Nature's Eye Roll Ch. 1 - A Druid Flaps into Town

AN: 

A surprise extra post on Sunday! This is the first chapter of a possible second project that I think I'm going to work on slowly alongside Sins. This story is meant to be far, far more lighthearted and irreverent than Sins is. Just a little something that I can write for the fun of it every once and awhile. No detailed outlines, no huge disorganized notes doc, no grand mystery or complex plot will be found here. Just a silly little story to wind down with about a Druid. 

Alright, now that that's out of the way, a little background on this. This one is meant to be a lighthearted System Apocalypse about a Druid trying to mind his own business tending a forest in an already fantastical world. Problem is, those damn Wizards in the capital have been messing about with things they don't understand again. Now our hero has to try and deal with all these soulless monsters thatare trying to eat his friends, along with all these refugees that are flooding into his forest. This initial chapter doesn't have any of that, this is before the 'Apocalypse' and more to set the mood than anything. 

Don't expect regular updates on this one, as it's just a fun little side-project. I don't promise weekly or even monthly updates yet, as Sins is still VERY MUCH SO my main focus. 

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A heavyset man tromped through the woods, humming a mindless tune to himself. It was a great day outside, and he was rather enjoying himself. Bit hot for his tastes, though. He was thankful that he’d remembered to grab a bandana to tie back his long, scraggly blonde hair. The sweat was running down in rivulets to accumulate in his equally scraggly beard. If hair was unbound like it was winter or something, not doubt it’d be sticking to his face.

Absentmindedly crushing a pine cone under the base of his walking stick, the man continued marching through the woods to his destination. It was the height of summer, and many of his herbs had reached full maturity by now. He’d collected a number of them and set out for the nearest town. The man didn’t often head into town, but even with as much of a hermit as he was, he still liked a few creature comforts of life in the modern Union.

But in order to afford those, he needed coin. It wasn’t much trouble for the man to grow some extra herbs not for his own use in order to sell them.

No trouble at all for a Druid.

Before long, the Druid had reached the edge of the road that eventually ran into town. Surprisingly busy, he noticed. Even this far out of town there were a few carts trundling down the hard-packed dirt. Idly, the man watched as a cart rattled past him. He supposed he could have asked the merchant for a ride into town, but the Druid was the type of man who liked his solitude.

The profession somewhat attracted his sort, he supposed.

Feeling movement near his feet, the man looked down and smiled at what he saw. It was exactly the type of company that people like him didn’t mind.

A small, white hare.

Crouching down, the man spoke the hare. “Caution, little friend,” The man spoke in a soothing voice, using the beast tongue. At the sound, the hare looked up at him. “This patch of dirt can prove dangerous to small kin such as yourself.”

The hare blinked its beady little black eyes at the Druid. “You mean the fucking road?” It replied, scoffing at the Druid in a surprisingly deep voice. “I know what I’m doing, you bear fucking nosy sack of shit.” Before the Druid could say anything in response, the hare turned back around and blindly leaped out onto the road.

Only to immediately be trampled under the hooves of a passing horse-drawn wagon. Neither the horse nor the wagon driver paid any mind at all to the now-deceased hare.

Still crouched down, the Druid blinked away the hare blood that had somehow been squirted directly back onto his hirsute features. Standing up, the Druid took out a dirty rag from a pocket on his furry vest and tried to wipe the blood away.

“Why is it,” The Druid groused, just smearing the blood around. “That every rabbit I meet is a stupid, foul-mouthed, fuzzy little asshole.” He gave up on getting the blood off and heaved a sigh. The man cast a glance up and down the road to see if any more carts were coming. Seeing nothing, the Druid stepped out in the road and picked up the now-dead hare by its ears. Inspecting the carcass critically, the Druid shrugged. “Dinner now. A little dirt never hurt a stew.”

Attaching the dead hare to a clip on his pack meant for just this purpose, the Druid rolled his shoulders and got back underway. Unlike the now-dead hare, however, he made sure to stay on the side of the road. Out of the way of passing carts.

“I don’t even fuck bears,” The Druid grumbled to himself while he walked. “They come onto me.”

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After a few hours of walking, the gates of town came into view. Sheepsydale sure as hells wasn’t the biggest town in the Union, and certainly not the most respectably named one. But the Office of the Union Chancellor had, as part of one of his oh-so-important development projects, decided to direct a new road through it a few years ago. Not the one the Druid was on, of course. This was a side road that didn’t have any toll collectors on it. No, the new road met this one in the center of town.

Since then, Sheepsydale had exploded into size, becoming a respectably sized trading spot along the new highway. The Druid understood that the residents of town were ecstatic about the growth, and more importantly, the influx of gold. They gouged travelers heinously for even one mug of ale these days, at the Sheepsydale Inn.

The Druid heaved a sigh at the line of merchant carts he saw outside of this gate. Of course, these blood-sucking ticks would have all come down this road, the penny-pinching bastards. They all wanted to avoid the tolls of the main road.

Screw this, the Druid thought to himself. The people in town knew who he was. They weren’t going to freak out if he randomly appeared in town, without checking in with the guards. Decision made, the Druid stepped off of the road and into the forest. Concentrating, he mentally reached deep inside of himself. Mentally touching one of the totems bestowed upon him by the Great Mother, he assumed one of his newer forms.

Always a good idea to practice.

Moments later, a large black and white bearded vulture erupted out from the tree tops with a triumphant screech. Flapping its nearly ten-foot-wide wingspan, the vulture gained height in the air. Soaring high above the town, the bird cast a critical eye down below it, searching for a suitable landing spot in town. It didn’t see many. The Druid in the shape of a vulture had thought that the number of merchant wagons was a bit odd, but now he saw there were way more.

Sheepsydale was downright infested with the money-grubbing assholes.

Whatever. He would default to one of his usual landing spots. He was already feeling the strain of assuming such an unfamiliar form, and needed to change back soon. Preferably somewhere that wasn’t hundreds of feet in the air.

Diving towards a small shack on the far side of the interior walls, the large vulture settled down on a post that a cow was tied to. The cow eyed the vulture that had just appeared in front of it with a mild interest.

“Back again, are you Barry?” The cow drawled through a mouth full of hay in a feminine voice.

With an effort of will, ‘Barry’ shifted back into his human form in a blur of silvery mana. With a yelp, he discovered that he should have hopped off of the post first, as he fell ass first onto it. With a muffled curse, ‘Barry’ hopped off of the post, clutching his behind in pain.

“Don’t call me Barry,” The Druid groaned. “It’s Barrador.”

“Sure, sure,” The cow said insincerely. “Whatever you say, Barry.”

With a sigh and a wince, Barrador the Druid straightened up. “And how are you, Martha? Ol’ John treating you right?”

Martha the milk cow shrugged her bovine shoulders as much as she could. “Could be worse, could be better. At least I get fed every day, ever since you called him a stingy cocksucker. Sometimes I even get apples.”

“Good, good,” Barry said absentmindedly, adjusting his pack. Barry didn’t know the exact mechanics behind how everything on him survived a shift, but he was sure as hell grateful for it. Even the dumbass hare was still on the pack. “Well, I’m off. Market day for me, Martha. I’ll you around, yeah?”

The cow merely hummed disinterestedly as Barrador the Druid started walking away, visibly wincing with every other step. However, a few moments later, she winced at a spike of pain from her udders. Jostling her back legs, she grimaced at the sensation of sloshing she felt and sighed. “Need a milking,” She muttered to herself. Rearing back her head, the milk cow mooed as loud as she could in an attempt to wake her lazy owner. “JOOOOOOOHN!”

A loud thump was heard from inside the shack next to her, before a stooped old man with a bald head and long beard burst out of the door. “Shut yer yap, beast!” He bellowed at the cow. “I’m a comin’!”

Martha merely mooed back at him, somewhat smugly.

Grumbling under his breath, Ol’ John started looking around for his milking bucket and stool before catching sight of the retreating Druid. “Did that damn drood rile ye up again, beast?” He said to Martha. “I hear ‘e dips his willy in bears.”