came sooner than expected, yet, seemingly later than never for Ollo Darechnin.
Dappled sunlight leaked through the yawning gaps of the straw rooftop. Ollo's consciousness shifted in and out of the sweet peace of hazy slumber and the ailing reality of a new day. The creak of wood rubbing against wood jostled him out of sleep. He grumbled, eyes still closed. Probably just the morning delivery of ale. He shifted his bulk to the left, burying his face into the innards of his bed. The crowing of the tavern's ashgale elicited a groan from him. Ollo quivered and cursed silently, his enormously long ears twitching from the sudden intrusion of noise and hubbub that hailed morning's arrival. Couldn't he just have a moment of peace and quiet?
"Oi, rat. Get up!," A bellowing voice followed by a few hefty knocks finally woke him up. "Customer's 'ill be 'oming at mid-day 'nd I 'on't 'ave ya lazing about!"
Apparently not. His eyes slowly fluttered open, the first rays of Gemflor’s dawning splendor dribbling down his lashes. "Bloody donkey... Could call me a rabbit for once..."
The Raskaal stumbled out of his makeshift bed, consisting of a trampled mixture of Maiden’s Hair and Stallion’s Mane stuffed inside a feeding trough. A stained, moth-eaten blanket served as his bed-sheet, marred from years of misuse by their previous owners. He stood stock still for a moment, ears quivering from the motes of dust before releasing a sneeze. Nine months and already he was beginning to miss the sweet sounds of glocken-dials in Hevnklippe that punctuated the arrival of a busy, yet, productive day. Stodman society was just so woefully primitive in comparisons to the architects and craftsnin of Raskaal society.
As he strapped the belt buckle of his trousers, he stared at a metallic reflection of himself on the cauldron. His chef's hat was lop-sided between his two ears. His tawny pelt was more gnarled and furled than usual. He lifted up his arm, sniffed and gagged. The stench was worse than boiled wine. It'd been a week since he'd gone out for a proper wash. His fur was beginning to become mangy from hours of cooking in the sweltering heat of the kitchen. He needed a wash, but he wouldn't find one here. He'd tried to cleanse himself in the Stodmen outhouses before. It'd left him a blubbering, swearing mess that caused Stodmen mothers to cover the ears of their spawn.
Ollo shimmied his body through one of the many rotting cracks in the planked walls, pushing himself out with a plop. His feet savoured the yielding yet firm sensation of earthen soil underneath his feet. The sky was tinted like the sea, flecks of white froth rippling in the temperate climate of Heil. He hopped through a patch of Maiden's Hair that grew behind Ledwyn's Tune. He stopped for a moment to tear a few young sprouts up from their roots and took a slight nibble, grinding it between his teeth. A light sweetness intermixed with a watery crunch which yearned to be used in salads, garnishing, stew stock and more. He grabbed a few more just for assurance. Ollo stopped in his habitual foraging and pondered the line of forests guarding the hilltop, the towering Raiche trees glowing in the dawn's wake. A breeze of wind blew north, rustling the trees and littering the floor with seasonal shedding.
Ollo breathed the air in deeply, taking in the scent of morning dew, bitter dirt, the minty morning chill of the day's beginning. He began to eagerly hop away from Ledwyn's Tune towards the forest in search of a shower.XP: 0Gold:50Attacks Spent: --Actions Spent: --