Companions

Summary

Rot reflects on his companion Lant's unlikely survival and victory against a band of Orcs, attributing it to Lant's incredible luck.

Abstract

In a lively tavern called The Wailing Woman, Rot ponders the enigma of Lant's survival despite his apparent lack of wit or grace. Lant, who is described as being as "thick in the skull like a rock," has just returned from a seemingly suicidal charge against five Orcs, emerging victorious with the help of his friends. Rot, Beast, and Rift played crucial roles in the battle, with Rift's archery skills and Rot's swordsmanship turning the tide. As Lant celebrates their victory and the discovery of a satchel full of magic, Rot acknowledges that it was Lant's extraordinary luck, akin to the favor of the Gods, that saved them all.

Opinions

Rot views Lant as clumsy and lacking in intellect, but extremely fortunate.
Lant's survival and success in battle are seen as a result of divine luck rather than skill.
Rot holds a deep appreciation for his companions' abilities, recognizing their contribution to their victory.
The narrative suggests that Lant's bravado and lack of caution are both a liability and an asset, as his reckless charge actually led to a successful outcome.
The discovery of the satchel full of magic is seen as a significant reward, enhancing the sense of fortune surrounding Lant and his companions.

He was thick in the skull like a rock — clumsy, but lucky

Image public domain, taken from the British Library

Sitting now in the open hall of The Wailing Woman, with his best friends Beast and Ale, Rot wondered how a man like Lant survived. He was thick in the skull like a rock, clumsy, but lucky. That was it — luck.

“The luck of the Gods,” Rot said in a whisper. He drank from his mug and watched as Lant rambled and talked up some horse dung with a local at the dartboard. How else could a man rush a band of five Orcs with a short sword and come out on top? Rot wagged his head took another sip. Lant would be a half-eaten carcass had he been alone. His faithful hound, Beast, and Rift the elf — expert with a bow — had been there. Rot smiled as he relived the moments in his mind.

“Die Minions of Kreet!” Lant had bellowed, rushing the Orcs, sending Rot, Beast, Rift, and the Orcs into frenzied activity. Lant stumbled and fell flat just feet from the Orcs who had begun to scramble for cover.

A shot from Rift’s bow brought one Orc down, the arrow protruding from his eye socket.

Rot was now at a full charge toward the four remaining Orcs who stared jack-jawed at the prostrate Lant. They hardly regained their fighting legs before Rot bore down upon the leader, a mighty blow from his broad sword cleaving the Orc from forehead to neck.

Rift, closer to the group now, pierced another through the shoulder with an arrow; this same Orc attempted a blow with his Ax at Lant, who was miraculously, at that very moment rolling to the side and attempting to stand. The luck of the Gods sparing his life. A second arrow from Rift through the Orcs Chest brought him down.

Rot sparred with the other two, Beast tormenting them as any good dog would.

Lant, who was on his feet again, ran the last Orc through from behind, allowing Rot to sever its head from torso.

They sorted through the Orc loot, finding a roasted human torso, some gold and silver pieces, potions, powders, scrolls, and a ring.

Lant let out a whoop. “Boys, look at this!” It was a satchel full of Magic.

Yep. The luck of the Gods, Rot thought to himself as he went to join his companion at the Dart Board.