The Toblin
by Michael Butz

Erm was pulled from his dreams by a loud crack of wood-on-wood as it resonated through the forest.  A look around from his crude bed showed a forest of elm and ash thinned by autumn that was spread out over long rolling hills. The floor blanketed with fallen leaves and mulch, and dotted with shriveling ferns and bush.  

After composing himself, he tried to force some of the sleep from his bones with a stretch.  Sitting up proved to be a trifle tricky.  As he brought his plain wool blanket down to his waist, he discovered stiffness in his joints, making it uncomfortable to move them too far.  Erm's body was still sore and worn from his journey, and when he moved, the stiffness was joined by a dull ache.

As he rolled his head to relieve the soreness in his neck, Erm was taken aback to feel feathers among his hair, as they brushed across his back.  He thought he had imagined the things in those past days; it all seemed like one long dream. That all couldn’t’ve really happened -- could it?  Images of his journey floated through his head as he slowly remembered all that had happened.  His mind was a blur with thought.  But what does it all mean?

From behind him two piercing knocks rang out, breaking up the sound of a brook babbling somewhere off in the distance.  Erm scanned the sparse forest with furrowed brows, searching for the source of the commotion.

Pulling his untied shirt over his self, Erm slowly stood.  The dizziness in his head threatened to send him toppling over, onto his side.  When Erm stretched out, to rid himself of the remnants of sleep, he heard a loud thud, followed by the sound of a hard fall.  The noise came from about ten paces ahead, on the other side of a small thick of bushes.

Approaching the thicket, Erm saw the shrouded figures of two people fighting in the small clearing concealed by the brush.  And when he pushed through the last of the shrubs, he was surprised to be confronted by the odd sight of Arlain scuffling with the na’Sehn.

Arlain’s breeches and part of her coat, as well as her face and hair, were covered in dust from what must have been more than one fall.  Her coat, buttoned only half way, showed quite a bit of her shirt.  Slightly unbuttoned, the shirt displayed a low V neckline. Erm's head shook when he felt himself staring.

Sidestepping the man, Arlain lunged, throwing a strike to the middle with a forceful grunt.  A quick block diverted the blow, and the man returned a mirrored strike to the Solpla; the center of energy, or Reil just below the ribs, one of seven in the body.  Arlain produced a loud groan as the blow landed soundly, relieving her of air.  Doubling over, she fell to her knees trying to regain her breath. 

Stunned that the man would actually strike Arlain, Erm paused a moment before rushing off to kneel besides her. 

“Arlain,” Erm said with concern, “are you alright?” Wheezed gasps answered him, as Erm put his arm around her and helped her to sit.  Erm was surprised when a hard blow landed atop his head.  It wasn’t hard enough for him to see stars but sufficient to cause his head to sting nonetheless and bring back the dizziness he had felt earlier.

“Don’t interrupt.” The man said, his voice distant and cold.

“Go’n fetch some water.” He added with a nod back to where Erm came from.

Trying to suppress the anger from touching his face, as to not warrant another blow, Erm looked the man straight in the eye.

“Yes, my Tehm.”  Erm hated having to call him that; it meant ‘master over the inept’ loosely, and was the title of respect that he had to call the man to receive his tutelage.

Surprisingly Erm didn’t feel anger coming from Arlain, but frustration, caused by her lack of experience, and for letting herself be struck.  She would watch his practices with the man, and must expect herself to be as good as he was.

Giving the man a parting nod Erm headed to the smoldering fire pit, where the wooden buckets would be.  “Go get some water Erm,” he muttered mockingly under his breath, “don’t interrupt Erm -- Damn him.”  Taking a deep breath, Erm shook his head and formed the void to calm himself.

Grabbing up his staff, Erm hung the two buckets by hemp strings, one on each end, and balanced the makeshift yoke on his shoulders.  The ground fell away from the campsite, and as Erm followed a small trail down the decline towards the sound of a bubbling creek, the noise of practice faded to obscurity.

The brook was just out of sight when the forest floor started to drop off quickly at a bend in the stream, where it cut into the land.  The sharp grade exposed roots and caused several trees to lean in towards the stream.  

Erm had to step carefully down a steep slide of dirt to get to a thin bank of thickly woven roots mixed with loose soil.  Taking his staff from his back, Erm lowered one end, then the other, filling the buckets to brimming.  After a long, refreshing drink, he carefully climbed the slope back to the trail.

To his left, Erm thought he heard rustling in some bushes close by.  Pausing for a moment to listen, he dismissed it as lingering fatigue when there was no further movement; but only after a few more steps, he heard more rustling, and could see some bushes moving.  A faint voice came from the bush, as if from a distance.  The indiscernible mumbling was followed sharply by amused laughter, from the opposite direction.  Erm was beginning to think the ghosts had returned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erm saw a flash of movement, trailed by a shaking bush.  He couldn’t see what it was, but was compelled to chase after it.  Setting down the buckets carefully, Erm took up his staff, and was off and running through the smattering of thinned out brush.

Erm didn’t know what he was chasing, or why, but he was sure he wasn’t far behind.  And every so often something would shake a bush ahead of him, teasing him into following further.

Pushing through a line of bushes, Erm almost fell backwards as he skidded to a halt.  In a very small clearing, circled with gangly brush, Erm found himself not six paces from a lounging forest cat.  The cat was like no other he’d seen before; as long as him and a half, the cat looked like a giant bobcat with shaggy mane and tufted ears.  A massive puffy tail swept back and forth on the ground, as the cat looked him up and down.  Erm didn’t think it a good sign.

Ahead of him, Erm thought he heard the sound of water trickling down in the bushes.  When it stopped, the bushes rustled slightly, producing a small, very odd looking man.  In fact it wasn’t a man so to speak, but a Toblin.  Erm was shocked at the sight.  He thought they only existed in imp-tales.

The little man was as tall as Erm’s waist.  Shaggy light brown hair topped his head, with eyebrows that were beyond bushy; the hair of them was long, and hung down to help frame his face, along with a full beard.  And of course, there were his ears that marked him as Toblin.  They looked like long, skinny bobcat ears, fuzzy, and tufted, drooping down to either side.

He was wearing somewhat of a fancy button up coat sown from some dull brown fabric.  The cut was unlike any Erm had ever seen; it looked to have two collars with a kerchief tucked into the neck, hanging over the front of him.  From the wide leather belt, the coat parted in a curve, ending in long coattails in the back, covering tan breaches.  Under the handkerchiefs stuffed into the man’s cuffs Erm thought he saw fur covering the backs of his hands, and his bare feet looked to have fur covering the tops of them, just like in the stories.

When he looked up from adjusting his belt, a surprised noise came from the little man at the sight of Erm.  Sharp, furry ears and long, shaggy brows furrowed, as the little man looked him up and down.  Surprise was replaced by a warm smile, however, as the man went to introduce himself.

In some beautifully flowing, yet unrecognizable tongue, the Toblin began.  Confusion marked Erm’s face as the man continued, causing him to cut his spiel short, only to begin again in another language.  Erm thought he recognized this one; it sounded to be Hesh, a tongue he’d heard many a time at summer’s Sundae gathering down in Talley’s Landing.

Erm looked around confusedly, unable to understand the man.  "Um – Hello," Erm said, “I can’t understand you.”

“Ah, a Gaetolyn; from, uh – what do you people call it now a days.  The Vale… oh yes, The Vale of Braith’s Gait, by the sound a’ya.”  The Toblin said without much sign of an accent.  He had somewhat of a satisfied look about him, and after a short pause he shook his head, “oh yes, yes.  It is such a glorious morn’ to be meeting someone such as yourself.  And what, young man, shall I call you as.”

Confusion lingered in Erm’s head as he looked about, trying to form a proper response.  What in Hehl is a Gaetolyn?  The man was as proper as the High Merchants of Dollan.

“Um, you can, ah… call me as, Erm.”  Erm responded after a few moments of searching for words.

“Erm, ehy,” the Toblin said with ears and brows furrowed, “that isn’t your whole name, now is it?”

“Well I, ah… I haven’t been named yet.  Erm is the name my mother gave me, I actually just finished my Seh’tal yesterday.”

Giving Erm another wry look the Toblin went on, “is that so.  Well, anyway… Erm.  You may call me Haraln; boy the forest speaks through, son of Kevei; two moons, of the Crow Band of Reh’leoh.  The circumstance of our meeting was… odd, yet a pleasure nonetheless.”  With that the Toblin bowed his head, and Erm bowed his in return. “What clan are you from, Erm?”

“Oh, yeah, um excuse me… I’m of the Turtle Band of the Ngatohya peoples.  I guess you could call me, Erm eto’na’Sehn, son of Oarrn; splayed feather.

“Ah, you’re an Etoiyu, ehy.  No offense, but I believe, you meant na’Sehn’Etoi.”  Haraln said with a smirk, then added, “you are well met, Erm of the Turtle Band of Ngatohya.