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”Jerkey, eh?” Matthes said, visibly brightening. ”Brother! See, Ethilde? Some folks got taste.”
”It’s about the weight,” she replied. ”We have quite a lot of other gear to carry. Ropes, bolts, food, light sources, blankets,” she said, sorting through the items strewn about her feet, ”not to mention weapons. Philyra, you have your bow, yes? I can’t guarantee it will be useful below ground but,” she shrugged, ”better than nothing. Hoskuld, take this.” She pulled a long, wickedly curved knife from the pile and a scabbard for it. It was about 2 feet in length and an inch wide, and though it gleamed fairly well in the light, the occasional nick in the surface proved that it was not, perhaps, the best of weapons.
”Each of you should take a rope and a, um,” she held up a small, circular metal device. ”A… kareebynder. Or whatever this thing is called. Anyway, take four of those, and four of the bolts, and this thing here,” she said, holding up a strange metal device about the size of her fist. ”We’re not really equipped to do any heavy exploration, and if the going gets too steep we won’t be able to make it too far, but it’s better to be over than under prepared.”
”Which is why I want more jerky, woman!”
Ethilde ignored him and continued to hand out items. ”Canteen, rations, blanket, and – oh! Backpacks.” The packs were leather and old, cracking around the straps. ”I believe that’s it?” The items sort of fit into the bags, but the weight of it was intense, especially if they were going to be crawling around all brightening… or longer.
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