A fugitive? Tityanna wonders concerning the smith's strange reply. Her strangely shaped eyes narrow as she studies him for a few moments. Highly unlikely. One could not be too rushed to leave the city if he found the time to purchase a horse, a wagon, and adequate provisions.
Tityanna's attention is drawn by a pair of mercenaries in the leading wagon for a moment as one falls from the cart. She sighs and starts forward, but watches as the fellow with the predatory birds assists him and they move away together.
"Will you be constructing your own forge, Master Donal?" she inquires with a lit of excitement in her voice. She spares a glance for the quality of his horse, and tries to recall that of others.
"To be honest, the thought that we would be conducting an accurate survey of the lands and its resources had not occurred to me until this moment," she continues after a brief pause, and smiles nervously. "I suppose we share the extraordinary need to be away."
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"If a new kingdom emerges, Zavac, I hope it respects nature. These wild lands are more exciting than the quiet settled lands of my mentor. Plus talking to only birds gets old."
"Ah, yes. Nature. Mother Nature, the Nature of things, one's Nature. Of which do you refer?" Zavac sends one of his rare, slight smiles in the man's direction, hoping that he catches the intended jest. "I wonder what it would be like, to talk with birds. Even to soar, such as they. To have such freedom from burdens, to go where the winds fancy." He lets out a sigh, tracing one of the scars that ran along his right arm. "Burdens aplenty, in the 'exciting wild lands' from where I hail. Don't get too comfortable, though, as excitement can easily turn dire."
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Stephanus smirks at the thought of warring in the name of the Taldane crown. So much energy wasted in tearing down the things another man builds. Back and forth over the same tired land.
"Not exactly a blade, though I've used mine from time to time. Actually I'm an actor by training, though not by trade. I've spent most of my time since matriculation in research and writing. You might be amazed to know what men will pay for copies of what other men have written."
"But that work is incredibly dry. Copying novels for some rich noble's wife. Or even worse, treatises on the workings of the Opparan market - Hell and death! A man could grow blind and rich at the same time."
"It's the stuff that's not yet written that intrigues me. The chance to come out here to the frontier and live. Let some jack in Oppara make a fortune writing small copy of the things I have written. That's my goal. Let me chronicle the things that we do. Make a tale worth telling."
While Warren and Zavac scrounge wide for wild game and potables, Kams will do due diligence closer to the trail, scouting out a good, serviceable campsite and attempting to forecast the impending weather for our continued journey.
I'd say we should have some skies tomorrow, folks. The weather should be {insert DM notations here}. Best to keep the younger folk close, all the same.
Taking time to catch up to Stephanus, What kind of tobago do you indulge, good sir. There may be a few local varieties I can scrounge up for you, should the opportunity arise. I'm still studying the flora of this region, so it may take me some time. Never can tell.
I'll have to talk to Godsson Warren about any plants that might serve as tobacco. Good to include that as a cultivatable crop, secure our ends with Brevoy.
"Let me chronicle the things that we do. Make a tale worth telling."
That's a fine asperation, and a worthy goal I'm sure. All the same, if you could, I would like it much to keep myself as unmentioned as may be possible, least wise in any "copied" tales of daring or 'ere do well. If Galt taught anything, it's that those whom go unnoticed seldom get to meet Jenni or her sisters.
And Ali might still be with me.
Hearing Alaina's question, Meyerson's face turns a bit sad. With a slight shake of his head he turns to her and says, "Fate, politics, greed, magic, or the simple mean-spirited nature of some of those in power. Could be all of these or only one that truly put my family and I on this new, unexpected path.”
His eyes take on a bit of a faraway look as his relates his tale, ”The people of my family had worked the same land for over three generations under House Rogarvia. The lords were hard, but fair in most cases and we were honest folk doing good, solid work. The land gave and we were proper caretakers."
"It seemed to start as soon as the Vanishing happened. Our crops started slowly failing. Not all at once, but a little here, a little there. No matter what I tried the land simply stopped giving. Others who were loyal to the old family found themselves in the same situation.” His wife reaches over and pats him lightly on the shoulder, the memories obviously still painful for them both.
”What made it all worse was good Lord Nikolai Surtova, a distant cousin of the king and lord of our village, kept raising our tithes. Soon enough our debts were too much, the land did not provide, and I was either forced to sell or put myself and family in indentured servitude."
His voice grows fierce with passion as he continues, “I’ll pay my debts under honest circumstances, but whatever was happening on that land wasn’t natural or normal. I’d swear it by Erastil’s bow. And rather than becomes slaves to those usurpers we packed up and decided to take are chances in the south. At least we’ll know who are enemies truly are.”
Listening to his father’s story the oldest boy rides over, full of the fiery and passionate emotion of youth and adds, ”Someday we’ll get our revenge on those Surtovan swine...“ But before he can say much more, his mother hushes him and sends him to check on his younger brother.
Looking at his son with sad eyes Meyerson says, ”He’s a good lad, but takes after his great granddad. Heart full of fire, but not enough good sense in his head to temper the flames.”
"But enough of our sad tale, what set you on this path into the unknown?"
Donal waves his hand towards the back of his wagon. "I've most of what I need to get started tucked away back there. Tools, iron, bellows. I’ll need to build out a forge I’m sure.” A grimace crosses his face as he continues, ”It’s a sure bet that whatever forges have been built out there, none will be good enough for the kind of work I’ll be wanting to do.”
As Tityanna mentions the need to get away, his eyes twinkle a little once again and he says, ”Some folk just occasionally need to move on. I for one, think there’s no shame or dishonor in wanting to see the world. It has much to offer and teach, as long as one is willing to pay attention and learn.” He then chuckles softly and says, ”I just hope, the teacher doesn’t rap our knuckles too hard this time around.”
Warren and Zevac manage to bring down a deer as evening approaches. Along with the various roots they were able to find, it should make for a good meal for everyone including the settlers.
Kams is able to find a decent campsite, just a few yards off of the road. A stand of fir trees just behind camp hides a small artesian well which provides clear, cold water. After a few minutes looking at the sky, winds, and other signs, Kams is able to warn everyone that the current good weather isn't likely to hold more than another day.
When the hunting party returns, Andrea Meyerson and her daughters offer to prepare the meat and vegetables along with some sweetbreads for dessert. To add flavor, Miss Leveton provides some herbs and spices which she gets from a large chest stored in her wagon, and Porter Deepsilver pulls out a bottle of brandy and passes it around to the group as the food cooks.
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After the successful hunt, Zavac sits back and watches the rest of the group. The settlers appeared to be quite able around a campsite, which allowed him some time to think. But, alas, it was not to be so. Yes, of course. I'd have to sit beside the...colorful dwarf.
"None for me," he stated, waving away the brandy. "I've not a taste for the stuff."
He's staring at me like I'm mad.
"What? Is there something on my face?"
Looking at his son with sad eyes Meyerson says,”He’s a good lad, but takes after his great granddad. Heart full of fire, but not enough good sense in his head to temper the flames.”
"But enough of our sad tale, what set you on this path into the unknown?"
Aliana rides silently along, listening to Fulton's tale. "There is a place for fire, though you are right; it is best if it is balanced with ice. He is young and has time yet to learn this wisdom, especially with a good father there to guide him. I am sorry for your family's troubles, though I trust that as with most of these others, this new venture will also herald new fortunes."
She falls silent for a time before resuming. Wynd snorts, tale swishing at a fly as they plod along. "As for myself, I came to discover what I could of my brother Caleth. He is a knight in the service of a Lord Redwine. About two years or so ago, he was sent on a quest down to the Stolen Lands. We would look forward to his letters, which he sent fair regularly - that is until about seven or eight months ago. The letters ceased arriving and my family has not been able to find news of him since. So, I determined to go and discover what I could of his whereabouts. I heard of the expedition, and thinking it likely more profitable to join than to venture into such wild territory as a woman alone, I sought to join. And so here I am."
"If you should ever hear any word about a man named Caleth, or anyone working for Redwine, I would be indebted to you if you would let me know."
"Have you or your sons known any trades other than farming, Master Fulton? Or was there a particular type of farming which you hope to pursue when we arrive? I was thinking earlier that it might be beneficial to take inventory of all the skills our expedition possesses that we might better know what expertise is available to us, as well as what areas we may be deficient in when the time comes. Know our strengths and our weaknesses, so to speak."
When the caravan pulled off the road to make camp, Tityanna leads Puck through the trees quietly. The smell of pine reminded her vaguely of home, though admittedly the company was far less... diverse. With Master Donal's permission, she will store Puck's saddle pack near his wagon, and inform him that she is in possession of a tent capable of sleeping more than one if he is has no interest in discovering when the weather will take its turn. After freeing Puck, she leads him to the water source and while he waters himself, brushes his coat and studies his joints and feet for any obvious sign of strain.
Tityanna chooses to settle near Master Donal while the women folk cook. When the brandy reaches her hands, she lifts it to the huntsman first, then the women in a gesture of tribute.
"You have my thanks for the meal," she says politely, then tips the bottle to its origin and smiles, "and for the refreshment, Masters." She brings the bottle to her lips but barely wets them with the liquor, observing that her tolerance for it is extremely low, and she has no desire for her intent to be misunderstood.
"Apologies for not introducing myself earlier," she says and passes the bottle along. "I am Tityanna, formerly of Gronzi Forest," she continues, smiles and spares a glance for Master Donal. "Enchantress and ne'er do well."
The Meyerson's listen to Alaina's tale intently and with sympathy. Neither can recall hearing of her brother's lost expedition, but both promise to pass along anything they might learn in the future.
As the conversation turns to skills Fulton says, "My family and I have been farmers for generations. Not knowing what kind of soils we'll find it's hard to say what crops we'll be growing, but I've got seed for corn, beans, oats, wheat, root vegetables, and a few varieties of melons and squash. Should be enough to get us started if things go well."
He thinks for a second or two and then says, "As for other skills, well my mother was always a stickler for book learning, and I guess the same rubbed off on me. All the young ones have spent time learning their numbers and letters. Alexis, the oldest girl has a good mind for keeping things organized and the oldest boy has had a little training in the militia." He runs his hand over his chin for a second and then continues, "Of course there's all the basic skills a person learns working with the land; building your own cabin, hunting, working with animals, basic woodworking, all of that."
He then let's a smile cross his face and he looks at his wife and chuckles, "And Andrea is an excellent cook. Once we get settled you'll have to get a taste of her berry pie."
At her husband's words, Mrs. Meyerson laughs with him and adds, "That's if you can beat Fulton here to it. I swear the man can eat a whole pie in one sitting."
Burdo Deepsilver hit his brother on the shoulder as Porter takes the flask back from Zevac, "Bah! What're ya doin offerin that one anything of ours in the first place." His gray eyes glare with open distrust and hostility towards the half orc.
Face flushed with embarrassment, Porter turns on his brother and gives him a glare of his own. "This one wasn't responsible for what happened. I'm just bein' friendly, and there's no cause for bein' rude. After all, they're here to see us safe."
Burdo brusquely waves off his brothers admonition, turns and gruffly walks back over to his wagon and starts setting up a canvas to sleep under.
Porter turns back to Zevac, his hands once again adjusting the big, floppy hat and says, "Apologies for my brother, we've had some bad encounters with orcs and he's not an open, trusting soul by nature."
Accepting the offered drink with pleasure and gratitude, Donal takes a sip or two and then passes the flask on. He gladly clears a space in his wagon to make room for Tityanna's saddle and gear.
At her mention of sharing a tent, his face glows red for a few seconds before he says, "I've slept under stars, clouds, in rain and heat, and many an inn both fine and shabby. I can't say I've had a better, kinder offer before. It will be a pleasure to not wake up soaked to the skin in the morning." He adds in a bit of a shy whisper, "You've no worries as I'll mind my manners even with such beauty nearby."
Tityanna colors as well, and her eyes widen. "That particular scenario did not..." she begins then arrests herself and sighs. "I believe men are honorable until they have demonstrated otherwise. Your cunning and foresight are admirable qualities, and," she colors more deeply.
"Beg pardon, I've been a bit isolated of late. One loses a sense of community in the cities, and otherwise simple conversations become unnecessarily awkward."
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Zavac nods to the dwarf, showing acceptance of the apology. "Trust me, I've had worse. Most aren't open nor trusting of my race to begin with, let alone..." He trailed off, leaving the obvious hanging in the air.
A few moments of silence...
"Your brother's attitude may be right, though. Orcs are a dangerous race, and even the most strict of discipline isn't always enough to snuff out the Rage." At those words, Zavac's eyes become glazed over, lost deep in thought, memories. Haunted day dreams, he thinks bitterly, shaking his head.
"Well, friend, I hope you enjoy deer. Whatever the ladies are making of it sure smells enticing," as his stomach starts to softly rumble.
Still blushing himself, Donal says with a smile, "Awkward conversation has always been a special gift of mine. My grandmother always used to tell me I'd spend less timing tasting my foot if I opened my mouth less often." He let's out a laugh and then takes a deep breath smelling the scent of cooking meat and vegetables.
Turning to those who found and those fixing the meal he says, "It's been a long day on the road, it's certainly appreciated this bounty you've brought in and decided to share." He offers a quick bow of the head to Zevac, Warren, and the Meyerson women. An embarrassed look crosses his face as his stomach rumbles in anticipation of the meal.
Watching Zevac, Porter nods his head in sympathy with the half-orc. The motion causes his hat to slowly slip forward before he manages to push it back under control.
"Orcs are a dangerous lot and I've certainly no love for them myself. However, many in your situation seem more victims of circumstance than villains. I choose to judge a person by their deeds verses their actions or outer appearance."
With a gesture towards his own unusual clothing he says with a snort "Of course, my own appearance often causes...unusual reactions from many."
Turning his head, he joins Zevac in smelling the enticing aromas coming from the cook fire and then wanders over to see if he can assist with the meal preparation.
Warren is strangely drawn to the pleasant conversation, peaceful folk, and the discomfort of the lady.
I really have missed much in my isolation--I joined up for this just in time.
"Tityanna, you have been isolated of late--I confess I have been isolated for many years. I made a similar comment similar to yours to Aliana a while back, lucky for me she didn't have as much fun with my comment as the smith had with yours. Let me see if your horse is more trusting than Aliana's."
Handle Animal Charisma
Warren jumps back again quickly.
"I am glad I did not decide to become a Horse Whisperer."
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Zavac watches Porter wander off. However odd for a dwarf, Zavac admires his views. To not judge by first glance is a feat few can claim.
He notices his hunting companion trying to say hello to the female human's mount, and shakes his head slightly as, yet again, the man has little luck. He means well, and tries so hard.
Zavac is suddenly reminded of a man he once knew, much like Warren. A man in love with nature. His animal companions were of a small species of dinosaur that roamed the native jungles, but his heart was the same. Little good the dinosaurs did, however. He remembered the sounds of them screeching the next morning - their own form of sorrow, etched forever in his mind's ear.
He stole a glance at Warren again, and suddenly it was too much to bear. He stood, and quickly walked to the well, which was void of presence. He needed a few moments to compose himself.
Kams occupies himself with tending first to his own mount, then politely, respectfully checking over the settler's animals as he notices Warren doing the same for the guardians' mounts.
Handle Animal
We want to make sure everyone, man and beast alike, stay well and fit for the distance of our travels. he mentions, likely to one of the young lads tending to the draft animals.
As the group settles down for their meal, communally it is hoped, Kams will bring up a habit he learned travelling with similar groups on the long road/river passage through the River Kingdoms, the nightly "story round." Members of the group should take turns, telling favorite tales, songs, or stories to entertain their fellows. Should the story be well received, the winner is freed from camp duties the following evening.
Since our journey is not all that long though, perhaps it could instead be offered the overall winner of the contest be given the right of first to cross the threshold upon arrival at Oleg's outpost.
Young Yori Meyerson is busy brushing one of the draft horses as Kams walks over to help. The quiet, brown-haired boy looks up at the tall ranger as he approaches. He's a bit short for his age and has his father's lanky frame. He seems to be enjoying and doing a fine job of taking care of the animals. His quiet voice is a bit hard to hear over the hustle and bustle of the camp.
"Thank you for your kindness sir. I'd be glad to see to your horse if you like." Shyly he adds, "The good dwarves offered me two bits a day to see to their ponies. Although I would have done it for free, the one in the funny hat insisted." He looks down at the ground for a second and then goes back to brushing the horse.
Squatting down to meet Yori eye to eye, I appreciate your offer lad, I do, but ol' Cracky here likes to keep me on my toes, always hiding burrs and other bits in tight little clumps, be it in his mane, along his forelocks, or especially around his tail. He gives a wide grin and tossles the young boy's head. I'd hate to disappoint him and turn such a mighty task over to someone already well into caring for more worthy beasts than his rough ol' hide. Besides, he says at a consiratory whisper, while glancing off to the "adults" around the campfire, it keeps me out of worse chores than admiring such noble and sturdy creatures. Dishes, firewood, offal pitting,... I'll take tending horses every time.
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"I understand the leaf to be some mixture of strains. I purchased it in Cassomir at the beginning of my flight from home. It's only my second experience with the stuff. I find the effect on a cold morning before a journey is marvelously stimulative, though the scent is probably too much of a marker in the wilds. You're welcome to try it, but I caution you not to inhale the stuff. It made me ill twice before I figured it out..." He ends his monologue with a doubtful stare at his stogie, possibly worried of a third betrayal.
Taking his place in the circle around the fire, Stephanus gladly takes a modest swig of the offered brandy. With a belly of fresh meat and a pate freshly warmed by the liquor he allows his mind to wander over past roles most admired - the soliloquys he most longed to deliver and the parts he never played. During a moment of comfortable silence after the youngest have retired to their beds, he begins one such delivery, at first low and hesitant, then with building force and conviction.
"Where then lies the source of that warmth which fires the questing soul? My good instructor finds this seat in the eye of man. The inquisitive eye's need to behold something not seen by another, and thus to apprehend truth anew. My father finds this seat in the loins," he turns with a sheepish look toward any ladies still present at the fireside at this point and makes a mumbled apology, then continues, "to beget himself in new forms of wonder and curiosity. My preacher finds the seat upon the back of righteous spirit, ever guided by hands more wise than his own, and he but a obedient passenger. But my mother knows this seat as the heart, as the very core of the sentient beast. To suppress that call in ourselves is the ultimate self-murder. And in this thing, as in most things, I find myself to be my mother's true son."
Perform(oratory)
As Stephanus finishes his monologue, the settlers smile thoughtfully and appreciatively at his performance. A few younger eyes and heads can even be seen listening intently from the edge of their beds in the Meyerson's wagon. Even the usually dour Burdo Deepsilver looks thoughtful and allows a thin smile to show.
The halfling, Duella speaks up with admiration in her voice, "That was fine work Ser Dominova. Certainly that is not the first time you have performed that piece? Have you spent much time in the theater?"
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"Yes, I spent the better part of a year in various theatres, but rarely on the stage itself. I spoke those lines once before in an audition, but otherwise only to my own reflection. Cygnarium the bold is the speaker. It is part of a signature monologue of his, just before he leaves for the plains of Belkzen. I think it must have been lurking in the back of my mind these past weeks, waiting for its chance to come to the fore."
"Appropriate to our current place and time, but certainly not predictive." He trails off, suddenly intentionally vague. Hopefully no one within hearing knows that Cygnarium's ultimate fate lies in the belly of an Orc king.
"Stephanus, another please, I didn't realize the voice could be an intrument too."
Tityanna smiles at Warren's handling of her pack animal, and speaks softly to Puck in Sylvan. In truth, she knew little of the beast herself, but she prayed that her kindness to him showed through her actions at the very least.
She sits quietly as Stephanus delivers his performance. Such entertainment was not rare in New Steven. The thought of the court sours her enjoyment of the piece slightly, though she tries not to allow the sentiment to show in her expression.
"Concerning watches," she interrupts when the time is correct. "My eyes are weak, and I would prefer to make my rounds in as much light as possible. Otherwise, my post would only be to the detriment of all."
As the evening winds down and Tityanna turns the conversation towards watch duties, a single long, lonely, eerie howl suddenly fills the chill night air. Coming from the southwest, it's difficult to tell how far, or near, the creature might be as the echo slowly drifts across the countryside.
The cheerful mood is stilled as the settlers freeze and the children duck quickly back into their beds. Two year old Mikhail, starts to cry. His expression of fright seems fitting after hearing such an otherworldly call. His mother picks the boy up and comforts the child with soft words and a gentle humming while her eyes, along with those of the others, scan the darkness for any sign of movement or threat.
Grabbing his axe, Burdo Deepsilver's gruff gravely voice breaks the silence, "I don't know what that was, but by the nine bloody deeps it wasn't your average hungry dog."
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Zavac, having spent the evening in silence after his hasty departure, pricks his ears up at the sound. Having traveled far and wide, he may know what type of creature made the eerie call. A soft light emanates from his hand as he racks his memories.
"It certainly sounds familiar. Best be ready, everyone," he mutters, picking up his flail.
When it was time to set up camp Thad pitched in with gusto and did his fair share of the work clearing undergrowth, bringing water, unhitching horses, etc. After that he simply relaxed around the fire and enjoyed the company of his new companions while watching the antics of the younger children. He's not withdrawn or stand-offish, just quiet and content. When the bottle comes around he takes a hearty swig of the brandy with a smile and nod to Porter before passing it on; when the meal is ready he offers a short, simple prayer in the manner of the followers of Erastil, My thanks for your blessing on our hunters and the bounty of the field. May your gaze follow us through these wild lands as we build our hearths and homes with new friends.
After the meal Thad will read by firelight from The Parables of Erastil. If any of his fellow travelers express an interest, especially the children, he'd be glad to read aloud. Following that, he would eventually retire to his hammock for his evening meditations.
"Concerning watches," she interrupts when the time is correct. "My eyes are weak, and I would prefer to make my rounds in as much light as possible. Otherwise, my post would only be to the detriment of all."
Thad will speak with all of the charter bearers about the watch schedule, along with Fulton, Gregor, Donol, Porter, and Burdo. If everyone agrees to take a watch then we have enough for six shifts with two sentries each. Thad can pull a double-watch if someone considers themselves not up to the task...
What is it, Zavak? Are we in danger?" Aliana asks as she rises from her spot by the fire. Retrieving her weapons and a quiver of arrows, she stands next to the half-moon-orc and strings her bow.
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"Perhaps, perhaps not. That sounded awfully like a Warg call," he replies to the half-elf, shuddering. "Nasty brutes, they. Gathering for a hunt, it seems, but we may be spared. I cannot tell how far off they are. Best be alert, though."
Nodding to Thad, he adds, "Two sentries should be fine. I shall take first watch."
At the call of the beast, Kams finds himself little in the mood for sleep. He moves to confere with the others, ready to offer himself for duty.
I would be happy to take share in any watch duty, I have some small experience sleeping in the saddle when needed. Though the day has been long, I think it likely I could give a good four to six hours to the cause. After that, I should like to lay out a bedroll near or four legged friends. The smell is not of a perfumed red lantern, but all the same they should offer some alarm if any beast untoward approaches.
When Kams does bed down, before or after whichever shift he's offered, he does so in his studded leather armor, with his sword drawn by his side, his bow by his head, the quiver propped up adjacent. If possible, he will do so by tether line holding the horses together, nearest to his own mount.
Warren whistles a quick two pitch call and a large eagle lands on his oversized leather glove. He points and sends the eagle out in the direction he percieved the sound to come from.
"Tuney knows to stay high and look around. I'll share first watch with Zavac while my human eyes still have some light to see by."
PER for Tuney
Warren directs Montey, the smaller eagle, to perch on one of the wagons and provide lookout.
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Stephanus is a natural early riser and volunteers for the late watch since there are others willing to stay awake.
If we pass the night without incident and there is enough light to see by in the wee hours of his watch, he finds a seat near the remains of the butchered deer, pulls out his journal and makes a study of the animal's bone structure, rack size and outer markings.
Aliana will volunteer for second watch. Assuming no interruptions by overly friendly wargs, she will spend they evening around the fire, writing in her notebook and making smalltalk with those nearby before bedding down for a couple hours before her watch.
Deep in the night, during second watch, another series of howls breaks the peace with their chilling call. This time it is joined by at least three other creatures. You can sense the coordinated feel of the calls, but can't determine what they may mean. Fortunately, they all seem to have moved further south. Apparently the creatures found easier hunting tonight.
Soon after the echoes drift away, Porter Deepsilver sits down at the fire across from Alaina, "I overheard Zevak mention he thought a pack of worgs might be on the prowl." Shaking his head slightly, he continues with a frown, "I had heard things were getting bad ever since the Vanishing, especially here in the south. But we are only a day out of Rostov, and already foul beasts wander the countryside."
He turns and bows his head slightly towards Alaina, "I'm glad my brother and I decided to travel with the others, and that the good Mayor had the foresight to send you and your companions along with us."
"Dawn is difficult to miss. Even those born to privilege recognize it," Tityanna says and smiles. "I will also take the last watch."
Tityanna glances at the sky overhead. After consuming the evening meal, she will quit down to the stream to wash her face, neck, hands and feet before returning to camp to pitch the tent and settle down early to get the amount of rest required for her to be allowed to use her spells in the morning. She leaves her boots just inside the tent so as not to track grit into the improvised sleeping quarters.
When Donal decides to settle for the night, she favors him with a soft smile, then rolls onto her side to create the illusion of privacy.
"I hope for your sake you are not bothered by the sound of snoring," she jests lightly and laughs softly.
Aliana shivers as they mournful sound of they worg's call fades away. She nearly jumps as Porter's voice cuts through her musings. Camping at shadows Aliana? It is those wolves.. enough to put any sane person on edge...
Have you ever seen one Porter?....a worg I mean... I Have heard stories of course. Those mean to scare children into behaving and the like. I hope it is not an omen of things to come.
The young woman rises and retrieves another log from the pile, adding it to the fire in a flurry of sparks. "I am Glad as well. We will All have need of each other's wisdom and experience in the days ahead if this expedition is to succeed, Yes?"
Returning Tityanna's smile, Donal, quietly and deftly slips into his own bedroll. Not an easy task for such a big man, but he manages it with surprising ease. His soft, rumbling chuckle, drifts through the air. "You've no worries there, I'm used to sleeping through loud noise having grown up in the back of a busy smith's shop."
He pauses for a few breaths and then adds quietly, "Of course, sleep is a little more elusive tonight knowing those beasts are nearby." There's a slight scraping sound as he slides his hammer to within easy reach.
Porter gets a far away look on his face in response to Alaina's question, "Yes, I've seen them before." A slight shudder runs through his body, causing his hat to quiver slightly like an autumn leaf in a chill winter breeze. "It was four winters ago when they came unexpectedly through our home high in the Icerim's. My brother and I had been down working the lower tunnels, a small silver vein, when we heard the first alarms. A raiding party of orcs and worgs had stumbled onto our clans small hold. We'd never had trouble with the creature before, but it had been an especially hard winter that year and we were unprepared..."
He pauses for a moment, swallowing to keep his voice from breaking. Finally he continues the words quiet and sad,"By the time Burdo and I reached the upper tunnels it was already too late. They had breached our outer defenses and were pillaging the hold. I saw my best friend bitten nearly in half by one of the foul creatures. Blood flew everywhere as it shook him like a broken rag doll. Burdo nearly died trying to reach our sisters and mother, but was knocked unconscious before he could get to them. I just managed to pull him out of danger while watching my family fall to orcish blades."
A tear rolls down his cheek which he wipes away with the yellow-cuffed sleeve of his coat. "As far as I know, we were the only ones to escape. I was able to drag Burdo into a side tunnel and blow it behind us. I took small comfort in knowing I caught at least a handful of the devils in the blast."
Glancing over where his brother sits watching the darkness from their wagon he adds, "He's never been the same since that day..." His eyes focus back on the fire as he drifts off into thought.
Both Ursula and Duella appear to be sleeping as you drift over to their small shelter near the cart. Duella deep, heavy breathing never changes as you quietly stash the sack into the wagon. As you slip away you catch the glint of the campfire reflecting off of Ursula's eyes. A tear runs down her cheek and her lips form a gentle smile as she acknowledges your kind act. After a second or two she carefully wipes her face with her hand and rolls over to go back to sleep."[smaller][b]
Tityanna hums softly. "When my uncles were training me to be a ranger, they taught me that fear of the predators was a greater detriment than their presence," she says, trying to be hopeful about the single most difficult experience in her life. "Knowledge affords us the ability to combat a threat effectively.
"Restlessness lends to irritability and poor decisions," Tityanna continues calmly. "Have faith in our companions, and our common cause," she says and yawns, a high feminine sound.
"Good eve, Master Donal."
Warren speaks to the next watch as he grabs his bedroll and sheds his hide armor "Tuney thinks the wolves are headed south--he spotted them five miles away."
Warren hoods his eagles on perches above the wagons and pitches his bedroll next to Zavac's. He smiles "I hope breakfast as good as dinner. Let's forage again if we get up early."
Warren is quickly fast asleep.
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Zavac is slow to sleep. His inbred feelings towards Wargs keep his mind sharp, although his eyes are heavy. The man beside him was asleep quickly, and being in this close proximity, yet again, brings back the rush of emotions.
He had been quite for most of the watch, only speaking to Warren when necessary. It's not that he didn't like the wild man. Quite the contrary. He was just too similar to his old friend, and the scars of that particular night haven't quite healed yet, despite it having occurred nearly two years ago. Two years next week, Desmond. If only...if. If. It's always the 'if', isn't it, Desmond. The 'if' will kill you more often than the blade. How many nights have I remained sleepless, only to go over these thoughts, these nightmares, over and over again. A perpetual repeat. I swear, by Sarenrae's cleansing fire, that it will never happen again, Desmond. You're the only mistake I'll...
His thoughts were interrupted by another howl, accompanied by others, but this time further away. He takes comfort in that thought, and tries to calm his mind and emotions.