Strongjaw & The Dish

3

Three months. It had been that long since he'd taken the walk in Whitestone that had ended in the arms of Trish, the Dish. He'd not given too much thought to it. Now and then, sure, when idle hours allowed it, but no more than once or twice a day. Three times tops. There was little time for anything fun though nowadays. They'd pretty much killed a god, but that didn't mean they could sit around on their asses for the rest of their lives. The first order of business, once things back in Whitestone were on an even keel, was to help the people of Vasselheim get all their shit fixed.

He'd been in town only two days, well, two nights and one day, and it was another distant event that had been gnawing at his mind like a dog with a meaty bone. He had to do it. He would go and turn himself in. He had, after all, beaten two guards of the city. He'd broken their jaws and poured ale on them and for what? Shits and giggles? He couldn't start this new chapter of his life with that hanging over his head. He'd ... he'd just have to hope they would let him help rebuild the city, like that Duke guy in Whitestone had. Serving his sentence but still being useful.

Thinking of the other goliath, naturally, it linked his thought process to the one who'd beaten him at arm wrestling that Winter's Crest Festival day. No. Couldn't think about her. Had to go make things right. He kept his head down, his shoulders slumped, his course set. Less than two hours later, he was being freed. Praised as one of the saviors of the city, he was grateful for the freedom, of course, but wasn't quite sure what to do with it now.

He was not a smart man, he knew that. That didn't mean he liked it. He had learned his letters and could read little bitty words but he wanted more. He'd lived a long time illiterate, and not knowing any was almost kinda better than knowing some, because now instead of just a page of nothing but squiggles, he could make out half of what it said. Half was not good enough! He was not a fan of weakness in himself, and not being able to read whatever he wanted whenever he wanted... that was a big weakness.

"Could you point me in the direction of a.. a lie-berry?" He'd asked, and they were showing him. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got there, but fate put the answer directly in his way as the persnickity little shopkeep seemed to appear before him as he stepped out of the station.

"I was being summoned. They found the..." his flushed face shifting from the anticipation of having retribution to confusion as he pointed from Grog to the guards. "Why's he walking free?"

Like lightning it hit him. He could pay back this man at least. Sure he could give him some gold and that would mollify him, but he had the start of another thought that wasn't quite clear yet, except that he knew it was a very good idea.

"Yes..." Grog grinned to himself as the idea took root, spreading fast. This man needed to feel like a man again. Needed to win. Grog understood that feeling. To beat him physically, that was just...not going to happen. There were, however, other ways to prove you were better. "You will come with me." The more he thought on it, the bigger the idea got until it filled his head and made a little warm thing appear in his chest where that sinking regret had taken up residence, driving it out.

The man blinked and gawped and pointed with his nose lifted a bit. "Gentlemen... Gentlemen, this is the man who punched me. This is the man who ruined my business..."

'Oh yeah', Grog thought. 'This is going to work'.

"Gentlemen, whose word are you going to believe. The savior of Vasselheim.." He gave what he thought was a very heroic sort of pose, shoulders back and chin up, hands on his hips before he dropped his eyes to the merchant. "Or his tutor." His last word filled with the whole of his big idea just in the way he said it.

The man opened his mouth, then looked more confused than ever. "What?"

The guards backed away, and Grog laid out the plan. He'd pay the merchant to be his tutor. Teach him to read. The sack of gold was more than the man could lift, but he drug it along, either too proud to ask for help or too worried Grog would not give it back. They arrived at his shop, where he made Grog wait outside while he put the coin away. He returned a few minutes later, looking a little uneasy.