't ye?" the giant said doubtfully, but his coutenance softened perceptibly with the prospect of pipeherb. "Well, I guess I'll ha' ta take yer word fer it," he replied as he accepted the pouch from Zartheim. "Me name is Gropplenog," and he gestured to the rest of the rebels, "What are the rest o' that lot -- for they surely can't be more wee giants as well? " the giant asked squinting at the rest of the rebels.

"Our party consists of red elves in the main, along with a centaur, and a human as well," Zartheim replied informatively.

The other giant leaned closer to the rebels, appearing to scrutinize them closely before shrugging his mighty shoulders and saying that his eyes had never been particularly strong. "As long as ye ain't sprites what are goin' ta steal me poppletysnuff or me goats, I got no problem wit ye," he said in a more friendly tone.

Now that the great giant was pacified, Jellihondor asked Zartheim to make a request of the gargantuan being: "Gropplenog, seein' as how we've replaced yer poppletysnuff an' all, we were wonderin' if ye might be willin' ta take us ta village what ye be from."

"Why would ye want ta do that?" he asked in more of a curious than suspicious manner. Based on the wonder with which he regarded the more diminuitive humanoids, it seemed like this particular giant had not had tremendous experience with other races.

"Well," Jellihondor paused as he deliberately thought about his answer, "our lot is tryin' ta cross ta steppes all ta way ta ta badlands, and tis always good ta make friends along ta way." He delivered these words with that charming sort of smile that only red elves are capable (which can penetrate even the strongest of language barriers), to great effect with Gropplenog agreeing to lead the rebels to his camp, after Zartheim had translated the request.

*******“Awwwwwww! You can’t leave now! Jes’ stay an’ by me one more drink!” cried Lem as McNab stood up to leave. An hour or so into Bertornius’ birthday celebration, McNab had succumbed to Nelhoepher and Lem’s whining pleas for alcohol. The band of four had spent the next several hours consuming much gnomish ale and teaching one another various Fethilian card games, gambling what little money they had. McNab, of course, was doing a much better job holding his ale than the other three, and although he was slightly tipsy he could not help but feel a bit guilty about fleecing his three young subordinates.

McNab smiled warmly and clapped his hand on Lem’s shoulder. “I already told ye! I’ve a meetin’ in the village ta be attendin’ to! We ain’ here on holiday, ye git, we’re spies, remember?” Immediately, all four companions began giggling feverishly, realizing that the oldest and wisest of their number had just revealed their occupation loudly in a crowded bar.

McNab hushed the others while fighting off another fit of laughter. He could not deny that he would have preferred to stay with the three youngster rather than go about his duties – he was a man who had a warm, humorous disposition by nature, and Bertronius’ birthday celebration seemed to have brought out the very best in him. He had been feeling torn by work of late, overworked and wan, and the boost in morale was sorely needed. He was still quite unconvinced that Nelhoepher or Lem would make competent (much less good) spies, but their shenanigans had caused his cheeks to hurt from too much smiling for the first time in months. He could not deny that he was growing more and more affectionate towards them, despite – or in some strange way, perhaps, because of – their bumbling earnestness.

“Oh, you two leave him be!” cried Bertronius from his spot under the table. He had taken up residence there after his last bit of money had been snapped up by McNab a few hands ago. He had spent the time since singing songs tonelessly in a loud voice while charming the barmaids into occasionally feeding him snacks. Bertronius propped himself up on his elbows and continued in what he mistakenly assumed to be a chiding tone. “McNab is a very busy man with loads of important things to do, and he doesn’t need you lot fouling shite up for ‘im, and that’s because he’s really important! ‘Cause he” and here he purposefully dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “is a spy and he can’t be waiting around on us, ‘cause he has important shite to do and that doesn’t include sitting around playing cards with us! Let the man go!” Bertronius plopped back down on the floor and sighed. “Besides…if he leaves…I might be able to win my money back from you two idiots,” he said, causing another round of laughter to erupt. After Nelhoepher convinced him to buy them one more round of drinks, McNab took his leave.

*******

Gropplenog's village

Gropplenog's village consisted of a several dozen large domed huts huddled in a low valley, which protected the camp from the harsh winds that so often sweep across the rocky grasslands of the Brovnajian Steppes. From a distance the great tents and their enormous inhabitants appeared to be normal sized, but this quickly proved to be an optical illusion. The huts were ranged about a central meeting area occupied by a series of long, broad benches around a great firepit. The giants' dwellings were adorned with some of the most beautiful and intricate murals that Jarthen had ever seen, depicting great moments in this proud race's history, as well as some more mundane ones of giants engaged in commonplace activities.

One of the most striking features of the giants' camp were the herds of enormous goats that the giants kept for their food, dairy and clothing. These amazing beasts grow to nearly five feet tall at the withers, and have prodigious strength. It appeared as if some mysterious influence in these vast, empty steppes operated on the beings that dwell here, causing them all to grow to considerable proportions. Entering this town in which everything has been created for considerably larger individuals made Jarthen feel as if he himself had actually been shrunk -- it was a very curious experience indeed, and he felt that were it not for the presence of his rebel companions he would have been very much out of sorts as a result.

The inhabitants of the town took small notice of Gropplenog and his troupe of diminuitive beings. Most of them were engaged in the typical occupations of any town, with the only notable thing about them being their tremendous size. Jarthen was struck, however, by how much more open and friendly the faces of the giants were, particularly when compared with the expressions of fear and leering curiosity that he had encountered in the blue elf city of Norsa. Giants, the lad intuited from the waves and smiles that the party received even as strange wanderers in their midst, were a most amiable people that were willing to look past superficial differences in their interactions with other beings.

Zartheim, for his part, was absolutely brimming with enthusiasm. He continually nagged the still-befuddled Gropplenog with questions and stories about his own clan, the Texelfootes. Indeed, Zartheim nearly ran directly into a very old, wise looking giant as they reached one of the largest teepees in the center of camp. Despite almost being trampled on, the elderly goliath (for he still stood at least nine feet tall, though his back was stooped from extreme age) greeted them in slightly-accented common tongue colored by the most convivial of tones, "greetings strangers! I am a member of our clan's council, and I welcome ye on behalf of our people. As is tradition with our people, yer welcome to stay among us so long as ye choose. May yer journeys be blessed," he intoned these last words in a more solemn manner, while retaining a grin.

Jellihondor, stepping forward as the group's leader, made a low, respectful bow to the elderly giant before addressing him, "yer hospitality, is greatly appreciated, o'course. Our travels ha' been long an' hard -- if it ain' too much trouble, could we impose upon yer kind-nature fer a place ta bed down fer ta evenin’?"

The elf's friendly request for lodging seemed only to intensify the giant's friendliness, and he quickly led them to a hut large enough to house the entire party. The party, which was generally exhausted, lay their aching bones down on the thick, goat's wool blankets that the giants had also provided and set about to rest before what the elderly giant had promised would be a tremendous feast.

*******In the wee hours of the morning, the bar had finally begun to clear out a little. Since McNab’s departure, the three lads had found a number of ways to secure more ale despite being too young to legally purchase it. At one point, Lem had strolled casually up to the bar and grabbed some mugs, claiming to simply be getting them for his uncle – yeah…his uncle – and his uncle’s friends. Luckily, no one was paying enough attention, and he went unnoticed. Bertronius managed to convince on of the younger barmaids, a girl of no more than 16 by the name of Prilla, to give him and his friends free mugs of ale on the sly, “seeing as how it’s my birthday and all.”

Now thoroughly soused, the three companions began to wonder what exactly their fearless leader was up to – and by extension, what they themselves should be up to. “We’re spies, lads” said Lem under his breath. “Birthday’s be all fine an’ dandy and what, but we’re here fer the queen, an’ honor, an’ glory an’ shite! Erm, no offense to yer birthday, or nuthin’, Bert.”

“I know, Lemmy, none taken. You’re onto something, though, I think, ‘cause we we’re trained and sent out here to complete a mission, you know? So, we should be doing stuff just like McNab!” By this time, Bertronius had returned to the booth and was leaning over the table (and coincidentally, a decent amount of money he had won back from Nelhoepher and Lem) speaking in low tones.

After a few moments of head scratching, Nelhoepher sat up excitedly. “Lads! Lads! I think I’ve got an idea! Look at some of the patrons of this bar, yeah? Shady lot, if ye ask me – gnomes, an’….forresters, an’ shite, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so…” replied Lem in a confused, befuddled manner.

“Right, so what if….what if some o’ them were Rebel sympathizers?! We could infiltrate ‘em an' spy an' shite and have valuable information fer McNab!”

Nelhoepher sat blinking with a wide grin on his handsome face for a moment, and then another, while his brilliant plan sunk into Bertronius and Lem’s minds. Bertronius finished off the last of his ale and then smiled broadly. “That’s a finer idea than the other ideas that we have had since we’ve had any ideas tonight. I think. Anyway, we should do it!” He paused, his brow deeply furrowed in thought, before continuing. “You know I think? I think we should go ask the bartender about who’s a sympathizer!”

the possibly shady bartender with a possibly shady patron

Lem frowned. “We can’t jes’ go up an’ ask him, Bert! How do ye expec’ him to tell us anythin’ if we just go on and on about McNab an' what?”

Nelhoepher and Bertronius groaned simultaneously. “No, ye git! We get the information undercover! I think it’s a capital idea – and as the oldest an’ most manly o' us lot, I think I stand the best chance o’ gettin’ somethin’ useful out of ‘im. ‘Sides…I hold me liquor better, and you two weavin’ yer way to the bar’d be a dead giveaway.” With that, Nelhoepher hoisted himself up and worked his way to the bar in a most unsteady fashion. Bertronius and Lem watched as Nelhoepher conversed with the bartender, and made no effort to appear inconspicuous as they did so. Once back at their booth, Nelhoepher reported that the barman had been completely taken in by his stealthy façade. According to the barman, a group of Rebel sympathizers were going to meet in a clearing in the forest the very next evening. “They’re sittin’ ducks!” cried Nelhoepher triumphantly. “Look – he even drew me a map to the clearing!”