The Auric Insignia Read Free

but if one looked deeper, one would find that he was a kind spirit willing to aid those who allowed him. He took a bite from the grilled leg and savored the flavor, Galt was a mediocre guard but he was a sorcerer in his own right when it came to cooking. Roarke thanked the spirits he didn’t believe in, for not being better at cooking himself, otherwise there would be two fat men sitting by the fire.
         -And if your career as a trader didn’t pan out, you could always start up a tavern. Your recipes are the closest I’ve come to seeing magic in this world.
         -Fancy talk will get you nowhere, that’s my last leg you’re eating right there so, no more for you!
         -Galthar Grudious, your lowly thoughts concerning my honor strikes me like an arrow to the heart.
         -Galthar, bah! Galthar was my father and he’s not around anymore, and good riddance! No good wench-bedding drunkard....
         Roarke smiled, having once again been able to lure an outburst out of the old guardsman. When Galt realized he had been taken for a fool, a smile split his worn facade and his familiar laughter boomed out into the woods.
         -Well, delicious meat aside, I really should get going. How about one of those torches you mentioned earlier?
         -Alright, alright, leave an old man all alone in the woods why don’t ya! I’ll get you your bloody torch.
         -Most kind, Galthar, my good man, most kind indeed.
         -Bite me.
     
    ***
     
     

Come here pipsqueak!
     
    Roarke was sitting outside his cottage mending a snare that had broken the night before. Being the second rate bowman that he was, he relied heavily on  his snares to catch his game. Even though they had an almost assured recurring success, the catches were meager  at best, seeing that it was hard to trap anything bigger than a hare or a boar piglet that had strayed too far from its mother. Anytime a beast of greater size found itself caught in the noose by some unlucky chance, it would snap the line, which had been the case this night. Even though mending the noose was meticulous work, he didn’t mind it, besides, he was excited to try out a new idea. The snares that day were going to be a bit different, in an attempt to minimize torn lines and maximize his catches, he had bought some brand new steel wires from the blacksmith. Brock, the blacksmith, had suggested them when Roarke had stopped by to restock his supplies. Sitting where he sat, on a stool bathed in flickering morning light that so tirelessly tried to pierce the dense foliage, he enjoyed the task in front of him. Even though it was lighter here, in the clearing he had made out for himself, the enormous Ymo trees that was scattered throughout the forest, with the largest samples reaching over threehundred feet tall, made it hard to get a open patch of sky worthy of the name. Unless one had a team of loggers at ones behest, cutting down the dark green giants was far too dangerous, not mentioning the effort it would take to haul away and process the timber.
         This was his place, here he could be alone with his thoughts, no noteworthy thoughts, but still, his. He could escape the pressures that human company brought with it, the social standards and expectations. The only thing that betrayed the presence of other life was the gentle thrums of the Codi birds that inhabited the surrounding woods. The ground within the clearing was covered with the green grass that had received a fighting chance once the trees, and the moss that followed, had been taken away. Pausing for a moment, Roarke looked up and saw movement in the tree line in front of him, something small and quick coming towards him, hopping across the open patch of land that separated them. It was a chipmunk, heading straight at him. Confounded by this unnatural and bold behavior, Roarke stopped mending his snare and observed the approaching rodent. When it came within ten feet of him, it stopped and looked