95 - “Sending a Message” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Late in the day, the hot summer sun was finally drooping down behind the horizon, sending reds and purples across the bottoms of the few high clouds in the sky over Dirae. The last of the street vendors along the waterfront were gathering up their wares, and the glow of lanternlight was starting to shine in the windows of the pubs and inns along the street. The few trade barges that were there at the docks that day were being tied securely in place.

Granthurg sat at a public table above the piers along the waterfront, just above his own barge. They had been built and set there by the town for the convenience of the river runners. These were the ones that drove the trade barges up and down the Wynne River, from the elvish lands in the northwestern forests and swamps, through the city of Twynne Rivers, and on to Portstown on the eastern coast. The southern fork of the Wynne, or the Lesser Wynne, also came from the west, but further south, out of the mountains.

His thoughts drifted along the river. I miss Graemalan. My city. I need to go back. I need to see my family, my home.

The Graemal mountains were high, sharp, and rocky. Granthurg pictured them in his mind. The sight of them is probably what inspired the name. It meant “Dragon’s Teeth” in a more ancient version of the Giantish language. Many times, as he and Rinkmorr rode the waters of the Lesser Wynne upriver toward them, he would see the peaks rise up over the hills and meadows of the landscape.

Rinkmorr. My boss, my friend, my brother. Where are you? What’s happened to you?

Granthurg looked down at the table before him. It was small and uncomfortable. It would probably have been fine for a human, but it was a bit clumsy for a giant. It had been built by humans, to be used by the river runners, who were mostly giants, like Granthurg and Rinkmorr. He smiled as he thought about it. Humans don’t always think things through that way.

The magical oculus gem on a tall post above him began to glow in the encroaching twilight, shining down over the street and the table. On the table before him was a single sheaf of paper, unrolled. Next to that was an unrolled leather pouch with Granthurg’s writing supplies.

With a breath, he twisted open the tight cork lid of the ink jar and set it aside, picking up the reed pen.  He dipped it and wrote.

Rinkmorr.

Greetings. I hope this letter finds you well. 

I am also well, if a bit confused. The last time we spoke, you were quite worried about something, and told me to take the barge west, along the northern Wynne. You told me that you would meet up with me. You were a bit rushed at the time, and I was a more than a bit baffled, so I didn’t have the presence of mind to set a meeting date or place. 

I’ve been waiting for you upriver in Dirae for over a month, now, and have not seen any sign of you coming this way. I’ve asked a few of the rivermen that have come from Twynne Rivers if they’ve seen you, and none of them have, or they didn’t know you.

I fear for your safety. At the time of our departure, you said that there was something that someone wanted. I’ll not talk about that in detail, since I’ve learned that there are people willing to kill for it, and I don’t want to put you in any further possible danger. At least, no more than you’re possibly already facing.

Dirae is, for the moment, peaceful. I would encourage you to make your way here and rest, and we can come to decide what you would like to do next.

Your friend and help,

Granthurg.

He let the ink dry for a moment, then rolled the paper into a thin scroll, pressing it flat. On it, he wrote: Rinkmorr, Riverman, The Old Steersman Inn, the WaterFront Quarter. He slipped the letter into a folded leather cover and tied the binding cords tight.

He stood, and carried it down the pier.

Granthurg called out to one of the other giants on a barge. “Hey, friend. You said earlier that you were traveling to Twynne Rivers. Do you do courier work?”

“I do, for a silver shard.”

Granturg stepped forward and handed him the pouch and a half-coin. “Here you go. Thanks.”

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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