Subject to Will

What a coincidence indeed, that the Half-Elf chanced to come across the only large group of individuals in Midgard that collectively had no interest in gutting him and taking his every valuable possession he had. Well, he had some doubts about that Majvoc character.

He pondered a bit on Radis' answer to his question, and the word "Ragnarok" hung in his mind.

Ragnarok....the gods are dead.

Garand huffed a little. He could tell.

The strangers continued to tend to him, a few of the others starting a fire using some of the more organic rubble that had accompanied the Half-Elf during his little tumble. Honestly, this seemingly unconditional kindness was strange and almost alien to him. The brutes that decided to spare his life and recruit him into their ranks even beat him around a bit first, not to mention they took everything from him besides the clothes on his back. He earned it back, over time, but things that he had done to get them back were not at all worth material possessions. He had yet to think of anything that was worth what he had done, what he had taken.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rumble that seemed echo throughout the entire cavern. Garand held his breath, half concerned that rocks were going to rain down from the ceiling. His breath was released when he realized his end would not come yet.

The large one, Erik, looked back.

"Something has blocked our way back."

It was only then that Garand realised the full scope of his sitiuation. There were likely less savory characters dwelling in these caverns. It was a thought that chilled him.

"I suggest we move." The one called Balar had said.

"I agree." replied the one called Jorrik, "But what of our patient here?"

The two gazed upon the Half-Elf, and for a moment, Garand thought he would be left here to be inevitably chrushed or eaten alive, or something to that effect.

"We create a splint and help him walk then." Suggested Balar. "Perhaps we will find the means to heal him on the way."

Majvoc, the roudy one, did not like this, and did not hestate to make himself scarce. Garand looked up to the two, Balar and Jorrik, as they went to work on fashioning something to help him move, utilizing the few apropriate materials they had at thier exposal to the best of thier ability. The Half-Elf considered the men, wondering if he would have done the same to someone else in his position.

"My name," He hesitated, "is Garand."

He was unsure why he chose this moment to announce such a fact, other than the simple fact that, it felt right; logic simply could not dictate his every action, this was a fact he had come to realise, even though he liked to believe otherwise.

Balar nodded, acknowledging his statement, and soon Garand was about as close as he was ever going to get anytime soon to "back on his feet".

Jorrik looked to the large one,"Friend Erik, will you lend our companion aid as we walk?"

The Jotun nodded in response, and Garand felt a wave of uncomfort roll over him as Erik stepped close.

"We do not have time for this, either take my aid or be left behind."

Garand gritted his teeth, but complied nevertheless, allowing the Jotun to lift him. The Half-Elf was not at all eager about being subject to someone elses complete and utter will in such a way, especially someone who's strength (which was directly proportional to thier ability to physically manipulate Garath) exceeded his own to such a considerable extent. Alas, Garand had decided, being carried was much more desireable than being abandoned.