T'klik chitters agitatedly "No, no bait, no plan. Plan always same. Sneak up, find number, kill or.... trap in unexpect... am.. am.. bulch? If we are strong, they die, we feed. Them strong, we die, they feed. Is way of land."
He pauses, antennae twitching, "We fight hard, fight strong, fight for pack, we kill. We 'think' and 'plan' we not kill strong, we die while thinking." he finishes, seeming pleased for passing on his Kreen experience.
Monoc has apparently been considering the Kreen's words during the grueling march.
"Good plan."
The water is flowing quietly. I can drink it at any time. I hope.
The last thought flutters on the edge of panic.
Taanak:Endurance +4
"Who's idea was it anyway to come after these silt runners?"
The group makes its way across the dunes, and makes camp for the night. the heat of the day makes way to the chill of the night, as a cold wind whips up. How will the band fare?
Ojal huddles in his cloak and allows his thoughts to support him once more. He concentrates on the glorious few minutes of each day when the temperature is perfect and imagines that they are happening right now.
"Before dra, T'klik find good place for g'tok*mmm*a'ak to waste hours. You dra, T'klik watch all night, see much, see well. Me no need waste moonlight with dra." T'klik offers courteously.
While they sleep he needs only to torpor for four hours and will patrol the rest of the night. While in torpor, he is still aware of what's happening around him
Using his familiarity with hunting, and what predators are looking for, T'klik will look for a low point between dunes or a defile if possible. This will allow the soft skins to hide the fire they need for warmth. He will test the air for signs of dust storms and help them arrange their tents to angle away from incoming winds, so they do not become buried during the night.
Monoc will happily light the fire once T'klik has found a good spot, this desert night is colder than the mountains of his youth. He lays his bedroll in as much shelter as he can find. Then it is merely a question of setting the will, ignoring the cold, and waiting for dawn.
To T'klik, "You want company for the watch?"
Seeing T'klik's strategy, the elf nods in assent and digs some shallow ruts to use as resting places insulated by the sand. He carefully inspects each one to ensure that there are no noisome vermin present to cause issues in the night.
Shamash hunkers down against the cold, trying to fend off torpor.
Monoc listens to the chill moan of the wind. There is no sound from the camp, no conversation, no familiar voices round the fire, singing the tales of kin and history. Not like the war bands of his youth. What does it mean, this silence? A sign of brittleness? Or a sign of strength and confidence? Only time and the test of battle will reveal these companions to him.
These are the thoughts of Monoc One-eye as he waits for sleep in the desert night.
"No, no, large one, T'klik need nothing on watch. What 'company', me not know this sound. T'klik eyes keen as a kestrekel, can stalk like a silk wyrm, you noisy ones disturb the hunt. At night, prey think they are safe in darkness, not from T'klik. Large one, T'klik not need dra, but if you softs do not dra you are worthless to T'klik in morning." He kindly refuses the offer.
"We shall do our utmost to aid our hunt, T'klik Chik. And we soft ones will therefore dra. If I have the word right."
Lemris, still muttering and complaining about his relative frailty, decides that his best bet would be to help Taanak with his ruts, so he sits there, offering him what he probably thinks of as 'advice' bu everyone else probably thinks of as more 'annoying', and occasionally getting his hands dirty and actually digging a little scrape.
Ojal shivers and wishes he had taken more notice of T'klik Chik's scrapes in the ground.
To T'klik, "Good. I will sleep."
Lemris hastily realises he might be being more annoying than useful
T'klik
An hour before he wakes them, he once again patrols, and does a quick check for food and water. He hunts during the time that the little creatures rise to catch the first rays, and to collect whatever humidity gathered during the chill of night. Never straying out of eyesight of the sleepers.
This he will do every morning to start his day.
T'klik
As the others are due to awaken, he stands over the dragonborn and watches him, curious as to why, with his different nature, he must dra like the others
The group awakes to another blazing day. Shamash finds the thri-kreen watching him as he wakes up. The huge mekillot dunes give way to a smaller dune strand, and here and there, large rock outcroppings emerge from the sands.
T'klik and Taanak realise that this is prime silt runner territory. Their warrens could be anywhere in this is area.
The thri-kreen seems to have little wisps of sand whipping up around his feet as he moves.
Ojal looks around him, prepared to defer to those with knowledge of the area and the silt runners. Eager to learn, he watches the thri-kreen and the elf closely, stepping where they step, stopping when they stop. Careful not to get in their way, he observes and absorbs.
"We are in their domain, now. Keep your eyes sharp. Silt runners are fond of ambushes and traps."
With his natural speed, T'klik moves towards the front, keeping an ever watchful eye open (as if he could even blink). Moving whenever possible from cover to cover.
Sadly the terrain puts him at a disadvantage, and there is few and far between that could even suffice as cover enough for his form.
He uses what he knows of the hunt to spot possible blinds that the creatures could hide in, and any notion of their passing. From footprints, to turned sand, or unnatural craters, anything that stands out as other than wind tossed sand gets his attention.
Monoc stays close to the group for the most part, knowing that others must play a lead role in this hunt. Whenever the group passes a rock outcropping he swiftly climbs high up to gain a better viewpoint, then sprints to rejoin the others.
Lemris looks around carefully, occasionally picking up a small clod of sand and musing over it, tapping a rock here and sweeping his foot through there, more for effect than anything else, and searches for signs of where the silt runners way have gone.
Shamash gazes across the dunes, and wishes he had paid more attention to nature-craft and less to commerce.