The Search, a story about a misinformed commoner.

[Cheomesh]

This is one of two shorts I wrote for an old setting.  I created them to ease the transition into a whole new era of my world, and they have nothing to do with my current setting.  I've gotten some feedback but I thought I'd share it with you here.  My current rating for it is "poor".

Search

At 5'7' Rogal Worsteg was a tall man, even so for a commoner of some means.  He was a young man too, having just reached his 19th year on his father's farm, lands leased from Roland Ergastor, a noble of Rom.  As safe as the farm was, protected by the might of the cavalry and patrolled by the trained footmen in Roland's service, Rogal hated farm life.  It was hard work for little return, and often times his brothers would disappear for weeks at a time, finding work in the village nearby.  A nice village it was too, slowly growing into a town in its own right, though not one to rival ones in far away parts he'd heard of in stories.  He hated the harsh rent his father had to pay in service and goods to the noble, though he had heard the noble himself pays similar tax and even has to ride to war to support the Observer in Rom, should the need be.
But no farm life would fill his future, Rogal was sure.  He had set out from home on a quest of his own, a quest to find ettercap eggs.  When visiting the village, he had heard a Kadist wizard had put up a notice asking for the eggs of a beast known as an ettercap.  He couldn't read, but it was being read by a messenger delivering the decree aloud so he knew full well what the reward was '" a mighty 500 gold coins, far more than he had ever seen in his life.  That had been a week ago, and the thought had burned his mind since.  Five hundred gold seemed a fortune more than what he brought to the village trade center that day, a set of eight woven shirts his mother had made to trade from excess linen.  Through bartering he managed to sell the set for nine silver, was more than they normally go for.  Upon returning home, his mother let him keep one silver coin to himself for his troubles.
The day before he left on this self-imposed quest, he returned to the village to buy what he thought he'd need.  With him he brought his fathers langseax, a finely crafted weapon he used in his younger days as a militia man, plenty of hard bread, a sling, a full water skin, a blanket, and all the money he possessed, three whole silver.  It was early, and the trade square not yet populated. Rogal had put his time in at the militia field, a small patch of earth just outside this very village, and had learned to use the sling and the spear, as well as the small shield.  It was items like this he was looking for, something longer than the langseax thrust into his belt.  He had heard bandits roamed some of the forest out there, and he intended to be prepared in case one crossed his path.  He was fortunate enough to find a peddler packing up his wagon, pulled by one of the monstrously sized beetles popular with the orkfolk, which he himself was, but all he had on hand was wicker goods.  As Rogal turned to walk off, the orc began to speak.  'Young sir,' he began, 'what is one like yourself doing at this hour, looking for weapons?  And why do you carry some with you now?  Is there conflict near?  Are goblins raiding the country side?'  Rogal turned to face him, shifting the haversack carrying his food to the other shoulder.  'Ney sir, I seek adventure and wish to carry arms fitting my right as a free man in Rom's holdings.  I have heard tales of brigandage and wish to guard myself against such attacks if the need be.'  The orc peered down his nose at him, sizing the young man up.  'If that's the case, then I have a few things you may need.'  The orc reached into his cart, shuffling the goods around.  He pulled out a few items and presented them to the young man.  'I'm no arms dealer, but I do happen across the occasional good an upstart like yourself might be interested in.'  The orc held forth one item 'This is a shield of wicker, and it can be yours for a mere silver.  It's out of fashion, sure enough and hardly anyone makes them anymore, but it's a solid defense against most arms, if you know what you're doing.'  It looked sturdy enough to Rogal, and it was even faced in hide, likely from a tridon or deino.  The orc held up another item, this one much larger.  'This would be wicker armor.  I had come here with a bunch of it to try and sell it to your local militia, but it seems they've better already.  I'm eager to offload some of it, though, so it can be yours for another silver.  In fact, I'll give you them both for only the one.'  Seizing this deal, he told the orc he'd take it, and paid the silver.  The orc even taught him to wear it properly, which didn't take long considering the simple construction of the armor.  This orc had, in his past, been a fighter, and traveled across the mountains fighting all sorts of beasts and brigands.  In his old age, however, he was no longer much of an adventurer, content to travel on the back of a wagonload of goods.
Feeling tougher already in his wicker armor, he strode around town with it.  It was made of densely woven reeds, and was light weight.  It protected his chest well, and his back, and even came with a lightly padded undergarment stretching down to his mid thigh.  He had the distinct impression that this quilted under-armor item was made of recycled rages, however.  The small shield slung across his back, and the langseax thrust into his belt, he strode about looking for anything else he could find before setting out towards the forest.  The village didn't really have much in the way of need for weapon smiths or armor smiths, but they did have a small time blacksmith who repaired tools and ploughs.  He was, however, busy working his garden this morning and was not selling anything remotely useful for Rogal today.
Out on the trail an hour after coming to the village, the early summer sun was already climbing.  It was still cool, owing to the southern weather, and he still wore his new wicker armor as he hiked, trying to get used to it.  He traveled until late in the evening, his day lonely and uneventful as he traveled from the flat grasses near his home to the forests.  He wondered if his mother and father worried, as he had not told them he was leaving.  He felt bad, even more so for having borrowed his father's weapon without asking, but he was sure all he had to do was get one, maybe two of those eggs to be set for life, and he felt that would more than make up for the heart ache.  He had been told in town the day he heard of the offer made by the wizard that an ettercap egg looked a lot like a spider's egg sack, only much larger and heavier.  He had heard of ettercaps in stories before, how some evil wizard sought once to take over the world with them, and how a band of mighty heroes had thwarted him in battle.
As the sun began to sink behind the trees, he set up a simple camp.  As he sat with his back against a tree, he heard voices filtering through the trees ahead, coming along the path he was to take the next morning.  It wasn't long before the source of the voices became apparent, a group of people riding draft horses.  Fearing bandits at first, he slid back away from the path, a wagon trail leading to an old lumber camp no longer used, and watched as they rode closer.  Riding on their horses casually, the group was recounting some tale or another.  There were four of them, and hanging from the saddle of two was a collection of horned, fur-clad heads; minotaurs!  He observed the characters once more, one of which was an orc, and judging by the holy symbol, a cleric of Vigrid. Two were clad in expensive maille armor, and the third wore simple clothing, though of good cut and clearly very expensive.  Rogal stepped out and greeted them, hoping he could ask them to share his camp for the night and maybe even get them to help him on his quest.  One of the horses reared at his approach, and the three armored figures drew weapons as the fourth raised his hands before him.  Seeing no threat in this single figure, they lowered their weapons, and questioned his presence.  'I am Rogal Worsteg.  I've come from a nearby farmstead to seek my fortune gathering ettercap eggs, and heard you approach and hoped to offer you my camp tonight.'  One of the horses snorted, but no response came.
'You're hunting'¦ettercaps?' said the unarmored one.
'I am only after the eggs good sir.  A wizard in the city of Rom offered the sum of five hundred gold for each egg brought to him.'
The cleric spoke next, in his gravely orcish voice.  'Tell me, young man, why would a wizard need a common-born like you to fetch eggs for him?  If he wanted them so much why would he not grab them on his own for free?'
'Well'¦' the commoner replied, his mind working. 'Why do you have minotaur heads?'
'Bounty' one of the armor clad humans responded.
'Wouldn't the people paying the bounty get them for free if they wanted them dead?'
The second armor clad human spoke this time.  'Minotaurs are dangerous beasts, capable of ripping the head off a man.  I'd know, because we came as a group of six to hunt them only two days ago.  An ettercap is an even more dangerous foe.  The minotaur will seek to fight you fairly, toe to toe.  An ettercap will never fight you, and since the day they entered this world they have only made traps to ensnare animals and foolish adventurers as food.  Do you think your pitiful wicker will stop one from killing you?  You don't even have a helmet!  Turn yourself around right now before you get yourself killed in the worst way you can dream of.'
Rogal swallowed, and remained silent.  He didn't care much for being lectured, and hated it when his father did so when he neglected some chore or another.  He looked up again to see the cleric had ridden forward.  He held out two bottles towards the young man.  'May Vigrid be with you sir.  Good luck follows you on your quest if your heart is right.'  Rogal took them, stared at them but couldn't understand the words written across them.  Looking back up at the cleric, he interjected before Rogal could speak.  'The dark brown one will cure poison.  The light blue one will cure most wounds you may suffer on your adventure.  Use them wisely, for they're worth ten times what you own each.'  The cleric rejoined his group and without any further word they rode off, leaving the young man alone and feeling much less tough than he did the day before.  It was hard to sleep that night.
Early the next morning he set back out on the trail.  A full night sleep had renewed his resolve, but he felt a new fear gnawing at him.  He was sure he would be successful.  He never planned to actually FIGHT an ettercap, just sneak in and steal an egg.  It couldn't be that hard, could it?  He'd heard that these creatures were slow minded, far below human or orc in inelegance.  He was far more worried about the blood thirsty bandits that attacked caravans and occasionally sacked farmsteads here and there.  Brigands were no mere animal, brigands had weapons.  Brigands could run, could ambush, and came in numbers. The thickening of the trees and the sudden drop in temperature told him he was in the thick part of the forest now, and as he realized it the old logging camp came into view up ahead.
The camp had been in use several years ago, and his brothers, both older than he and now married with their own children, sometimes worked at it between seasons when they were needed on the farm.  It had been abandoned when the proprietor had died.  It had dried up a source of revenue for those near it but it proved too far away and unprotected to encourage anyone to buy it or take over after the childless owner had passed on.  It had only made lumber for export anyways, all the farmsteads and the village having plenty of their own wood to cut down for building and heating.  It was this very camp that was used as the landmark in the wizards announcement, as there were apparently numerous sightings of ettercap nests within a day's walk from the camp proper.
Approaching the old work ground Rogal dropped his haversack and took a look around.  The camp consisted of three buildings, one of which had fully collapsed for some reason, leaving the other two fully intact.  It wouldn't be a bad place to own, he thought to himself, all you would need is tools as the buildings are still up, including one of the lodges.  'When I get my fortune,' he said aloud, 'I think I will pay some people to work this place for me, and I'll be able to earn even more money!'  His words fell on no ears, of course, unless the ears of the bugs buzzing in his own ears counted for something.  The evening was coming on, so Rogal thought he'd spend the night indoors this time.  He inspected the closer of the two buildings, realizing there was a large hole in the roof.  Glancing at the second, he realized the door had been removed or otherwise broken off, and the inside dark.  Checking the roof, he saw it was solid and decided he'd make camp there tonight.
Easing himself out of his wicker armor, Rogal built himself a fire.  He'd not been willing to make one the night before, thinking it would attract cut-throats, but he felt much safer here.  Putting his wicker back on, and taking his shield and langseax out, he cut at the air while his fire burnt down enough to cook over.  He'd have warm meat tonight, even if it was dried out for travel.  He cut clumsily.  It was obvious to anyone with a cursory knowledge of swordsmanship that he had no idea as to what he was doing, leaving constant openings, never recovering from an attack, and hardly ever shifting his feet from where he stood.  He felt tougher on the inside though, and felt he was beginning to really know what he was doing in his new armor.  His fire warmed the air nicely.  It wasn't exactly cold like the spring could be, but there had been a cool streak of late, that which comes every few years or so, foretelling a rainy summer.  The vineyards near the village chapel to Cheomesh would be mighty fine this year indeed.
He heard a sound behind him like a beam falling from its hold, and crashing to the ground.  Whirling to face the sound, he failed to see anything in the failing light of the sun, or the brightening light of the fire.  Holding his langseax at his side and his shield cocked awkwardly in front of him, he approached the source of the sound: the opening of the building he'd chosen to sleep in.  He approached, raising his langseax above his head (though poorly aligning the edge so the next strike he would take could only result in failure.), peering into the opening.  He perceives a  scrabbling noise beyond the dark portal, and as he takes another step, sees eight white spots appear before him.
The realization of what peered from the darkness at him came far too late for him to properly react.  The beast, a large spider, pounced towards the startled young man, who instinctively swings downwards at the oncoming foe.  His poorly aligned weapon skips of the monsters hide, however, and he is hit and knocked to the ground, the spiders fangs piercing down through his wicker armor.  Immediately he felt a warm, foul smelling fluid spill across his chest.  The spider released him, backing off and waiting for the poison to take effect.  By the grace of some god, however, he was unscathed!  The armor, being too thick for the spider's fangs to penetrate, had saved his life by preventing the toxin from being injected.  It ran down his chest and legs, but did him no harm.
He charged at the spider.  His older brother had killed one before, a hunter like this, back on the farm.  He knew from the local witch that spiders could only inject their foul venom once a day before having to rest and regain it.  He also knew from the local witch that spiders are not very sturdy in combat.  He kept coming, hoping to finish this beast off, lest it come back in the night to finish him.  Rearing it's forelegs and digging in, the spider attempted to strike fear into Rogals heart.  It nearly worked, but he was too close by then, and he swung, this time with better accuracy, cutting off one of those extended forelegs.
Releasing another chittering sound, this time obviously the sound of its fangs rubbing together, the spider hesitated as the limb fell to the ground.  Seizing the opportunity, Rogal attacked again, a clumsy and untutored strike, hitting the spider dead across the eyes.  This was followed up by another cut from above onto it's 'head', the blinded spider helpless.  Several more assaults from all angles followed, long after the spider was clearly dead.
Sweating, panting, and obviously scared shitless Rogal fell to the ground, sitting upright and staring at his first real kill.  The spider was a mess alright, and very dead.  It had been yellow, with black bands.  Or perhaps black with yellow bands?  Rogal was unsure, and didn't feel like it mattered.  Standing, he searched the spiders corpse for anything it might have had stuck to it.  He had heard tales of trapping spiders with sticky bodies before.  He found nothing.  Returning to his fire, still burning strong, he thrust a half rotted branch into the flames.  Returning to the building, the thrust the burning branch into the portal before him as he entered, hoping to shock back any other hunters waiting in ambush.
The chamber was empty, devoid of spiders.  Relived, he checked out the contents of the room.  He found a rusted axe in one corner, still in usable shape but in need of some service.  Sliding his langseax into his belt he grasped the axe in his right hand, feeling a tad more secure without his shield.  A quick search revealed nothing else about the building.  Returning to the fire, he struggled out of his damp armor and clothing.  He was grateful to the gods that he had survived his first encounter, and piling stones, sacrificed a small portion of his meal to Cheomesh and Charlatha, the god and goddess pair his parents had always worshiped.  Deciding to sleep by the fire tonight, he broke out his blanked and bedroll and slept under the stars, shirtless, praying he'd live to see morning.
Rogal rose.  He was stiff from the hard ground and the fire had gone out.  Standing, he stretched and surveyed the nearby area.  Nothing had attempted to assail him during the night, or so he guessed by the fact that he was still alive.  His affects where dry, and donning them he collected his gear and set off in the direction the decree claimed ettercap nests laid in.  After a few hours of traveling he heard a loud, low droning noise.  Ducking behind a tree, he spotted a solitary giant wasp.  It was hovering close to the ground, above and behind a hunter spider.  Clearly, it was attempting to attack it, and Rogal remembered the witch telling the children about great wasps that bore eggs into temporarily paralyzed victims so their young could consume the hapless person alive.  The adults had always said it was myth, a tale to frighten the younger children into not venturing too far from home, but maybe it was true after all?  The wasp was successful in its attempt, stinging the spider.  The spider lurched, stricken.  As the wasp landed, however, a second spider made its appearance.  Bursting forth from some underground hide-out, it seized the wasp, biting it, and pulling it back into its hide out.  This trap-door hiding creature was much larger than either the spider he just saw stunned, or the spider he fought the night before.  He vouched to avoid that direction.
Moving along, he was attentive to the sounds of the forest.  The occasional Pteradon's squack could be heard overhead, but otherwise it was silent.  Around midday, he discovered himself an enormous web.  Strung between two trees, the sticky net was obviously laid by some large spider.  Curious, he scanned the tree tops for sign of the spider, but found none.  Taking a small, slender branch, he tossed it at the net from distance, entangling it within the sticky confines of the trap.  As expected, this triggered the spider to come down from its perch, just like the much smaller spiders at home, when flies trap themselves in its home.  Investigating the stick, the spider sensed at it with its forelegs and pedipalps.  Rejecting the 'prey', it climbed back up into the tree tops, curling within a bit of leaves held together by more webs.  Rogal kept this in mind for the next web he came across.  A mere half mile from this encounter, he stumbled upon a gristly sight.  A minotaur, standing erect and webbed against a tree.  More precisely, it was the remains of a minotaur '" all that remained was a dry, hairy husk.  It was as if its insides were sucked away, leaving only the outsides.  Shuddering, Rogal turned away.  He wanted nothing to do with that sort of fate, and headed further in the direction he was supposed to go.
The sun on its way down, he happened across another dead beast, this time unrecognizable within the cocoon of webbing holding it.  Stepping past this, he glanced up at the trail and spotted a clutch of eggs, sitting in the open.  Their large size and whispy, cloth like nature gave them away as ettercap eggs right away.  Glancing around, even above into the trees, Rogal failed to see any spiders or ettercaps lying in ambush for this wonderful prize.  Hefting his axe, he unslung the haversack from his shoulder.  His shield strapped securely to his back, he moved in and grasped an egg.  It was larger than he had expected, but the sack should easily be able to hold two without any problems, he thought.  He moved further into the nest to grasp a second one, and as he moved over he noticed the nest was built, somewhat oddly, on the side of a small cliff, maybe 8' in height.  He peered over the edge, wondering what would be down there to make an animal pick the spot.  Hoping for a pond or another source for clean water to wash the sticky poison residue from his gear, he instead got a face full of web, and an attacking ettercap on him instead.
Crying out in fear and shock, he attempted to break free of the net.  The more he struggled, however, the worse it got, and he quickly began to panic.  The ettercap, a tall, purple beast, leered down at him with all eight unfeeling eyes.  'NO!' he screamed aloud to nobody in particular.  'NO NO NO GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME!' he repeated over and over in panic.  The ettercap struck, driving its needle-like mouth parts into the unprotected flesh of his throat, bypassing the armor that had saved him thus far.  He kept screaming until the poison took effect, slowing his motions.  Still perfectly able to scream but simply unable to move, Rogal could only stare and make useless please towards the 'dumb beast' as it began to consume him.  Wasting no time for Rogals inevitable death by the toxin, the beast tore into the wicker armor, wrecking it completely in a single stroke.  It then tore into his unprotected belly, rending out his intestines and other internals in a bloody cut from the creatures talons.  It ate them there, right before Rogal's still screaming face.  Reaching in again, it pulled out more of his internals, a mere seconds having passed by.  Unleashing a screech not of this world, Rogal looked on as his liver and guts were inhaled by this fell creature of otherworldly prowess. The screaming stopped then, Rogal having lapsed into unconsciousness, or quite possibly death, as most of his insides were now inside another living creature.
Having finished it's meal, the mother ettercap retreated her two egg sacks.  One was a decoy, the closer towards the approach to her nest.  Inside was contained only rocks and small glittering round objects the color of the sun, taken from a few would-be murderers of her children.  The second, the one she used to complete her trap, was very much a child, soon to be hatching.  The pink food creature wouldn't have made it more than two days before it burst open on him anyways, so the creature was at a loss as to what his intentions were with her child.  The ettercap mother inspected the sack and pulled out a few bits of nasty, cold items that at one point might have been food.  Nothing else was to be found and the ettercap, disappointed at finding nothing new for her growing pile of head pots, resumed her position along the side of the cliff, awaiting the next stupid victim to raid her nest.

M.

[Cheomesh]

That bad huh?  I just realized that copy-paste keeps SHIT formatting D:

M.

[Drizztrocks]

Yeah I have that problem with formatting also, that really needs to be fixed. But I sat and read through all of it, and it was cool and entertaining. I really liked the part with the spiders, you're excitment combat type scenes are pretty good, I would just work on how you start off you're stories, I think they need to draw people in a little more.