Balamor clasped the dirt hand tightly and nodded his head in agreement. Awkid placed their dishes in a basin cut into the countertop before walking to a chest and removing a second hammock. He quietly tied off both ends and gestured Balamor to rest. The young mapmaker realized his body was exhausted, and quickly scurried up to the hammock and jumped in. Awkid blew out the candle before kicking off his thick leather boots and climbing into bed.
It seemed like only minutes went by before the hefty Dwarf was knocked out. The sound of rain began to intensify along with the obnoxious snore of Awkid Anvorbeard. But Balamor’s mind was stuck on the Mog Brush no matter the background noise. He couldn’t believe he had made it this far by himself, Awkid was right. Traveling any further alone would not be wise.
Reaching to the floor and he lifted his pack into his hammock and rooted through its contents until he came across the cross cut stone rune. The moonlight pierced through the window and etched out the symbol of what Balamor now called Raji.
He knew his knowledge of the great language was only starting to grow, but he felt a sense of familiarity when we spoke the strange word. He placed the items into his leather bag before returning it to the floor, repeating the word in his head once more. His eyes grew heavy within seconds as he pondered what it meant to be a Mystic.