Cynthia's story
They ran. It seemed like an age of pressing through the narrowing trail. Great leaves slapped at their faces, butress roots conspired to trip them up and clinging vines tore at their clothing, but still they ran.
The head start they had gotten by the rapid disposal of the first spider had probably saved their lives. Yet for the longest time they had been dogged by the sounds of the whistling cry of hunting spiders, and driven on by fear at every strange cracking noise and rustle in the trees. At last they burst from the protection of the trees and found themselves on a stretch of beach and rock. Overhead the morning sky gleamed blue with only a few skudding white clouds to marr the perfection. Phillipe fell heavily to the ground and vomited from exhaustion and fear. Great tracks had been cleaned in his grimy face from the tears that had escaped him during that terrifying run.
The other two men that Cynthia didn't know stood with hands on hips, sucking in great breaths. The Ulfen recovered the fastes of these two and moved quickly to a section of tall rock where he knelt beside something lying in its shadow on the sand. Cynthia hadn't noticed it before, yet as she moved closer she could tell it was a man lying on a crude hammock. His face was pale and clammy from sweat and fatige. His belly was wrapped in a dirty and stained bandage, a dark crimson stain spreading from the centre, close to the rib line. The smell of the wound was bad, as if someone had tipped over a chamberpot left to sit for a few days in the heat.
The Ulfen checked his vitals and said a few quiet words to the man that Cynthia didn't hear. The respose wasn't positive though. The wounded man closed his eyes and groaned deeply before whicning in sudden pain and grasping at the Ulfens arm.
The g an genty prised his hand loose and stood facing the others. "Come, we must be going ja?! A good few hours I want behind us and zem afore we are to rest. Khalim, grab the other end of teh stretcher, let us be ging now ja"
The two men bend and pick up the wounded man who groans again at the pain. As they prepare to leave, the Ulfen hands out orders like he's used ot being listened to. "You, girl, take point. Be watching them trees fer movement ja. There are things in this forest that hunt us now. Bif reptiles, they killed two of us already this trip. Between teh spiders and teh lizards, we being lucky to make it back to [vixen[/i] I'm thinking."
"You, boy, take the rear. Same as teh girl, you be watching the tree line. And don't be falling behind becasue we not be waiting. Orrhin needs ter be seen to and since your village seems to be dead, then our ship is his only chance. Lets move, time for talking later" This last is said as Phillipe is about to open his mouth in protest.
Cynthia pulls up as she exits from the trees and sees the two men panting on the beach before her and Phillipe busy vomiting into the sand a short distance a way. Looking around warily and cursing herself for putting on her Trenchcoat, she peels the sweat soaked garment from her body and sets it down on a rock with her shoulder bag. She plants her Curve Blade into the sand and leans on it while she too catches her breath, watching as the warrior moves to the shade of a large rock. It is then that she notices the figure laying there and she looks on as the Ulfen tends to a vicious wound in the man's stomach.
He turns and speaks to them and she scowls and grips her blade tighter as he orders her around. Realizing that he is right however, she sighs and gets up, throwing her bag over her shoulder and tying her trenchcoat securely around it.
She claps Phillipe on the back then heads off, keeping her eyes peeled for anysign of movement from the trees.
Perception Check:
Looking at the creatures and everyone's actions Vik takes a second to glance at where everyone is heading
Vik's eyes catch a potential problem with the middle of the pack. But to make sure not to really spook the animals he goes with a slow pace, sort of stalking the animals in a herding motion. When he gets to the middle area, he feels the spirit of his tribes animal flow through him. slowly stalking trying to keep the animals going where he wants them to go. At some points he has even dropped into a low crouch, almost padding on all fours around the large beasts. Some might even notice a low growl coming from Vik's throat.
The huge beasts lumbered along the sandy stretch of land. The humanoids around them took turns to cajole, threaten and encourage them into position near the great promonitory of rock that made up the point of the beach. Deep bellows of sound from the matriarch at the head of the pack were answered by trumpeting calls of varying depths and tone. The group were staying together as much through a need for family bonding as they were due to the actions of the people around them.
As they neared the rocks, a young amle of amybe three seasons began to stray from the heard. His great head swung in looping arcs from side to side, as if trying to shake some scent from its nose. A threatening rumble emerged from its chest, shaking the jowels of skin at its throat and vibrating teh chests of the pople near it. Vik moved across and stared intently into its eyes, responding with a growl of his own as a primal part of his body took over. The psauropod responded to the threat, shying away from this predator it did not understand and moving back with the others.
When they were in place, the little halfling woman called instructions to the gatherd people. Piles of dried timber were gathered and built into small fires around the group, at regular intervals. As they were lit, the young children moved amongst them and sprinkled small amounts of powder into them, changing the flames to a verdigris green colour. The smell from the fire became ascerbic, irritating the sinuses and causing eyes to water. More importantly it kept the great beasts hemmed in. They eventually settled into a placid group that milled aimlessly near the rocks and water line, gently calling to each other and occasionally nuzzling in affection. Only the mace tail stayed a little seprate, slowly ruminating on a meal it had brought back up from its gereat chambered stomach.
The Kilayahalla eventually left the small herd of dinosaurs and walked back to teh main camp. She moved boldly up to Captain Venn and stood looking up into his face with her hands on her hips. "Well I bringed ye the beasts as you asked. Now what plans have you for the slaughter and preservation of this family group?"
The captain looked at her blankly for a moment until she sighed in exasperation. "Well, when ye've giot it worked out let me know. There's a ritual I need to complete before we slaughter them. Don't let anyone approach too close to em or they'll defend the young ones. I can get them all placid for the slaughter, but its mens work to be doing the actual killing."
With that she leaves and moves to her camping spot in the little settlement.
As she considers the problem of how to preserve the meat for as long as possible, suddenly comes to Bo-Dan's mind a memory of her dear departed Paera describing a process she had once seen of people taking the very salt from the water itself by placing it in shallow pans and allowing the water to dry off, leaving the salt behind. As the monk knew that salt could be used to preserve meat and some others foods, she shared this information with the captain and her comrades.
Yet as the thought of her Ves-tascha caused her wounds to sunder anew, Bo-dan immediately excused herself after sharing what she had heard and moved away by herself to sit upon some great rocks upon a cliff face. There she simply sat and stared off into the ocean, staying well past the setting of the Sun.
Cynthia's story
The journey along the beach and the jungles edge bcame a blur. The heat and the humidity combined with the rigorous pace they set had everyone in a dazed state by the end of the first days travel.
There had been no sign of pursuit, nor any sign of danger from the jungles themselves. They camped in the lee of a small dune that night, a cold camp to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but the tropical air didn't make things too bad. The mosquitos and midges were murder though. Some time during the night Orrhin died. His wounds had festered and there were actual maggots writhing amongst the exposed entrails when they checked him in the morning. The shallow grave they dug for him in the dune would proetect is body from the scavegers, but there was nothing to use for a marker. The Gharund had sung a hym to Sarenrae for the fallen man. Then they had headed off again.
Without the litter to carry the journey was much quicker. By midday they had passed two other freshly dug graves. Neither the Ulfen nor the Gharund said much about it, but Cynthia figured this was where they buried the two companions htey had mentioned losing ealier. The presence of a half eaten raptrs corpse a little further along confirmed her suspicions.
It rained hard that afternoon, a huge storm blowing in from the oceans and carrying the sting of the sand right into the four travellers. They had sheltered deeper into the jungle than they had dared travel to date, but nothing had bothered them. What would hunt them in weather so savage?
As the morning of the third day broke, Cynthia was approached quietly by Phillipe. The boy had been quiet almost teh entire journey, his conversation limited to simple responses to any questions or instructions given to hm. When he spoke, it surprised th warlock a little. His voice was horse from exhaustion and lac of use.
"You were going to leave me at the villiage Cynthia." She looked at him sharply. His eyes were sunken and burned with the look of haunted man. "When the webs had me and the great whistling spider was coming, you were going to leave me."
Cynthis looks at the boy and sighs heavily. "Yes, you're right. I did think for a second about leaving you there. To be honest I don't know why I didn't just keep on running from those cursed spiders. I suppose that even though that place wasn't exactly the best place to live it was still home and I didn't want to let the last memory of that home slip away so easily."
She stops for a second and her eyes bore into the boy's with a look that accompanies words he won't soon forget. "Trust me on this boy when I say to you that if there had of been more than one spider, then you would still be hanging there. Right now there is only one person that I aim to look out for in this world and that person is me. Granted, if you tag along I'll do my best to see that you survive, but if the choice ever came when I would have to seriously risk my life to save yours then I'm afraid that you're on your own. That's life boy. It's hard and it's tough, but if you survive it then you come out stronger and more capable."
She stands up and clasps the boy's shoulder. "Consider today your first lesson in life and make sure you learn it well. Only one person is truly worth living for and that person is yourself. Oh trust me, there are people who you will come to like and maybe even love, but when everything is said and done, no matter what you may feel for your companions, you'll always come back to one thing: you can always rely on yourself, but you can only sometimes rely on others. You just have to never let your guard down fully."
She turns and begins to pack her things, ready for the day's travel and eager to be back on their way towards the safety of the Vixen. "You should get ready to go," she says over her shoulder, quite clearly a dismissal even to Phillipe's young ears.
Pietro pipes up, "There was a man in our village , used to smoke meats. I don't know how to do't, but I'll ask around the other refugees."
Hearing both ideas, Vik offers his point of view. "I remember when I was growing up, my tribe used similar methods, for the preservation of meats. The end result was usually tough and salty, but spoiled food rarely occurred. Though it may take time, I remember seeing the meat cut into strips, salt was rubbed on, and then put out to dry in the sun."
Symington rubs his chin thoughtfully.
"If I recall correctly, smoking makes for tender preserved meat, but takes time, and a complete enclosure for the process if I'm not mistaken. It may take more time than we wish to spend here. Brining would be the quickest, but it would require barrels that we may rather use for fresh water. Hm, sometimes the easiest ways are the best!" Smythe declares.
"I have minor magics that will aid in separating the salt from the sea water, and concentrate the sun's heat on the meat.It should speed the process along considerably. Dried meat may not be the choice of finer dining establishments, but it is safe, and takes up considerably less room than fresh or brined!" Symington says wryly.
"Yes, let's dry some out. Muttabutasaurus sounds good as biltong. Probably tastes like chicken."
Milhar will watch Vik at work and help as best he can. "This is going to make us very thirsty."
"Excellent! Fresh dino steaks and dried dino-jerky it is then!"
With the advice of the group to work with, Captain Venn immediately begins setting folk to new tasks. A group of 6 barrels are brought around, previously used for storing apples. Their seals are'nt the best, but with some quick tar work on the outside, they are made water proof again. These are used to prepare for brining the meat.
A little away from teh camp itself, a shallow basin is dug in the sand an a large square of waterproofed canvas is layed out. Buckets of salt water are carried to this area and splashed across the canvas, allowing the heat of the sun to begin the process of evaporation.
Finally, great palm fronds are gathered from just inside the jungles edges. The broad leaves are tied onto crude frames to form mini hut over some of the low burning fires so meat can smoked in the trapped air.
The work progresses rapidly, and before long the hafling woman approaches. Her face has been painted in a ritual mask of mud and ashes. Despite the crude materials, teh pattern is clearly that of the psauropods they're about to slaughter. Looking around at the busy activity she nods her head in approval. "Good job all. First I must dance to the great the beast spirit to appease him this day. When this is done the children will put some grasses we collected onto the fires. The fumes will overcome the great ones, but slowly, so they do not panic. No one should enter when this happens."
She looks at the group gathered before her, particularly the larger men and anyone carrying a heavy blade. "Once they are down, you will need to move in and kill them quickly. Do not make it painful, for their spirits deserve honour for the boon tehy provide. A deep cut to the throat will sever the main heart line, and they shall belled out quickly. This is the best way for it falvours the meat better if they are bled a little."
She then points to the heavily armoured mace tail, a look of amusement on her face as she speaks. "That one is differnet though. The fumes will not affect that one so much. He will stagger and be drunk, be he wil not fall. The one who kills him must be strong. A heavy blade that can cut through the thick muscles of the neck. A clean stroke, for his heart is great and if the blow deosn't take him down, he will strike back."
Turning to everyone she says "Are you ready?"
Cynthia's story
The light seems to die in Phillipes eyes. Where once a gleam ofyouthful spirit once gleamed, now only dull orbs refelct back the face of Cynthia. He nods once at her, then turns and prepares his gear.
The gharund smirks to himself and gathers his pack, but the Ulfen looks long and hard at Cynthia. Eventually he merely shakes his head and takes the lead for the group.
The day goes without incident and as the afternoon begins to drag, the small party find tehmselves on a short beach. Ahead can be seen a sharp spur of rock cutting through the jungle and across the beach itself, and rising above this a pall of smoke as from many small fires. Just visible over the shoulder of rock, the top of a mast can be seen.
The Ulfen turns and calls "We are here". There is a hint of excitement in his voice as he starts to trot forward, the end of the journey giing him strength to run.
As the party scramble over the rocks, they are greeted by the sight of a number of large Psauropods milling in confusion and surrounded by small campfires. A halfling woman capers madly about teh central fire, her voice chanting in the tribal tongue of folk, and her movements mimicking those of the dinosarus below. They had reached the camp town.
Cynthia starts to move forward towards the gathering, but by a firm hand on her shoulder and a shake of his head the Ulfen lets her know that she shouldn't interrupt. She shrugs and sits down to watch the show for a time, before drifting off to sleep, ready for what the morning may bring her.
Milhar stares at the halfling and shakes his head before moving quickly away from the bloodletting.
"I can not do this. There is too much pain in their deaths for meat. Too much for me to join in."
He watches proceedings from a distance hoping, almost praying that each stroke will be a clean one.
Food it maybe. Food for us for a while. But such magnificent beasts will die so that our bellies can be sated. Does that make us evil? Where is the difference between my actions against the vine, against the bugbear, or even those goblins and what is happening today? Is it that we are good people merely surviving as best we can, taking what little life as will keep us alive. Wasn't the vine merely doing the same? By the Source I do not understand what is right and what is wrong here.
He touches Sen's shoulder a little for comfort.
Symington watches Milhar with interest.
Or perhaps idle curiosity, with him it seems hard to tell.
As Milhar walks slowly away, Symington clears his throat gently. "I'm afraid I shall also decline the honor. Not least because I hardly know one end of a blade from another, and am likely to do myself as much harm as the beast." He says wryly.
"However, I may be able to assist with the club-tail. I have a simple spell, barely a charm really, that should temporarily stun the beast. It should give one with a blade a chance to get in one clean swipe without fear of being bludgeoned if it goes awry."
Seeing Milhar's reaction to the task of slaughtering the beasts, Vik bows his head as he thinks to himself, "The little one has such passion in the defense of others, but has yet to learn that sometimes violence is necessary."
After hearing Symington's words, Vik gives a little chuckle. I will take on the clubtail, you can help if you want, he says as he glances at Symington. By the way I need to come up with a nickname for you, how about.....hmmmm.....twig should work for now, haha.
You might want to either take off your fancy clothes, or prepare some water to clean out the blood when we are done.
All joking aside, Vik takes his axe and kneels down, whispers his thanks and praise to his spirit totem, and asks for this act to go smoothly and cleanly. When his prayer is done his gives a low grumble, just enough to spook Symington a little.
Vik walks up to the clubtail and swings the axe right at the beasts neck. Hoping it goes down cleanly.
Still needing time to herself, Bo-Dan observes the increased smoke and hears the tribal dance but chooses to remain on her rock by herself. As the slaughter begins, she turns away from it, gazing out into the Night sea and sky....for some reason, her thoughts drift to the interesting little Gnome she had shared a similar night sky with several days ago.
Symington looks down his aristocratic nose at Vic without seeming to mean to. He smiles thinly, and sniffs delicately.
"Twig? Well. I've been called worse. Although I can't recall by whom, precisely." He responds drolly. He raises an eyebrow at the warrior as he suggests that he protect his finery.
"I assure you, my attire is perfectly safe. I shall be pleased to assist you with cleaning your garments when we are done. If you wish." He offers straight faced. Smythe's aristocratic attitude makes it difficult to tell if he is being sincere, or sarcastic.
At the unexpected growl Smythe does jump. Just a little. He smiles and nods slightly, as if to say, 'you got me'. When Vik turns to head towards the animals, The dandy rolls his eyes, as if to say, 'children'.
He follows Vik to the club-tail when it is time, careful to stay out of direct harm's way. He stands apparently at ease, as if he is there just to observe. But his free hand is slightly raised and poised to move, and his cane is held up and leaning casually against his shoulder, also ready to move.
EDIT-
Algret will respect the halflimg's wishes and refrain from taking part in the slaughter. Seeing Milhar looking peaked she approaches him. "You look the worse for wear,or is it the butchering that disagrees with you?"
Milhar looks down at his leg and pulls up the silk legging with a small wince. The dark mind wound has left the skin puckered and red. "When I fought in the Spirit Realm I was hurt and this is the result."
"As for the rest I am worried that Bo-Dan may lose focus because Paera has left us. But I do not know how I can help her?"
When and if, Algret answers, he continues, "but also it is the killing. I do not see much difference between our killing all these dinosaurs for food, us slaying the jungle vine and the way we killed the orcs that supported the bugbear, Rafiki. How can I be sure in future that I will not be slowly becoming like Rafiki. Always willing to draw my sword and cut someone down just to get my way. The Source teaches that all life deserves life."
"And I promised the orc shaman that I would help with his totem magic. But it seems a little selfish at this time."
Milhar looks down at his leg and pulls up the silk legging with a small wince. The dark mind wound has left the skin puckered and red. "When I fought in the Spirit Realm I was hurt and this is the result."
"As for the rest I am worried that Bo-Dan may lose focus because Paera has left us. But I do not know how I can help her?"
When and if, Algret answers, he continues, "but also it is the killing. I do not see much difference between our killing all these dinosaurs for food, us slaying the jungle vine and the way we killed the orcs that supported the bugbear, Rafiki. How can I be sure in future that I will not be slowly becoming like Rafiki. Always willing to draw my sword and cut someone down just to get my way. The Source teaches that all life deserves life."
"And I promised the orc shaman that I would help with his totem magic. But it seems a little selfish at this time."
"So your spirit wound did this? I'm beginning to think this island is connected to some powerful energies."
She focuses, whispering to Torag as she calls fort a double wave of healing.
"Killing for pleasure or selfishness, that was Rafiki's way. Killing to survive, killing to protect.. that is the path of a warrior. That vine would have killed us all given the chance, those orks stood against their own people and supported one who did wrong, and the dinosoaurs...." She looks over at Kahir and Sabha, "I would rather kill a creature for meat as is the natural order of things, than hear children's cries of hunger. This act feedsall the people we protect.
By appointing ourselves as guardians, we, and the Captain wether he likes it or not, have their best interestand survival as our task now. Save a life, become responsible for it."
Her gaze drifts over to the children again as a smile passes across her face.
The halflings ritual takes around 30 minutes. When she finishes, her children rush forwards and throw some green leaves on fires nearest teh shore. The afternoons breeze causes the smoke thata billows up from the fires to drif across the milling dinosaurs, getting into their noses and throats.
At first they shy from the smoke, but eventually the fumes begin to overwhelm them and the great besats lie down on the sandy shore. Only the great mace tail remains standing, but his legs are unsteady and his head hands low, the eyes drooping nearly closed.
Tilayaharra turns the gathered males and ushers them in to the circle.
Some of these are only boys, including her oldest son who is completing his first kill. The halfling is dressed only in leather pants, his young chest bared and paintedin tribal patterns. He walks proudly into the circle, willing to prove to all he is a man of his tribe.
Vik's blow is the first to fall, the great axe coming down brutally upon the neck of the great macetail. The swept back metal is designed to provide a cutting edge along its entire length, and it proves its worth in this case.While the blow doesn't sever the creatures head completely, it does cut through the spinal cord, killing the ankilosaur instantly. At this signal, all the others strike too, their blades sinking deep into the throats of the unconcious beasts. One man needs a second blow to get the artery, but when everything is done, all the beastts are killed in the most painless means possible in this place.
Whe it is done, the halfing boy lifts his curved blade high above his head and lets out an Ululating cry. It seems to break a spell that has fallen over the crowd, and suddenly a great cheer wells up from those who are gathered. Those assigned to buthcer the animals move forwards then, and begin their task.
The halfing woman moves over to Vik and Symmington, and kneels quickly beside the dead beast in front of them. Using a very sharp blade she cuts deep into teh creatures side disembowling it and slicing out its great liver. The organ is nearly the size of this woman, and she slips once in the dark red blood pooling form the organ. With a deft move, she slices a large piece off the liver and offers it to the great Ulfen as tribute. "Eat of teh beast you slew great man. Its great spirit shall be with you. You did well this day."
She turns to Symmington as well, and offers him a piece too, but only after Vik has taken his. "You also mageling. Though the axe was not in your hand, you stood ready to help in this task. The mace tail is a mighty beast, and one blow has been known to kill our kind."
Vik and Symmington (only open if you decide to eat the liver)
You feel great strength and stamina flow into your bodies. For a brief moment you see the world through the long lived lives of the great beast you have just kiled. Years of wandering and eating, occasionally mating and fighting those that would kill you. Strength their is in this place, from the depths of the blck soil that clings high to the fire peak grows the greenest of plants, and long have you fed from them. The vision clears very quickly but you are left with the sense of power and steadffastness deep within.
With the ritual below obviously over, the old Ulfen stands and rouses the others. "Come, we can go down to teh camp now ja" He stands and moves nimbly down the rocks.
Captain Venn cries out in joy at the sight of the ships coook as he re enters the camp. His look changes though when he sees only two of the original party return and the new dditions that have come with them.
He ushers them to the main tent, while all around people are moving with purpose and energy. The beasts are rapidly being skinned, the major organs kut out and divided up for consumption today, the meat being stripped and prepared for preserving.
In the tent, Jaekal quickly retells his version of the trip, and then hands over to Cynthi when it comes to the village. The tale doesn't make for a pleasent telling. The captian is aobut to speak when one of the women on watch near the jungle comes rushing into the tent.
"Begging your pardon captain, but the orcs seem have come back sir. They're asking to see the folk that helped them during the storm sir."
"Thank you lass, go and fetch Milhar and the others will you." He beckons Cynthia nd the others to come with him as he moves out of the tent towards the delegation of orcs waiting at the forests edge.
Vik accepts the gift from the halfling woman. Coming from a tribal culture himself he understands the importance of the gift. As he grabs the liver "I will honor this creature for it's sacrifice will lead to the survival of our new tribe. May it's spirit rest in ease in that knowledge."
When he is done speaking he lifts it high and bows his head offering one more silent prayer and proceeds to take a large bite and continues till it is fully consumed, after that his face covered in blood he gives a mighty roar into the sky.
After that he has a huge grin on his face and walks over to 'Twig' "Try it lad, maybe it will help put some meat on yer bones." as he walks to Symington he gives a great big slap on the back. "Come now, we must celebrate the little one's son looked to get his first kill in this event, in my tribe he would be a man now, we have much to be grateful now." with that he finds the halfling matriarch's son and hoists him up over his shoulder in celebration.
Cynthia raises an eyebrow at the request to join the Captain, not knowing the specifics of his dealings with the Orcs. She shrugs and follows him out of the tent, sparing a glance at the butchering going on. She does take note however of the large feral man hoisting a halfling lad above his head and wrinkles her nose at his blood soaked face.
Vik ,...
After that he has a huge grin on his face and walks over to 'Twig' "Try it lad, maybe it will help put some meat on yer bones." as he walks to Symington he gives a great big slap on the back.
"As long as my bones are still intact,..." Symington says dryly, flexing his sore back and raising an eyebrow at the warrior's blood covered face.
"Come now, we must celebrate, the little one's son looked to get his first kill in this event, in my tribe he would be a man now, we have much to be grateful now." with that he finds the halfling matriarch's son and hoists him up over his shoulder in celebration.
Symington looks at the little man up on his perch atop the warrior's shoulders. Smythe smiles, and bows to the halfling lad. He then turns and accepts a portion from the halfling matriarch, also bowing to her deeply.
Symington holds the piece of liver in the air, and intones sonorously,
"In honor of the spirit of the great beast, and the spirits of those who took it honorably, to serve others." He declares with the air of a solemn ritual.
Lowering his hand, he takes the largest bite he can of the liver, chewing it thoroughly before taking another bite, apparently heedless of the blood dripping down his chin upon his Black velvet jacket and frilly white shirt lace. When he has finished the last bite, he raises his head and lets out a keening cry of his own. It is not nearly as loud or bestial as Vik's, but the cry carries well, and is echoed by Seraph circling overhead. He eyes get wide-eyed with a look of surprise as he does so, as if something happened that he didn't expect, but recovers swiftly.
Symington bows once more to the matriarch. "Thank you madam. I am honored." He tells the halfling woman, and bows once more to the son sitting on Vik's shoulders. "Most excellent job young man. I am honored to have been witness to your coming of manhood."
Seeing the captain exit the tent and wave for their attention, Symington starts to walk that way following Vik, dabbing fastidiously at the corners of his mouth with a lacy white kerchief. As he walks, he casually waves his hand over his jacket and shirt, and the blood stains vanish. He frowns for a moment, and waves his hand over his silk ruffles once more before apparently satisfied with the result. He tucks the now clean kerchief back into the sleeve it came from, and strides over to meet the captain and the others. He notices the red-clad newcomer and the weary cook, and raises an eyebrow. He inclines his head to the lady, waiting for introductions, but his eyes move rapidly over her clothing and weapons, the tattered appearance of the lad with her, and the general condition of the cook and the one other returning member of that party. You can almost hear the gears turning,...
Symmington
Cynthia
Vik
Algret
Milhar
Pietro
The big Paladin hears something, as if from a distance. Possibly a voice. The words are hard to detect but it seems as if a warning is being given. As Pietro tries to focus on them, his father is suddenly by his side.
"Boy, the captain has called a meeting of hero's. Get yourself amongst them. Me sure we farmers have our chance to be heard in whatever is happening next."
His father had opened more to him since the incident on teh beach with the Raptor. The way Pietro had stood forward to defend the others spoke more to his father than any amount of words may have been able to do. Still, there was an edge of command and exasperation still whenever the two spoke.
BoDan
Paera was now on board Vixen. What she wanted with Emallion was unclear, but the monk had been aware of a tension between the two women since they had left teh Empire. Her heart ached, and her thoughts drifted. When the girl came to ask her to meet the captain, it caught the monk by surprise. So deeply had her thoughts wandered that she had been unaware of the girls approach. A cold shiver ran over her body at the thought.
The orcs seem reluctant to leave the shelter of the junle. Their greyish green skin seems perfectly suited to the shadowy confines of the tropical plantss, yet it would be starkly contrasting to the coarse grained sand of the beach.
The orcs become restless as the group from across the sea gather near them. So many folk from other nations obviously makes them edgy. The big hunter, Skilhar, steps forwards supporting the very wek and tired looking shaman of the tribe.
The old man looks up when he is prodded by the hunter, his eyes seeming to swim in and out of focus at first, until a last he meets the eyes of the group who had helped his village earlier. He takes a deep breath, the sound rattling in his chest like rice in a gourd."My time draws close. The battle for my village has cost me too much." he gasps. A mall frothappears at the corner of his mouth, the phlegm specked with dark blood. "The one who was to relpace me travels now with the ancestors. Dead before me and leaving me with no time to train another."
He coughs weakly, the chest heaving in great bellows and bloody phlegm spraying out over his vest. Skilhar grabs the old orc with both hands, supporting him while he continues. "The ruins I guard hild an evil, brought to this place by ones such as yourselve. Men of the sea who took what they wanted and left nought but blood in their wake. When they arrived my people opened their arms to them, but it cost us dearly. In one night of blood the ship men took many lives from my people. Our Orrklashra of the time, my mentor, brought down upon them the curse of the ancestors. They should have persihed there and then, but the evil they carried with them twisted the magic. Now they hunt the ruins of their old settlment, ever looking to reach out to the jungles for more souls, more treasure...more blood."
The eyes go wide, his chest truly heaving now as he struggles for breath in lungs filling with fluid. Desperately he tries to finish "I am the one....gasp...who guards the way...gasp...blocks the paths." one last great breath and then "When I die, they will be free". The breath rattles from his throat and the orcs eyes go wide. He grabs at Skilhar desperately, trying for a breath that will never come. The great orc holds him in arms grown huge with muscle, yet those great limbs tremble at the grief of what he sees before him.
At last the old orc goes still. Skilhar turns to those gathered and speaks. "He wish you to help us. Say only magic of those who ride the wodden gulls can fight this evil. Will you come?"
DM
As for the new bub, Helen has had a few minor scares, a bad illnesses and plenty of morning sickness which is not like the breeze she had last time. However the corner is turned and I let her have a girly weekend while I went away with our son. So she is back on top and raring for work.
Wrath
I Like it! Lets do it. Depression can be very difficult to shake off and I like the reality and Rp possibilities the mechanic represents. But what do you think the DC should be? But anyway, Good thinking boss, thanks. Cheers! ;-)
Bo-dan thanks the young girl who had come to summon her from her solitude and hurries to join the Captain and the others, as she sees that Orc party begin to approach. As she reaches the group, she notices the newcomers, and her eyes widen unconsciously for a moment at the...strange yet somehow exciting look of the leather clad female. But her thoughts do not run in that direction at all at present and looking with concern towards the obviously deathly ill shaman, she concentrates to focus past her sadness upon the matter at hand.
Will Save:
Cynthia takes note of the others as they arrive, noticing more than one of them eyeing her curiously. She focuses her attention for the moment on what the Orcs are saying, but soon realizes that she doesn't yet have the full picture and isn't really sure what to make of the Old Shaman's words.
She patiently waits for someone to explain more before speaking up.
At the slaughter:
Pietro watched the slaughter from his family's tent. The ritual , crude and shamanistic, disquieted him somewhat. Disgust, scorn, and a little fear coloured his perceptions. It's so barbaric. Those poor benighted little people. They attach such importance to these beasts. They seem to feel that they're killing an equal or a friend rather than just an animal, yet they kill them just the same.... But they are just animals. How else would we eat? His thoughts wander many trails but always return to ponder the differences between these tribal halflings and the civilized refugees and sailors from the ship a nagging question keeps returning to him. But are these rituals the beginning of true civilization?
He opens his spirit in prayer asking Abadar for guidance or a sign. Instead of knowledge or comfort, he receives a threat, a sense of evil beyond the reef. He gets up, walks down to the water's edge and stares into the waves for a long time.
Pietro's father is suddenly by his side.
"Boy, the captain has called a meeting of hero's. Get yourself amongst them. Me sure we farmers have our chance to be heard in whatever is happening next."
Pietro bows his head. "Yes, Father." He dashes back to the tent to gather his dagger and staff. Then he runs to the captain's tent to hear is going on now. He is surprised to find the orcs there.
Wrath:
Symington listens to the elder orcs words with interest, and a look of obvious concern crosses his face as the elder collapses. He takes a half-step, then pauses, glancing at the others reactions. He had heard that some of these people had already had dealings with the orks. Logically, they would know better than he how to respond to this situation. He would follow their example until he got a clearer picture of the, obviously tense, situation.
Captain Venn calls the group away from the orcs while they deal with the dead elder. His voice is low, but it carries the weight of a man obviously troubled by his thoughts.
"This couldn't have come at a worse time! Lady Desna has turned her luck from us it would seem." The captain looks around at everyone gathered near him and the indicates the recently returned group from the village of Haven.
"Jaekyl returned while the halfling woman was preparing the psauropods for the slaughter. He brings with him this lady, Cynthia, and a young lad Phillipe, from the village. They may well be the only survivors of the village, for it was coccooned in webbing and overrun by monstrous spiders according to the two survivors."
His face creases in a deeply worried frown as he continues "We need supplies from that place. Stores for the ship in terms of tar and caulking that we cannot get from the jungles. Spare canvas and extra rope too, not to mention medical supplies that I know they have there. Plus there could be survivors." While the last words seem to be an afterthough, his face seems haunted by that last thought.
"There were women in tht place, many of them not there by choice as it was. I'm also concerned about Mjobo and his vrew. They haven't returned yet, and aren't due to but if this has happened to Haven, I cannot imagine what may happen at the honey supplies. We need to send some folk back there to discover what they can aand bring back what we need. I'll send them with the skiff this time, to haste things along. Seems that keeping secrets from the folk of that village will not be necessary any more. What say you my friends?"