Campfire Chatter
Jul. 24th, 2006 02:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shosen“I dunno,” the orc is saying, “people’ll do some pretty stupid things sometimes.”
“Yeah, but that, it’s more’n stupid, mon,” the troll replies, tossing another piece of wood on the fire.
“Still happens. Like that poor bastard they found in the Drag last month.”
“What?”
“You didn’t hear about that?”
“No, mon.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Only corpses they wanna talk about finding in the city are Alliance ones.” The orc takes a long drink out of the beer mug, and then coughs before continuing. “So, my brother’s on patrol in the Drag, early, right when the sun’s coming up. He finds this guy lying in the corner, troll, all tucked up and hidden. He figures the guy’s just drunk, goes to wake him up and tell him to shove off.”
“But he ain’t sleepin’.”
“Nope, he’s dead and cold, lying in a pool of his own blood. Which wouldn’t be much, ’xcept for where that blood came from.”
“Where’s that, mon?”
“From a very precise and measured cut, across the belly, letting his guts spill out, then up his chest, scraping against the bone until it stops, right at the base of his throat. Ain’t even troll regeneration gonna fix having his insides out like that.”
“Coulda just been someone makin’ sure he stayed dead, mon.”
“Could’ve been, but wasn’t. See, the guy still had the dagger in his hands, bound to him and all. He cut himself open, nice and slow, and not with any sissy blade either. This one was sharp and serrated, would’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”
“See, that’s more’n stupid, mon. That’s fuckin’ insane.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Looked like he might’ve been missing a few logs short of a load. Had all these bones stuck through his skin, up his arms like a ladder. Tattooed from brow to toes, weird freakin’ shit, too. My brother said it kinda freaked him out.”
The conversation drifts onto the topic of bizarre tattoos and their symbolism. I stop listening, just sip my wine and try to figure out why the description of the troll and his suicide has given me such a deep-seated sense of satisfaction and peace.
“Yeah, but that, it’s more’n stupid, mon,” the troll replies, tossing another piece of wood on the fire.
“Still happens. Like that poor bastard they found in the Drag last month.”
“What?”
“You didn’t hear about that?”
“No, mon.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Only corpses they wanna talk about finding in the city are Alliance ones.” The orc takes a long drink out of the beer mug, and then coughs before continuing. “So, my brother’s on patrol in the Drag, early, right when the sun’s coming up. He finds this guy lying in the corner, troll, all tucked up and hidden. He figures the guy’s just drunk, goes to wake him up and tell him to shove off.”
“But he ain’t sleepin’.”
“Nope, he’s dead and cold, lying in a pool of his own blood. Which wouldn’t be much, ’xcept for where that blood came from.”
“Where’s that, mon?”
“From a very precise and measured cut, across the belly, letting his guts spill out, then up his chest, scraping against the bone until it stops, right at the base of his throat. Ain’t even troll regeneration gonna fix having his insides out like that.”
“Coulda just been someone makin’ sure he stayed dead, mon.”
“Could’ve been, but wasn’t. See, the guy still had the dagger in his hands, bound to him and all. He cut himself open, nice and slow, and not with any sissy blade either. This one was sharp and serrated, would’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”
“See, that’s more’n stupid, mon. That’s fuckin’ insane.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Looked like he might’ve been missing a few logs short of a load. Had all these bones stuck through his skin, up his arms like a ladder. Tattooed from brow to toes, weird freakin’ shit, too. My brother said it kinda freaked him out.”
The conversation drifts onto the topic of bizarre tattoos and their symbolism. I stop listening, just sip my wine and try to figure out why the description of the troll and his suicide has given me such a deep-seated sense of satisfaction and peace.