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We began our search at the cellar, beneath the forest of stilts. There, aside from blemished statues and unevenly cut slabs of rocks, were a couple old fellows who dwell in the place as if it were a great hall. They had just finished their supper.
“No, I don’t know that sort, ‘afraid.”
“I think I saw a couple kids pass us on the regular every weekend afternoon and evening…”
“I didn’t seem ‘em on boats on any day.”
None were of particular help, even with lotus-crest coins as an incentive.
Climbing the stairs of the first row was not an easy thing, with how steep and narrow each step was, becoming as goats; using all four of our limbs - still - made for quite the difficulty. After a long few minutes, and a few more to look around, we found someone unoccupied; an monk stitching up clothes.
“I do not know of those fellows, but perhaps you can ask the woman upstairs. She comes here with some regularity, and might know of the persons you are looking for.” The giant advises us to check the uppermost floor. “Thank- thank you, father.” Still weary from the climb, Thon takes a few minutes of respite. I myself take the moment to walk around the first row’s rooms and its huts, eventually ending up at one storing water jars.
“Goodday, grandfather.” I give a nod to an elderly monk tending to his bowl - a giant, almost thrice my size, and perhaps my age, too.
“Goodday, son.”
“…”
Wait. Something feels off. I don’t believe giants are supposed to be that tall, and his brows… I believe monks are supposed to shave most of it off. And his feet--
“Planning to visit the beach soon, Kommgal?” With a chuckle, the messenger throws away his attempt at dissimulation.
Ah. Good. Him again.
“So, you’ve chosen to remain behind the canvas instead of straightway striking. Did you know you could have had a movement of conclusion earlier today?”
“I am aware. But I have no intention of hunting the tall timber again.” I scoff at his attempt of mockery; getting to Oceankeep was a difficulty - I don’t wish to repeat that whole process.
“Oh no, I meant no chafing.”
“But I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Amournnara. There shall come a time - very soon - when such chafing can cut so deeply, it may even reach the bones. What will you do then, I wonder.”
Quite the dispensary of wisdom, I might admit. You’ve surpassed yourself in obtuseness with this one.
“To someone unready, it may be deadly.”
… perhaps I can’t withstand more slander. Not so long ago my wrist was repeatedly opened up. Not so long ago my mailbox were stacked full of death threats, falsehoods printed across every broadsheets in town, and I, cast out from polite company.
