“I tipped one of my grandfather's rafts once. Trying to pet a fish. We lost a full load of trade goods... but, I... did get to pet the fish. It was not as soft as I had hoped." - Daelinn
The warmth of the sun’s rays spilled down upon two Elven heads, one dark and one fair. Barangolf guided the raft through the river with confidence while Daelinn perched along the edge, her toes dangling in the water. Overhead branches cast shadows across the river, but wherever the branches parted light dappled the water. On occasion a flicker of scales could be seen as the fishy denizens of the river deigned to come close enough to inspect the object bobbing through their river.
Their raft was laden with goods to trade with the men of Esgaroth -- Daelinn always enjoyed visiting Esgaroth, finding the Men (and the occasional Dwarf) and their beards amusing. Sometimes they even shared tales with her, or taught her a new tune.
And sometimes she even paid enough attention that he thought he might someday allow her to travel there on her own.
“Ooooh! A fish!”
This simple exclamation was the only warning Barangolf had before the raft tilted dangerously. He frantically shifted position, trying to redistribute his weight to keep the raft right side up, but to no avail; the raft flipped over, dumping passengers and cargo into the icy river.
Whoosh!
Water filled eyes and ears and mouth. The older Elf heaved at the raft, pushing it off and away, and then rose to the surface, sputtering. He tried to call Daelinn’s name, but ended up coughing out water instead.
“Oompah?” A quavering voice asked, and he blinked water from his eyes as he turned towards his granddaughter. “I’m sorry. I just...I just wanted to pet the fish…”
About them baskets of fruit and casks of wine bobbed lazily away. His clothes and hair were plastered to him, damp and cold and heavy with water.
But this confession was so absurd that he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I see you liked the fish so much you wanted to be one!” He exclaimed, flinging his arms up over the raft and pushing it up against the riverbank. “Come on,” He pushed dripping hair out of his eyes, “Let’s see what we can salvage.”
He offered his granddaughter a hand, and then the two raft-elves waded out into the river after their goods.
And if they were able to salvage nothing, at least they had no worse mishap than an overturned raft and a few less goods to trade. If it was only their trade goods gone then nothing of value was lost.'
((Daelinn's player told this story at a session I missed, so obvs I had to write Barangolf's POV))
