# Chronicles of a Cooper. (post 19, Rosedale)



## alsih2o (Apr 11, 2005)

(Porter is a character in a game DMed by Beale Knight set in the World beyond Allishondria.)

Porter grunted gracelessly as he swung his hammer in a wide arc.

  Twenty-two years making barrels, first under his father’s tutelage and later as a traveling cooper, had made his arms accurate. He had plugged bungholes with corks held by noble fingers without ever leaving a bruise or splitting a cork. This blow met its mark as surely as any other. This blow shattered the collarbone of Lord Baldrik Deldora.

 The grey-worn face of the sledge broke through the skin and scattered fragments of bone throughout the smaller mans chest. The fresh corpse was driven to its knees by the blow. The head rolled back into light streaming through the fruit trees and the waist sagged forward. As the weight pulled the corpse backwards off of Porter’s hammer he could have sworn that, for a moment, it looked as if the man was praying.

 Outlaw. Porter’s brow wrinkled as the word flashed through his head. Now he was an outlaw. He turned began running between the long rows of fruit trees. His hammer repeated his pace in his right hand and the rhythm of shadow and light provided by the regularly spaced trees told him he had little time to make town before the sunset.

  Porter reached the edge of the small hamlet glistening with sweat and fear. He refused to pause for shelter or food, pressing on to the tents beyond. He reached his small wagon at the far edge of the massed tents and grabbed for what was most important.

 He pulled the boiled leather apron over his head and his hands found their way down the pockets. Hammer, hammer, wax, pincers, chalk, a tightly coiled standards rope, knife, knife, knife, saw, saw, hand drill. His large hands rooted under the wagon and emerged with a small pouch. Seven gold. That wasn’t going to buy him mercy.

   “Porter! You big galloot. What are you all sweaty about?”  The voice came form the shadows and emerged attached to a smile. The smile was attached to Dorus.

 “Your brother. His death's done been avenged. You can rest tonight.” Porter’s voice was shaking.

 Dorus pressed close to Porter, his head barely reaching Porters collar.

 “What?!” Dorus stared at the big man with a mixture of confusion and guilt. “You did what?!”

   “Lord Baldrik, I killed him. It’s over. Least that part’s over. I got’s to go. If’n you can make sure my tools make it back to my family.” Porter said with a nod to his shaky wagon.

  “Porter, you damned fool! Baldrik didn’t do anything!” Dorus was pulling at Porters apron with wide eyes.

 “Anything but kill your brother. Lord or not, that needs punishin’.” Porter’s word came with conviction. 

  Dorus drop straight to his ass. “Porter, listen, you are joking. You have to be. Joseph…Joseph isn’t any deader than you or me. Porter, he ran off with Peter’s daughter. They are probably still naked in the woods now!”

 Porter stared at Dorus for a hard minute, his jaw working loosely in the early evening breeze. “Joseph wouldn’t…I…Joseph ain’t married to that girl!” He demanded.

  “It was a joke Porter! It was humor! Baldrik wouldn’t kill him! Why would the Lord even know who Joseph was?” Dorus spoke quickly, panic was washing over him.

  Porter turned ashen. Outlaw. The word rang through his head again.

  Porter grasped the smaller man by his cloak and turned him quickly. Dorus fell to his knees and froze in fear. Porter tried to form the words in his throat. A lie? Had he just ruined two lives over a mindless joke? Bu the words jammed. Dorus on his knees brought the rush of the evening back to him, Baldrik kneeling as if in prayer…his body sliding away form Porter’s hammer.

 Porter vomited.


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## Thornir Alekeg (Apr 11, 2005)

Ahh, nothing like a strong heroic beginning for a character.  This could be interesting when he hooks up with his future party.  They'll need to be careful about joking around the table - it could get you in serious trouble.


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## Beale Knight (Apr 11, 2005)

Woo-hoo! Looking forward to seeing how you write up the rest of the session!


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## Herremann the Wise (Apr 11, 2005)

Hi alsih2o,

Now *that's* how to start a story hour! Looking forward to reading where this SH goes to.
Purchases popcorn and refreshments and takes a seat.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## edge3343 (Apr 11, 2005)




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## Len (Apr 11, 2005)

Not bad, but I really wish someone would right a Story Hour about a potter.


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## Greylock (Apr 12, 2005)

Len said:
			
		

> Not bad, but I really wish someone would right a Story Hour about a potter.




Well, this story _does_ have a potters daughter. Will that do?

Good beginning for the story, Mark.


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## spyscribe (Apr 12, 2005)

Great opening.  Looking forward to reading more.


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## alsih2o (Apr 12, 2005)

*The beginning of the beginning*

Porter twisted the man around his hip and slung him towards the wagon.

  Porter was six feet tall by the time he was fifteen years old. On his eighteenth birthday he stood a solid six foot five inches and had bested most of the tradesmen in town at falls. He had also taken their money for toting their loads back and forth. As a coopers con he had found plenty of extra work moving barrels. Slinging barrels of pitch or wine around prepared a man well for hurling men about.

  As Dorus landed his head passed between the spokes of the wagon’s wheel and he rattled to stop when his shoulders would not pass. Porter was on his back in a flash/

 “Tell me what is happening! Tell me or I swear I’ll send this wagon a’rollin’ and your head’ll roll with it!” Spittle hung form Porters lower lip as he roared, tears rolled form his eyes and his neck swelled with bulbous veins.

 “Don’t do it Porter! Think now Porter, don’t do it!” Dorus struggled against the spokes and struggled to turn and see Porter as he spoke “It was supposed to be a joke. I didn’t want you thinking less of Joseph and nobody like Baldric. I swear, Porter. I swear, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”

 Porter eased his weight off the man’s back and breathed deeply.

 Dorus got himself up to his knees slowly. “You gotta think Porter. We gotta do something. I mean, I’ll never tell anyone but folks are gonna come lookin’. They’ll ask questions. Did anyone see you near the orchard?”

 Dorus turned for his answer but the big man was already gone.

   ***************************************************************

  Porter tried not to shiver as clung to the log. He hadn’t running since the wagon and had managed to convince himself that taking the ferry across the river this late was suspicious. He almost laughed at the word suspicious. Nothing suspicious about a full-grown man clinging to a log in the middle of the Calila River on a cold spring night.

  He made the bank and crawled heavily onto the shore. The water had softened his hard leather apron and it sagged across his body grinding the gritty river mud into his chest with every heaving breath.

 He thought of heading to a church and pleading for mercy but he had never darkened the door of any church. He thought of walking back into the river and not resisting it, just letting the cold surround him and take him. He thought about the terrible sound of his hammer separating the lord shoulder from his breast.

  He pulled himself sloppily to his feet and watched the muddy water drip form his clothes. He had wanted to be somebody, to be known, for his entire life and it was about to work against him.

 Porter inhaled deeply and stumbled up the bank of the river as it began to rain.


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## Inconsequenti-AL (Apr 13, 2005)

I remember the thread about Porter from the general forum. Sounded like a fun character, didn't realise there was going to be a story hour about him.

Great start! I'll definitely be following this one.


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## alsih2o (Apr 14, 2005)

Porter lifted his face to the sky, trying to keep his eyes open as the rain washed the grit from his face and eyes.

  As the morning’s light began to gather in the east the raindrops continued to fall cold and heavy on Porter. He knew the area well. Unfortunately the area knew him well. He had traveled the same circuit for better than a decade selling barrels and casks. He could not pass any road he knew without some innkeeper or house servant knowing him on sight. Being so tall this sight extended quite a ways through a crowd.

   Without the familiar roads and paths between the towns he inhabited Porter quickly became lost. He had never really been in the woods past the logging camps where he occasionally chose wood. It wasn’t long into the day when hunger began to gnaw at him. 

  He looked about for berries or nuts but it was spring and spring brings few fruits to the untrained. He rubbed the stamp of Malius the bear, his birth sign, on his hammer and laughed at the possibility of bringing down game with no bow. He had always been poor with a bow anyway.

 He tried to keep the sun on his right but it hid from him most of the day. At night he looked to the stars frequently, not for direction but with a silent hope. He walked non-stop for fear of pursuit. He even forgot his hunger, eventually.

  The rain saturated him, the thick calluses on his feet softened from the wear and constant water. When they separated form his skin his boots leaked blood and rain with every step. 

  He looked east as the sun broke the horizon and the rain stopped. Porter realized he did not know what day it was Porters brow unfurled for the first time in days. He looked around himself at the sea of mud and decided he could press on. He decided he could make it somewhere, somehow. 

   And then it began to rain again. The kind of soaking deluge that presses into you with a weight all its own. 

 “WHY?” Porter screamed, his neck bulging with veins.

 “WHY?” He shook his hammer at the sky.

 “WHY? Tell me why!” Porter dropped his hammers handle to the ground as lightning sprung from cloud to cloud. 

 Cold anger filled his heart. It welled up to a grimace on his face and tightened across his chest. His hands shook from his grip on his hammer. He staggered blindly through the mud and began to sob.

   He fell to his knees twisting and aching for breath. He tried to scream, his face contorted, his mouth opened, his lungs burned but nothing issued form his mouth. He turned quickly, desperately trying to remember which direction the river was. He slogged through the mud on his knees trying to beat the confusion and the image in his head. He wanted the river. He would crawl out into it and sleep. Just breathe deeply and sleep.

 “WHY?” he screamed to the skies. “Why?”

 He rested his hammers handle in the mud and placed his forehead on the head. His knees sank deep into the shifting mud and possibly, for a brief moment, he slept.

   Porters broad back arched out as he relaxed. His head on his hands, his hands on his hammer, his weight on his knees he spoke. 

 "If'n any of you Gods is real and think I got a life worth living and saving, send me a sign." He said with the calm of resignation. 

  The rained ebbed and then stopped.

 Porter prepared to climb to his feet when he heard a noise. He lifted his head to see the sun shining. Coming towards him as a thin man in a green robe.

 Porter looked to the sky. “Good ‘nuff.”


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## Thornir Alekeg (Apr 15, 2005)

I read the thread in the general chapter about this character as well.  My question for you is, how much did the other players know about this character prior to him meeting up with his "message from the Gods?"  Did the player of the thin man in the green robe know what he was in for?


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## alsih2o (Apr 15, 2005)

I am going to have to ask you to just keep reading. That is the best answer I can give now.


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## alsih2o (Apr 16, 2005)

*A Sign?*

Porter attempted a broad smile.

  Before he could force his face to react he realized his position. Kneeling, hands on his hammerhead, covered in several days of mud and filth. Porter gave his best impression of springing to his feet but the previous days had worn heavily on him. 

   He pulled himself up, hanging his hammer across his waist with his hands wide. His back straightened and he held his head high in preparation for whatever message came to him now from the gods. 

  The mud slid down Porter’s shins and into his boots in the awkward silence before the man in the green robes spoke. “I say, know where I can pick up some cat food?”

 Porter stared intently at the man. He was sure he had no idea what a sign from the gods was supposed to do but he was relatively sure it had nothing to do with feeding a cat.  He looked the man up and down. His robe was a nice green fabric and his face was well shaded under a broad brimmed and pointy-topped hat. 

   Porter stifled a laugh, the man looked just like the wizards in the dirty cartoons carved into the walls of the craphouses in every craftsmen hall on his route. As he stared at the ridiculous hat an enormously fat cat poked it head around the brim and stared at him with malevolently slitted yellow eyes.

 Caught between laughter, respect and confusion Porter panicked. Even though he knew better than to speak when he could feel the blood in his face, he spoke.

   His words spewed forth in a jumble both pleading and aggressive. "What is it I'm supposed to do?" he said to the robed man. "And who sent you? If'n  you don't mind me asking."

 Porter paused and considered odd stew of stories he had heard about the gods. “Or is it you?” he asked, looking past the mans brim to his cat.

  The robed man spoke "No, no! Twas me... Greebo doesn't talk per se, and twas nobody that sent me...unless you count Master Reading...” and then laughed nervously. 

 The thin mans jaw worked emptily, as if he might pause but he continued  “He 'sent' me in the general sense of the word, but the sending was not specific and, I assure you it has nothing to do with you or your rather large and, ahem, nice...looking...weapon...a
hammer is it?” 

  Porter had almost caught up what the man was saying when the cat caught his eye again. Was it possible that look was disdain? He remembered the word hammer and took a breath to speak but the robed man started again.

  “Did you know that the hammer is a most ancient weapon...I read
about them in a book once...Garfang's Compendium of Weapons and Armor 3rd
edition.... or was it 4th.... anyway, it wasn't difficult reading if you catch
my meaning. I was quite surprised that a man (or woman) with the name of
Garfang could/would write a book...read it mostly out of curiosity more than
anything...why else read, I've always said..” 

  Porter loosed his right hand form his hammer and put his hand up to stop the man for fear of it never happening. He was growing increasingly confused.

"But it does have to do with me, or you, you know? See, I asked for something and here you are, you’re my something, see?” Porter’s head felt like it was full of bees; he decided to get to the point. “So, what are we doing?"

  The robed man spoke in his usual hurry "I, well, I was on my way to Rosedale to do a little research you may join me if you wish. I am Walther Gimbleson, you may call me Walt. Read any good books lately?"

  Porter finally relaxed. Now he had a direction and something to do. Research.

 Research? 

 "Research...research it is then. Orrin "Porter" Rockwell is my name. Some folks call me Cooper. I don't read much, but if that is what you 'spect of me, I'll be doing it." Porter tried to be friendly, he wondered how to behave when confronted by a sign form a god.

 While Porter was oblivious to it Walther was having a completely different experience. Porter saw a possibly confusing sign from a god. Walther saw a huge, filthy man with a hammer waiting for him. Specifically him.

 Walther spoke with some hesitancy, noticing the mass of Porters hammer sinking slowly into the roadside muck. "What 'zactly...ahem, Exactly do you mean 'expect of me'?"

  The jab went over Porters head and he tried again to clarify himself. "Well..I just...you see, I was here on my knees asking...you know, whoever'd listen for a reason. Well, no, akshully I asked for a sign. A sign I had a life worth living and saving. And here you are!"

 Now it was Porter’s turn to ramble, “"Maybe it is research. Does that hurt? I just, I mean I am real good at making barrels, and I carry stuff well...and they say I can hit like a mule kicks. But If'n yer my sign, yer my sign. Right?"

 Porter gave his biggest smile beaming out form underneath all his filth, ready for his clearly worded sign form the gods.

  Walther saw his opening and took control of the conversation “Ahh! So it's employment you seek. Well, I have no need of barrels and I can carry all my own belongings, I may have use for a strong arm and you DO look handy with that hammer.... how does three  silver per day sound? That's a fair wage according to this book I have here."

   Porter's jaw dropped and he stared at Walther as if he had just farted a black dragon circus. 

 “Uh…” Porter thought he needed to run; no sign form the gods looks like this.

  “I….” Porter had visions of crushing the man and running again, somewhere far away.

 “Um…” Porter felt his knees weaken and felt the burn of his hunger.

 “O.K” Porter tried to knock enough filth off of his person to look worth 3 silver pieces per day as the man started a steady pace down the road.

 Walther spoke as he started a brisk pace down the road. "Very well then, you shall receive your payment at the days end. There we shall find lodging and pursue our research on the morrow. Tally ho? Oh, one other thing, do stay out of rang of Greebo, he's mean when he's hungry."

  Porter fell in behind his new employer like a younger boy fallows his big brothers friends.


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## edge3343 (Apr 18, 2005)

alsih2o said:
			
		

> Porter jaw dropped and he stared at Walther as if he had just farted a black dragon circus.




 *****


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## John Cooper (Apr 19, 2005)

Very nice, alsih2o!  And hey, you can never go wrong with a Cooper!


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## MavrickWeirdo (Apr 19, 2005)

alsih2o said:
			
		

> “Did you know that the hammer is a most ancient weapon...I read
> about them in a book once...Garfang's Compendium of Weapons and Armor 3rd
> edition.... or was it 4th.... anyway, it wasn't difficult reading if you catch
> my meaning. I was quite surprised that a man (or woman) with the name of
> ...




My favorite line


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## Inconsequenti-AL (Apr 21, 2005)

For half a second, I thought the divine sign was going to be the cat.


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## alsih2o (Apr 26, 2005)

*Rosedale*

Porter took the rode in long strides.

 The man named Walther had not quit talking for an hour. Walther kept referring to book after book as if Porter had read them all. Porter repeated the pattern of opening his mouth to speak every time Walther paused and then being left with his mouth hanging open, as Walther would launch back into his monologue.

  The words were all confusing. ‘Ancient’ came up a lot, as did ‘Research’. And ‘Me’ and ‘My’ and ‘I’ and all kinds of other words that had nothing to do with getting Porter something to eat and maybe some hot water to put his feet in. 

 Porter removed his hat and wiped the sweat form the bald spot on the top of his head as he thought of the hot water. Then he jumped up to his toes and spread his arms to stop.

 He had been keeping quite a clip behind the robber man as he spoke of Rosedale and some bit of research. Rosedale. Why did that sound familiar to him?

 Walther was rambling about his research and the man who sent him and explaining why he had to do it when he stopped very suddenly and turned to Porter and said “Wizard” and pointed to his hat.

 The shock of trying to figure out if this was a question or a statement jarred Porter and he remembered why he knew the name Rosedale.

 “The halfie!” Porter exclaimed, quite proud of himself and just a little shocked at hearing his own voice after so much of Walther’s.

 “Pardon, ay?” asked Walther. “Half ‘E’? What’s that?”

 “Rosedale,” declared Porter, happy to be on the explaining end of the conversation “Rosedale has a halfie, a smith from home told me ‘bout it.”

 “Again, large friend I am going to have to ask what a half ‘E’ is.” Porter tried not to laugh as Walther questioned him. This funny looking man made an even funnier looking face when he did not understand something. His face changed like a saucer of milk when you bump a table. His eyebrows and mouth were struggling around in little circles trying to find their way back to where they had been when the conversation started.

 “A half elf. Now, I figure a town with something like a half-elf is gonna have a fair or show or sumthin’ where you kin see it, right?”

 “Well, I,” Walther paused at this point, looking up the road. “I,…suppose.”

 Walther’s mouth fell open at the site of Rosedale. Spread before them was a small square terraced above the road with a well-maintained small patch of roses. Around it a ring of building marked the center of town. And the rest of the town.

 “This CANNOT be Rosedale.” Declared Walther in a tone of disbelief.

 Porter looked at the roses. “Oh, I think it is.” He said.

 The odd couple stood there, Porter was thrilled that they could quit walking for a short while at least. Walther was horrified.

 Two men with halberds were leaning against the wall of one of the larger buildings and on spotting Walther and Porter stood and headed towards them.

 Porter rested one hand on his hatchet and the other on his hammer.


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## ellinor (Apr 26, 2005)

alsih2o said:
			
		

> His face changed like a saucer of milk when you bump a table.




Nice image.  
I'm enjoying the story, keep it up!


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## Beale Knight (Apr 26, 2005)

ellinor said:
			
		

> Nice image.




I agree. That whole paragraph is fantastic and makes me jealous.


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## Greylock (May 6, 2005)

Gee. I wonder what's in that building?


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