Solo [The Bronze Woods]The Fortune of the Road

[Heddar]

3rd, Winter, 514 A.V.
The Bronze Woods, Tenth Bell

As Bakr rode through the woodlands north of Syliras, he again found the faded bronze of the commonplace ivy intoxicating. The winter’s chill had not yet fully set in and the ride was pleasant, if a little exciting due to periodic outbursts by Moema. The Cobalt Mountains lay beyond. Their majesty towered over the dense woods like a natural throne over the common rabble. He himself was a fleeting presence in a mere moment to those giants of the wild.

Upon his last visit to the city he had been told that there were common copses of olive and fig trees here in the northern expanse, beyond the stoney walls of civilization to the south. It was winter and undoubtedly he would find no such treasures, but the fur merchant had described to him what such trees looked like. It would never hurt to know where he could find a quick meal come summer.

Besides, he needed an excuse to wander a bit. Too long had he been sitting in Syliras or the lowland woods in it’s vicinity. Bakr put a pair of the peaks visible through gabs in the canopy in front of him and followed the road loosely north. They had been due north upon his exit from Syliras and he held the small compass for reference. North was the Cobalt Mountains, but he would not venture so far in the winter, for he did not trust his survival instincts to keep him in such a precarious clime. And if Moe should take a fall he would be done for.

So he resigned himself to find the squat, ugly olive trees not two days’ ride from the city. Perhaps he would see a knight on his jaunt into the wilds. The steel clad warriors often patrolled the wilds near the city. Though he had never had more than a curt conversation with them, more an interrogation as to his intentions on the road, he liked the order. The idea that there were warrior about dedicated to the defense of these lands made him sleep better. Though they were a pious lot, single-minded in their worship of Sylir and even Yahal. Bakr, by his very nature was much less decided in his faith.

[Heddar]

The Benshiran-Chaktawe halfbreed pulled gently on Moe’s reins, directing her around an ambitious outcropping of oak roots that twined across half the path. Moe snorted and side stepped up a mulch laden mound and broke into a canter. Bakr had to pull up quickly to stop her from veering off the path. He laid a palm against her neck, bending over to whisper in her ear.

“Woe, Moema. You’re alright. Woe.”

After a moment of novice manipulation of reins he got the Eyktolian mount back onto the dirt path. Just then he heard a rustling in a bramble bush a few yards ahead. Then a flash of brown and grey fur and a rabbit darted across the dirt path and into the brambles on the other side. Bakr broke out into a grin. These hardy north rabbits did not let the chill of the morning dissuade their ventures either!

He thought for a moment then turned and rummaged in his saddlebags for his trapper’s kit. Once he had the leather pouch in hand he fished out the simple thin rope and the small bottle of liquid he knew to be the rabbit scent. Drawing his hunting knife, white was tucked next to his dagger, he began to cut lengths of the thin rope at lengths suitable enough to make some simple snares.

He dismounted with a crunch as his riding boots ground into the dirt of the path. Winter sunlight broke through the canopy of periodic evergreen above to splay rays upon the ground. He and Moe were in one such shaft of light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes while the other grasped lightly to the thin rope. He stepped closer to the bush that served as a woodland refuge for the rabbit.

Bakr stepped carefully. Slowly letting his feet roll over the ground without noise. But alas, he was not the stalker he fashioned himself to be. By his third step the rabbit bolted again, but this time it scurried under a gnarled, grey root and did not resurface. Bakr abandoned his attempt at stealth and pursued the rodent to within two yards of its root. He bent and peered at the gap.

The dirt sprayed across the ground around the small sliver of an entrance. Dark soil from deeper cascaded across the lighter surface soil. Though not an expert, Bakr thought he had chanced upon a rabbit den. He knelt and set the bottled scent on a hardened patch of moss. Then he made quick work of measuring out a length of rope.

The halfbreed’s deft fingers danced as he tied a simple slipknot, then reinforced it with a second knot to keep it from being pulled loose. He made fists and heard his stiff, cold knuckles crack. He breathed hot air into his fists to thaw the stiffness further. Winter was hard in many ways.

He did the same thing twice more. Bakr then set each loop over his forearm and pulled gently on the ropes. All three tightened to grasp his leather-clad forearm. Smiling at the craftsmanship of his snares, Bakr pulled his arm loose of the ropes. On his knees he twisted to search for suitable anchors. The stout bushes around him would serve. Their bases were inches thick and immobile to his shaking.

[Heddar]

Bakr crawled under the brush and twined the end of a snare around the black, muddy base of one such bush. He knotted it a few times as to make sure the prey would not escape by his own carelessness. He then carefully extricated himself from under the bush. He did the same process for the other two snares. Moe snorted at him from where she observed on the road.

He arranged the snares to that they were between their anchors and the rabbit den. This way the rabbit would tighten the loop as it retreated to perceived safety. Or so Bakr hoped. Truth be told, he did not have much experience with such things. He took painstaking care with arranging small stones and branches under the loops so that the ropes hung a fraction of an inch off the ground. There was a much better chance of snagging a rabbit foot that way.

He retrieved the bottle of rabbit scent and let some of the liquid fall into each snare. Only a few drops each, the bottle was small and valuable, to be used sparingly. Bakr then jogged back to Moe. Not sure whether his traps would work the halfbreed decided to put some incentive into the equation. Within one of the saddlebags was his rations, courtesy of a supply shop in Syliras. He fished them out and unwrapped them. A bundle of dried meats, some flat breads. He broke off a piece of the bread and repacked the food carefully.

Before mounting up on Moe again the wanderer sprinkled the bread over each trap in the hopes that it would further entice any would be game. Then he clucked and tapped Moe back into a stroll with the heels of his boots.

“There girl, now we might have some fresh dinner!” He rubbed her mane of brown hair. “Or at least I may. Your tastes are more refined to such as hay and grass, hmm?”

They rode on for a few hundred yards. Bakr did not want to go so far as to lose his traps. But he also did not want to stay so close that he and Moe frightened off the rabbit. In the end Bakr decided to make a small campfire a few yards off the road and wait until night to go back to the snares.

[Heddar]

He found a suitable patch of flat earth partially sheltered by two fat oaks. Bakr tied Moe up to a low hanging branch where she could graze on some tall grass nearby. He then went about kicking the small clearly free of fallen leaves and twigs. The next half a bell was spent finding a suitable set of stones to create a barrier to keep his fire from spreading. After he arranged them in a rough circle he found it to be very small, but workable.

Bakr unsheathed his tulwar with little ceremony. He stepped up to the nearest of the old oaks and inspected it’s surface for loose bark. When he found some he slammed the unadorned pommel of his tulwar into it, hard. The bark flew in chunks from the tree to land at his feet. The halfbreed had long ago learned that bark, a product of this northern land, made good tinder if you used it well.

Bakr sheathed his weapon with a hiss and picked up the biggest piece of bark. With the other hand he drew his dagger and began to shave off bits into a small pile within the circle of stones. Moewa snorted as she watched his curious actions. He waved off her silent judgement and began gathering twigs and small branches for kindling.

Bakr spent the good long time trying to coax a spark from his flint and steel, but the breeze was wild and mischievous this day. With a glance about the woodlands around him, Bakr set a finger to the tinder he had piled. He focused his attention on the finger and the tinder, as he had been taught. The halfbreed never used this particular skill in front of others. He was never sure how anyone would react to it. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it.

With a slow exhale he let his Res seep from the tip of his finger and swirl its way down onto the bark shavings directly underneath. Then he effectively lit it with a force of his will and in a second a small flame flared merrily from the tinder. Bakr quickly moved closer and found the breeze blew it out before he could shield it and blow it larger. He frowned. He was already sweating from the bit of magic. It was not so much that it tired him out, although it did take something out of him. He was merely nervous about using such an unknown skill on his own, where anything could happen.

Bakr frowned at his own idiocy and shifted to sit with his back to the gap between the two oaks where the breeze was strongest. He bent over the tinder and again released a bit of Res from his hand onto the bark. Then again, he willed it to light. Soon he was smiling at the small, fist sized flame that he had made. Slowly, he placed twigs and then branches in it to fuel the flame higher.

[Heddar]

The halfbreed always found the warmth of a fire made him think of home. The vast deserts of Eyktol would get piercingly cold at night out with his father and the goats. One of his oldest memories was of the Benshiran man teaching him how to make a flame in the wilds.

The half-Benshira, half-Chaktawe sat in silent reverie for a long time. Eventually though, his thoughts drifted back to the snares and their possible captives. He opted to leave Moe at his camp while he walked the short distance back to the snares. If there were indeed prey caught Moe would not enjoy his killing of them. The smell would most likely frighten her.

As he approached, he heard the unmistakable sounds of rustling and faint squeaks. He observed a rustling in the body of a bush near the spot! Bakr was so overcome with excitement that he began to run. When he found the spot he had laid his traps he indeed found a rabbit fighting the pull of the robe. Another of the snares was completely gone, pulled loose and the food vanished. The last trap seemed to be unmoved, but the bread crumbs were gone.

The rabbit froze when he approached. He could see it shaking out of fear. Bakr grimaced. He did not enjoy the suffering of animals. It looked like this rabbit was either younger, or possibly a female. It was smaller than the first he had seen, though of a respectable size.

Bakr hurried to draw his dagger. He did not want to leave the thing in this state of fear for long. As he stepped closer, the rabbit began bolting in all directions, sensing what was to come. Bakr pulled the rope until the rabbit was within reach and snatched at the thing. It flailed wildly in his hands. The muffled thumps of its legs beating helplessly against his arm coupled with the wild thrill of its heart.

Bakr drew the dagger’s edge across the thing’s throat swiftly, releasing its life from its body. He held it out at arms length until it stopped flailing and hung limp. He then bent and cut the loop of the final trap. Bakr didn’t want some animal coming along and starving to death without the need. After a moment’s contemplation he kicked dirt over the pooled blood now soaking into the forest’s floor. It would not due to have that sort of horrific right outside the rabbit’s den.

He then knelt and whispered a prayer to Yahal, though he knew not if the god heard him. He thanked his father’s deity for his good fortune before making the walk back to his campsite. He would attempt to skin the thing and cook it over the fire.

Then, as was proper, he would sacrifice a small portion of the meal in his decorative bowl. For the gods that watch over him even now.

[Estrellir Konrath]

BAKR

Skills
Trapping +3
Wilderness Survival (Forest) +1
Reimancy +1

Lores
Location: Bronze Woods
Trapping: How to set a rabbit snare
Wilderness Survival: How to make a fire
Reimancy: Exhausting and dangerous

COMMENTS

While this is good for a first solo, it does have some issues. 1) There are no olive or fig trees in the Bronze Woods. It has the wrong climate for them. Apple or pear trees would be more likely. 2) How did he get a bottle with ‘rabbit scent’ and what exactly is that? Maybe urine to mask his human scent around the trap? Also, I’m not sure if wild rabbits are interested in bread. Something like fruit or salad would probably attract them more. Lastly, if you haven’t read it yet, the Wilderness Survival lore has some useful information you should consider in the future. You’d also do well to describe your actions more in-depth for more xp. If you’ve any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!