Chương 15: Gazelle Horns

2) Put the fiddler out of his misery and demand a campfire performance! Strength DC 5 Roll: 15 Final: 20 Result: success Easiest check of Jordan's life. He even had an appropriate taunt already loaded in the chamber, which he now fired with gusto.

"Pah!" he expelled, channeling a certain meathead he'd spent some time with recently.

"You're afraid of a few critters on the road, and you call yourself a Pathfinder? Or maybe you're afraid of showing off your music. Are you one of those poseurs who only know the four chords from Wonderwall?" Foxhill stared open-mouthed at his paying customer, until his improvised toothpick dropped to the ground. For a moment, the man looked about ready to tackle Jordan to the ground, so much so that the latter felt the need to put his hands up in self-defense. But then…

"Bahahah! I don't know anything about your homeland, Westerner, but if you're keen to hear some songs from mine… well, I can't deny that my sweetheart and I are in a sharing mood tonight." Jordan cringed. Does this dude have to make everything sound so icky? But musicians did tend to dance to the beat of their own drums, which was also true in Jordan's homeland. In the interest of a good time, he did his best to separate the art from the artist. And what art, what a good time!

The show started with a low-pitched dirge, surprisingly mournful and understated. But as soon as Foxhill layered his vibrato-rich voice atop the music, fiddle and fiddler produced an uncanny harmony that made Jordan's hair stand on end. By the third song, an upbeat ballad about the winds carrying a single blade of grass, Jordan was stamping his feet and clapping along. Then came the fourth track, an instrument-heavy piece that ratcheted the tempo again, up to a lively moderato.

This was punctuated by a complicated series of trills, spiccatos, and glissandos. Foxhill rocked in his seat and bobbed his head like he was shredding a mean guitar solo. Which he was, for all intents and purposes. The music wasn't particularly fast, but its fire and intensity were infectious. It made Jordan recall his college days scouring the seedier parts of town for underground concerts. And before he knew it, he'd stood up and…

Back by popular demand Stranger in a strange land Jordan Yu in the house, remember the name Yu as in you, or Yu as in me, it's all the same All the lost souls of Stormvast Living under one roof at last Salt flats, wood slats, tent flaps, we ain't stayin' pat Grab life by the gazelle horns, roll it back, hit that plat And that's how we put us on the map As soon as Jordan ran out of steam, he knew what a horrible mistake he'd made. The cringiest of cringes. The corniest of corns.

Not even a thousand casts of [Dig Hole] would be enough to live this one down. Let his peers cast him out. Let the gods mock him to their hearts' content. He deserved any and every form of punishment for what he'd just put his fellow travelers through. But then…

"Bahahah!" Foxhill laughed uproariously, even as he continued to fiddle like his life depended on it.

"Not half bad, Westerner! But don't tell me you're already spent!" In truth, Jordan really was spent. Emotionally if not musically. So much so that he even let Foxhill's latest innuendo go over his head. At this rate, he'd also miss a chance to keep the fire burning—to give this banger beat the climax it deserved. But then…

In the days of yore When dragons soared Turned the wheels of fate Unto distant shores Sing, ye heroes of lore As the lion roars Unto heaven's gate Phantoms nevermore Jordan turned and stared at Canyon, mesmerized. Not only had the incognito Chronicler risen from her seat, but she'd also lowered her scarf again, this time to belt out the most affecting elegy this side of an Enya anthem.

The woman's voice was powerful yet impossibly light, seeming to float into the sky rather than jostle eardrums nearer to the ground. Her eyes, piercing enough as they were, now danced with radiant light. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Almost like there's fire behind her eyes, Jordan mused absent-mindedly. Then, upon a closer look… Wait, is there actual fire behind her eyes?

The moment, along with the hallucination it'd engendered, lasted but for the space of a spiccato note. Foxhill, initially caught off guard by all the unexpected riffing, nevertheless recovered like the pro he was. Canyon's soaring chorus complemented the horsehead fiddle even better than Jordan's freestyle rhymes. The song ended with a thumping flourish, to the cheers and applause of two adoring fans. Who woulda thunk it? Jordan clapped until his hands hurt, grinning from ear to ear.

I used to keep a pretty long bucket list, but I never thought to add'a jam session with a couple of video game characters'… Amidst the cheering, he caught Foxhill's eyes and was met by another burst of'bahahah!' He then tried to catch Canyon's, only to find that she'd sat down again, mask back up.

"It's late," the Chronicler spoke with her usual muffled terseness, though slightly out of breath.

"We should all rest for tomorrow." A little deflating to end the party on such a responsible note, but the suggestion was sensible enough. The band disbanded, the better for each member to settle in for the night. Jordan realized he hadn't brought anything in the way of sleeping gear. Luckily, new bandmate Foxhill lent him a spare bedroll. The thing smelled of raw meat and sour milk, but it was certainly preferable to roughing it on the dirt.

Despite spending most of the day seated in one form or another, Jordan found himself sufficiently exhausted. Sleep took him swiftly, but not before a taste of divine retribution. Dexterity DC 8: success Nezha:"Rest well, hero. You certainly deserve it after wrestling that gazelle by the horns."

Jordan woke to hoofbeats and a hand to his shoulder.

"Wh—what?" Through bleary eyes, he managed to make out that dawn had yet to break. The carriage and its surroundings were cast in a gloomy pall, barely enough light for Jordan to see Foxhill smiling down at him.

"Grandelopes," the Pathfinder announced, matter-of-fact if even somewhat amused.

"Guess we did make too much of a ruckus, after all. And I'm not sure I'm in the mood for an encore." Jordan simultaneously froze and jumped out of bed. An immediate shot of adrenaline, this time of the strictly fear-borne variety. Grandelopes was another novelty of the Cauldron Wars, but he remembered the term well enough. It was one of the monsters Mallet had mentioned as endemic to the region.

"What do we do? Where are these Gran—""Shh. There. Over by that ridge. You see them?" Jordan did. Upwards of a dozen furry shadows with distinctive twisting horns. They looked a lot more muscular and imposing than Jordan's Earthling conception of antelopes, but he supposed that was where the'Grand-' came in. Fuck me, he cursed himself. Is this all because I talked Foxhill into playing for us? But I thought … That was an ability check and I passed it!

Wisdom DC 12: success Shennong:"Just because you can, young one, doesn't mean you always should. Though, with that said, it's often not easy to tell how one success might beget another failure, or vice versa. It's one of those things, isn't it? Live and learn." Lesson learned. Although, if Jordan were perfectly honest, he still wasn't sure if he regretted last night's decisions. If it hadn't been for that dice roll, he, Foxhill, and Canyon wouldn't have shared that magical moment together.

Now, it fell to the band to survive a monster attack as skillfully as they carried a tune. That's it, Jordan told himself. No more negative thinking. No more [Doom Spiral]-ing. I've been in some hairy situations in the real world, too, and I'm still here breathing. As hairy as a pack of Vesselia monsters? Perhaps not. Which was why he had every intention to heed expert advice.

"What's the plan? Can you take them out from this distance?"

"I could." Foxhill chewed on his words.

"But I better not try. There're too many of them for my liking. And the fact they haven't attacked yet means they're not sure about this either. Best thing to do for now is get back on the carriage and hit the road. With any luck, they'll give up the cha—hey, partner, don't give me that look. I'm your Pathfinder. Do you trust me or not?" Jordan could feel himself paling several shades, but tried to hold it together. This is Vesselia. My favorite video game. I should be excited that I'm finally seeing some action…

"I trust you."

"Good. Now, help me pack up… and by the grace of Nezha, keep your voice down. Don't wanna spook them any more than necessary." Even in the midst of an emergency, Jordan had the presence of mind to clap back at one of the gods. Hear that, Nezha? Your favorite Pathfinder used your name in vain before any of the other deities. I'm sure you two would make a cute couple. The quietest camp-dismantling of Jordan's life, all the while looking over his shoulders at the shadows in the distance.

Thankfully, said shadows seemed content to stay put, at least for now. As Jordan climbed into the cabin, he was a little startled to see Canyon already seated on her side.

"Hey," he blurted, then immediately wondered if he'd prematurely broken protocol. But, after a moment's pause, Canyon gave a muffled response.

"Good morning… though I suppose 'good' might be a touch optimistic." Somehow, Jordan found it in him to smile, even with a herd of monsters watching his every move. And if he weren't mistaken, the scarf covering Canyon's mouth shifted ever so slightly. The carriage picked up speed. A tad rockily at first, then buttery smooth once Foxhill found his footing. From inside the cabin, the situation felt no different to yesterday's ride—a traveling party rolling through a vast wilderness. As for outside…

well, who could say what was going on? The suspense was killing Jordan, and the lack of a visual even more so. He kept glancing toward Canyon's side of the cabin, where she'd already taken to watching from the window. The Lv. 8 Chronicler was ostensibly calm, demeanor unchanged from yesterday. Unchanged… except for one aspect.

"Sit closer." A beat passed in silence, as Jordan processed what he'd just heard.

"Excuse me?"

"I said sit closer. So you can have a better view. You need to be able to react if anything were to happen." He didn't need telling twice. As Jordan slid closer, however, he felt a sudden surge in the ambient temperature. His eyes darted for an explanation, until he realized that the heat emanated from Canyon herself. An effect far more dramatic than could be attributed to the human body, even when accounting for her bundled-up attire. This moment too passed quickly.

Such that Jordan dismissed it as a trick of the imagination. He then concentrated on the window view, staring past a porcelain rectangle and into the salt flat's vast whiteness.