Histrok nods back to Surtur, acknowledging his command. Dismounting from the yak, the hobgoblin glances to Drekisal and then beckons to three of the warriors to come with with a smile. "Well then, shall we save some of our wood foraging efforts for the evening?"
Once the others are coming with, Histrok makes his way across the clearing towards the fuel merchant, taking in the setting and its inhabitants along the way. Should any given particular attention to the hobgoblin they are met with a polite nods and smile, but no attempt is made to engage with anyone until the piles of wood are reached. Once Histrok reaches the merchant's supplies the hobgoblin looks around for the proprietor, and assuming one is found, gives a shallow, but respectful bow in greeting. "Good day friend. Our travels have been long recently and for some comfort for this evening we would buy some of your wood, should it be for sale. We are also new to this camp, and would seek answers to some questions of the area if it's not too much trouble."
Drekisal follows behind Histrok. While the hobgoblin speaks, he watches and listens, searching for signs of those who are paying too much attention to their group.
Sliding off Ham with practised ease, Gork hits the ground with bone shaking force and the clatter of his armor.
Before following their big leader, he takes an extended look-around over the watching crowd.
They live the hard life on the edge of wilderness.
Maybe they could profit from Merrys ways just like his clan did.
Nodding to himself, he takes up a position to the left of Surtur, walking just one Ogre-step behind.
"Hrmh.." the elf grumbles to herself and dismounts her yak. She must say; she was a bit disappointed. They had talked so much (at least twenty words!) so she had just assumed Surtur had learned her name by now. Hrhm! Ah well..
She followed her two huge companions (and Cuneo whom was more reasonably sized!) towards the trading post. The beads and baubles, whom she had spent the morning reattaching to her outfit, clattered and one hand played with them. The other lingered close to her blade - just in case. Never knew what these people could do!
"So, Gork, what do you think..?" Jhaelwyn glanced and nodded towards the sleeping ogre. The elf was a bit curious how the other one would feel about not being biggest in town anymore. (Though she supposed that was debatable; she wasn't sure how much bulk the armour added to Gork. Ham certainly helped make him an impressive silhouette!) Come think of it, had she seen any other obviously of the monstrous races in camp so far?
Cuneo walks behind Surtur, eyes darting, mouth set, arms folded. He is wearing armor which he never takes off and carrying a helmet which he almost never takes off beneath his left armpit, right above his sword.
Fang, a large cat who follows him around, sits next to the Yacks, watching the camp of miscreants and drifters with unblinking eyes.
"He's big," Cuneo echoes Jhaelwyn, patting Gork on the hip, "but not scary."
Once they get inside, Cuneo will stand behind Surtur and let him do the talking, watching carefully to see how Obega listens.
a
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Knowing that soon the talksy part will begin, Gork mutters the mystery-words Merry taught him as they walk towards the trading post.
As they approach the tiny tent, Gork follows the pointed fingers an nods of rumble-pointy and grins a broad smile showing off wickedly sharp teeth.
"'Course tey got 'n Ogre-Brother here.
Is dangerous out here, yes?
-
Hey Bro, wake up, you no longer a 'loner, Gork has come.
No need fer be'in broody.
Gork shall show ya da way of the Golden Maid an we hav gud time!"
He follows up the greeting (of a sleeping Ogre) with a not-so-well measured fist-bump against the others left shoulder - an Ogre greeting gesture.
"Oooh are we picking a fight already? Now naughty!" Jhaelwyn giggles to herself as one ogre punches the other. But ... She squints at the scene. It didn't actually sound like they were about to clobber eachother. How strange. She decided to merely observe this strange spectacle for now.
You ask Histrok to request advice on how to deal with Kulwa. After a time, the hobgoblin relays the spirits' answer:
"When you have what he has not, break the Stonebreaker yourself."
You enter the building. Around you are various collections of goods on offer, from weaponry - some obviously brought here from Hafton - to tools, food to raw crafting goods. There isn't a vast amount of any of it. No doubt Garca keeps only as much stock as he believes he'll need soon.
Garca himself - or a hobgoblin you assume to be Garca - sits on a stool behind a low counter, sharpening a single-edged dagger on a whetstone. He is approaching elderly for his kind, with a white-flecked black beard gathered in a single braid. His head is nearly entirely bald.
His eyes flick up as you enter. He grunts in greeting, not pausing at his sharpening. "New arrivals? Welcome to the Lodge, I suppose. What'll you be needing? If I don't have something, I can get it for you within a week - but there's a surcharge unless you're willing to buy in bulk."
You approach the fire-fuel area and see a human male stacking square cuts of sod, and go to speak with him. He listens dully as you speak, then shrugs. "Course its for sale, by quarter-cord. 5 copper for dung, 20 for sod, half-silver for wood."
At your request for information, he shrugs again. "Don't know things. Just sell fire-fuel. You buying or not?"
The human seems nervous and reluctant to speak at any more length than necessary - but you get the feeling this is simply the way he is and not due to peculiar circumstances.
You keep a careful eye out. There are many people watching your group, but you don't notice any of them paying more (or more pointed) attention to you than the circumstances merit. Most are simply staring at Gork.
The only ogres you've seen in the camp so far are Gork and the one by the shop.
Obega doesn't give off much of any 'feel' to you. You imagine he drives a hard bargain for any kind of haggling, but doesn't seem dishonest.
You give the sleeping ogre a soft (for your kind) blow to the shoulder. He wakes up with a snort, jumping to his feet and lashing out with his own meaty fist, catching you in the gut. He shakes his fist as he realizes he's facing another ogre.
"Bruvva? You gotta earn be one' my bruvvas," he says with a sneer - but he doesn't seem to be angry. More amused than anything - maybe even glad to see a fellow ogre despite the words. "Where you come from? What, you a softy? - you all wrapped up like a pinky! Shiny softy ogre, haw haw haw!"
He guffaws loudly. "Where you gettin this?" he asks, poking at your armor. When you mention Merry, makes a grunt of interest.
"Maid? Long time since I had fun widda maid. Where isshe"
Histrok listens to the human and, as the Hobgoblin does for everyone, tries to hear what is left unsaid as well as what is said.
"Indeed, friend, I understand and don't wish to intrude. For tonight we will take the wood if you please." Histrok quickly counts out the half silver to hand to the merchant. As the money is exchanged, Histrok seems to have a further thought. "I'll leave details to our quartermaster here," Histrok gestures towards Drekisal, "But is it possible to have fuel delivered daily to a nearby campsite? I think we would be able to find one close to cut down on the work if you could point us in the direction of a suitable unoccupied spot."
As the group continued to talk and get to know one another, Cuneo's voice slipped a little, taking on a faint and difficult to place accent. His words drawn out a bit more at the end, every letter pronounced carefully. As he speaks now, his pronunciation becomes impeccable once again, as it always is with strangers.
"New arrivals indeed." Cuneo sets his helmet down carefully on the low counter. "Surtur's going to lead us to something that sparkles in the light."
Cuneo looks at the wares, "let's just see here now..." he quietly moves away from Surtur.
|
His eyes flick up as you enter. He grunts in greeting, not pausing at his sharpening. "New arrivals? Welcome to the Lodge, I suppose. What'll you be needing? If I don't have something, I can get it for you within a week - but there's a surcharge unless you're willing to buy in bulk."
Surtur, after a moment to ponder the wares, speaks. "May the greater sun guide your path, grandfather," he says respectfully. "Tell me, how often is new stock received here?"
He takes a look at the weapons, observing them, and then onto the food. After a few moments of looking, he reaches over, takes a large cut, and plops it down. "I'll take this, if I may. How much?"
Though he's wrapped up in his conversation, it is not lost on him that Sir Gork and Jhaelwyn remained outside. He hopes no sort of trouble will come of this, though he figures of anyone, they are the most capable of handling anything that may arise.
Drekisal steps forward smoothly at Histrok's introduction. He gives the merchant an elegant little bow then turns to soldiers assigned to them.
"Split the wood between you. We will arrange our supplies once our campsite is chosen."
Gork laughs with the other Ogre but flinches towards the end.
"Gork come from far bigrocks.
Strong-Pinky-Surtur lead us 'ere.
Rode for a hand'n'alf sunnies.
Whatyu doin' ere?
Lookin Ogry fer da coinsys from da shopsy?
***
Hah, tis shiny-plate 's toughin Gork 'vn more!
Pinkies made it fer Gork.
Gork fin'shd bandits bully'n tem fer long ye'as.
An da clinky-shirt an axe 's made from da bros'n'sis' of Gorks clan!
We do gud stuff since Merry.
Ahh, Merry ...
No talksy like tat 'bout 'er or Gork-smash, unstud?!
She's a god ya no know'she?
Taugh Gork many fings.
Mor gud fun and stuff since Gork and the Bone'Gnaws follow Merry-guid'nce.
We 'vn do talksy and tradsy with da pinkies.
An da day-end-funsies are da best!"
Jhaelwyn squints at the ogres. They're ... cuddling? The elf sighed in disbelief and disappointment. She had hoped for some action! Ah well. Not everything could work out perfectly. Or terribly, depending on ones point of view.
But philosophy wasn't why they had come here. And she was a bit curious as to the stock kept here. So she flung open the door to the trading post and headed inside.
The man nods. "We can deliver. You pay by the week or more, up front. Half silver for wood, twenty copper for sod, ten for dung. An ain't no rules about where to set up. Pick a spot, lemme know."
At Drekisal's orders, the soldiers you brought with you nod and grab armfuls of the fuel to cart back to the rest of the group.
"We take in shipments twice a month," Obega answers. He glances up when you plop down the cut of meat. "Something fancy for your arrival eh? Seven silver."
Thud nods. "Obega know none gonna steal o nothin wit me around." At your explanation of Merry, his spits in the dirt. "Ain't no god a' mine. And you no boss a' me. I say what I like. Git yer arse gone now, ahm sleepin."
Thud gives you a forceful shove backwards and settles back down with a... well, a Thud. Closing his eyes and seemingly falling directly back asleep.
"Excellent, we'll pick a campsite and then Quartermaster Drekisal will come to work out the details. You can expect to see us again soon. Thank you for your help." Histrok smiles again at the merchant and then, making sure that the group is all finished here, turns back towards the center of the square.
A quick glance at the scene shows Sir Gork "talking" to the Ogre that had been sleeping in front of Obega's Hut. Without missing a beat the hobgoblin starts at a faster pace than normal towards the two ogres, speaking to Drekisal as one goes, "I think that it might be wise for the two of us to join Sir Gork at this time. It's possible that this exchange," Histrok gestures towards the ogres, "will go well, but I'd like to tip the scales towards that to be more certain."
Looks delicious! Jhaelwyn grins at what she can only assume will be their next dinner. And a bit at the storekeep, not too much though.
She'll take a look and see if they had any arrows or similar supplies. She preferred to fletch her own, but it could always be handy if they needed tons. Plus she needed a new bow anyhow - eventually!
Drekisal gives the merchant another small bow. "I shall see you again once we have selected our campsite," he says, then turns and follows Histrok.
He sighs at the sight of Gork 'speaking' with the other ogre. "Someone should have stayed with him," he mutters. "It is probably best that you speak to him first. While he is an unusual ogre, Gork would lose face in the sight of the other were he to listen to one of my stature."
Gork can be seen (and heard) exhaling deeply.
The muscles on his neck are stretching and his right hand is halfway to the grip of his large axe ... when he suddenly stops and grins.
Somewhat forced at first but soon it is widening to a hearty grin that tells of a steelern resolve.
"Ya see in time, bro.
's never easy or quick but Merry has pat'nce."
With that, he turns to his comrades, surprised at them following his now-over talk with the Ogre as if following an interesting sports event.
Histrok's hustle gets the Hobgoblin to Sir Gork's audience in time to hear the last comment. Looking at the intentionally sleepy thud, Histrok turns to one's comrade, and pats an enormous forearm while flashing a friendly smile. "Merry has found a clever and devoted agent in you, Sir Gork. If you don't mind I would like to hear your experiences with her this evening at the campfire. I don't believe that I've given you a chance to spread her good word to me thus far."
Gork smiles at the question of the hobgoblin.
"An come with Gork, lil'un.
We help breakin campsy.
Merry fav'os hard work, fol'owd by a gud feast at dusk and a funsy story."
With that Gork returns to Ham (with Histrok in tow if he wants) and follows the others to their soon-to-be campsite.
Having an Ogre around has its merits (as you start to recognize) as he is able to make the work of three man with easy and having someone larger than most human tents has its very own benefits.
*** Later ***
Once everything is set up - including a massive wooden stake rammed deep into the ground where Ham is tied to - Gork settles down last, his skin sweaty and the hay symbol he wears at a strong leather cord around his neck torn and shredded from the labour and long travel.
He takes it off and binds it to the long shaft of his lance to several older ones (mostly dissolved by now).
As everyone gathers for the evening, Gork works on a new Merry-eight, using an Ogre-handful of long grass leaves he had collected throughout the day.
It is clearly a non-trivial task for the Ogre, his big hands not made for this kind of delicate task but you can tell that he has a lot of practise doing this. After half an hour, he is done with it and it takes up its rightful place.
Once that is dealt with, Gork joins the evening gathering in earnest, eating (an awful lot and at an incredible speed), drinking (a barrel for every bottle you drink) and laughing (loud enough to make your ears hurt sometimes).
As things start to calm down and the first of the men are getting to sleep, he turns to Histok.
"Te'es a day to Merrys likin.
Ha'ard work, thank'in her doin and havin gud time wif frindsies on evn'ing.
An if ze bugsies com out, we be 'ere to smash 'em before 'ey harm da othe's."
|
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He glances up when you plop down the cut of meat. "Something fancy for your arrival eh? Seven silver."
Surtur shrugs when the hobgoblin gives a small smile. "We've come to destroy the mantids," he says indifferently, "and the men will need the meat to keep their strength up."
He reaches into his bags, and pulls out seven silver. He does not close the bag, however; keeping it open as he asks another question "I am new here, and wish to settle for the night. I would like your recommendation on where best to do that," he says slowly, amicably. Quieter, he adds "I do not wish trouble for my men." He quickly glances back to Cuneo and Jhaelwyn, before returning his piercing gaze to the shopkeeper.
Jhaelwyn continues to look around in the shop, fiddling with her trinkets and eavesdropping on the conversation. When they (briefly) look to her she shows her teeth in a quick grin. "Yes, we do love huge chunks of meat."
"That bacon looks delicious too.." she added softly to herself and chuckled. After a little while she exits the trading post to wait outside having seen what was to be seen. Plus there were always the slight chance the ogres had picked a (surprisingly quiet) fight. Sadly not. But being outdoors felt more natural anyhow.
Obega spares Surtur another glance. "The prudent sort, I see. Don't get too many of those here. Every creature is some young, strong buck looking to fight whatever they can find. Then they end up dead in a month, taken by the mantids or knifed in a spat with one of the others."
"Wells, if you want to avoid trouble, I'd stay away from Kulwa or Urim's camps. They're a mite territorial. Especially Kulwa. North by the cliff road, maybe, or perhaps to the west by the road to Harraw if you want to be seen as ready to fend off mantid attacks. Not that we've had any of those recently."
"And most importantly - if you really want to stay out of trouble - stay out of the pissing contests around here. If you're here long than sooner or later Kulwa will try and get you on his side, or Urim will warn you not to mess with him, or some such nonsense. Or maybe they'll see you as competition themselves, what with your size. Don't let 'em pull you into it, or you'll damn well have trouble."
Histrok smiles at Sir Gork's enthusiasm. "Before we start breaking camp let's figure out where that should happen, but once it's settled I'll be there with you."
Histrok turns to go into the trading hut and sees Jhaelwyn coming back out. "Nothing in there caught your eye, Jhaelwyn? I know that you're not much of a talker, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on what we're seeing here today later this evening; if you've expectations I'd like to hear if they've been met or not." The hobgoblin gives the elf time to reply before heading into the hut, though many words would be surprising.
Once inside Histrok nods to Cuneo and then listens with interest to the conversation Surtur and Obega, not interjecting, but gathering information for later dissemination.
|
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Surtur's eyes have a far away look as he quietly whispers "I will be here as long as the threat persists,".
He then turns back to Obega, eyes sharp once again. He responds with gratitude in his deep voice. "I do thank you for your advice, shopkeeper. I will do my best to heed it. If you ever have need of anything," and his hand slowly reaches out to the top of the counter, "send word to the camp of Surtur Murumasa. I will come." He withdraws his hand, leaving a small clay thimdle no larger than a thumb on the top.
Almost inconsequentially, he adds "A gift. A custom among my people, for kindnesses given. Boil it's contents in water," and he nods to the thimble "and stir with honey or milk. It will help tiredness, and tastes pleasant."
And with that, he heads back out of the shop. Seeing the group is back together, he announces "Drekisal, see if you can find one of the locals to fetch us some fresh water, and bring it to our campsite. Take Histrok, Cuneo, Zakur, and Morgeiros with you. We will meet back here in half a bell. We will procure a campsite."
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Cuneo is mostly quiet, picking through the wares carefully. He selects a small knife, some chalk, and a good stout rope, among a few other things. Nothing too out of the ordinary. He waits until Surtur is done to purchase the goods, picking up his helmet and leaving with a few words of farewell.
He follows after Drekisal, helmet back on his head. Clicking twice, Fang, his large cat which has been basking in the sun, runs to his side.
--------
Cuneo is relatively quiet at first, unloading and reorganizing his pack before stretching out his blanket and laying his bedroll on top of it. He pulls a small pouch out of his pack and sits by the fire with his sword on his lap, inspecting it. Nothing has happened that would cause it to be damaged, but he eyes it closely, just to be certain.
"Gork," he begins softly, "tell me about the other ogres in your tribe. Have they embraced the faith, as you have, or are they more like most of your kin?"
Later, as the meat finishes roasting, Cuneo approaches Drekisal, holding a chunk of ungarnished bread in his left hand and a small copper bowl of water in his right. He occasionally dips the bread in the water before eating it. "You're a diplomat, right? I wonder if you would happen to speak Belshiran."
"It has been a long time since these words were on my mouth."
As you enjoy what turns out to be quite delicious bacon, you the gentle thump of paws hitting the ground behind you. Cuneo's cat approaches, stretching it's ever so large body as it does so. It sits beside you, licking its lips and gazing unblinkingly at your food.
Cuneo smiles from across the fire.
Hands in his pockets, Cuneo approaches Histrok with a slightly worried look on his face. "Although I have travelled the world and lived here for many years, I've never taken the time to become aquanted with a member of your race. Tell me, if you don't mind, how long do you live?" He shifts somewhat uncomfortably.
The fire burns on, the flames now low and gentle, the coals red in the gloaming light. Cuneo stirs them softly with an old weather beaten stick, watching the sparks rise up amidst the smoke, climbing higher and higher towards the heavens. He shivers slightly in the wind. "How is it with your people, Surtur?"
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Jhaelwyn thought back at what little they had seen so far. Which wasn't much - this place felt and smelled like any other large gathering of hunters. "When those that are actually out hunting return, then I think there might be something to see. Will they be bruised, battered? Will they have a prize? Or come back pristine and not having 'found' anything..."
She wasn't sure yet how many that were here to actually slay the mantids. There were probably a large chunk of profiteers and opportunists lurking
about. Abandoned camps were much easier prey then the mantids after all. Maybe she should set some snares just in case someone accidentally wandered too close?
First she'd need to know where they would camp. While she did enjoy pit traps digging them all over the place could get tiresome. "Yes ... A campsite with good view I hope!"
Jhaelwyn didn't really agree with the Maid on several key points. But she couldn't fault her message of good work ethic and the rest afterwards. Especially if hers champions adherence to the first meant more of the second for Jhaelwyn. Yes she really liked this ogre compared to any other she had met. "Imagine if was like the one by the post? Sleeping trough the day - pah! ...Just begging to be gutted ..."
---
After setting up camp the elf spent a long time placing her possessions just the way she wanted in her tent. It was important that she knew where everything were - especially since their neighbors might not be the most honest of people. "Hmhph. Probably a bunch of scavengers and magpies. Hmph!"
---
"Hsssss!" the elf shows her teeth at the large critter eyeballing her food. Not that the cat was looking (probably?). So she instead went to take a large bite out of the chunk of meat, chewing quickly.
"*Chomp* Pff! *chomp* *chomp...* *sigh* Why must it have such shiny eyes? Damn fur-ball!"
With another sigh she surrendered her remaining meat. She was nearly full anyhow. And if they *really* needed that food they could just eat the cat. Or that lazy ogre by the trading post. Yeah, she decided, she liked the cat much more.
Drekisal nods, catching the hidden meaning. He turns and leaves, looking for where Yidi was while trying to appear as if he were simply surveying the camp.
Histrok nods at Jhaelwyn. "That makes sense. More to compare to. But I want you to be sure to let us know if something seems different ..." the hobgoblin pauses and looks at the two nearby ogres, ... actually, let's make that alarming. More than any others your instincts here can guide us on this hunt. If I know that you'll speak you see something worth speaking about I'll be happier."
Histrok nods understanding as well and follows where Drekisal leads. The hobgoblin mutters a quick prayer to ones ancestors and then eyes the camp and the road to the north, towards the river in particular.
Histrok follows Sir Gork's lead and helps where possible in setting up the camp. Although the hobgoblin is no match for the ogre's feats of strength, one tries to find tasks which aren't being done that don't take as much of a physical toll to address. At the end of the activities Histrok is sweating as well, but smiles to the ogre in appreciation of work done.
When Sir Gork starts the assembly of his new Merry-eight Histrok looks on, intent on understanding the intent. No offer is made to assist the ogre to offset the lack deft fingers, but when the hobgoblin has grasped the idea a far less practiced attempt to replicate the work is made. Once finished, the hobgoblin spends some time contemplating the object that has been created in silence.
When Cuneo approaches, evidently somewhat ill at ease, Histrok listens politely to the question and then pats an adjacent seat on the log, inviting Cuneo to sit. "My people. Hmm, they tend to have short lives in this world, but much like with you humans that's more because life in this world is hard more than anything else. For most life has finished with them by the time they reach their mid thirties. Without the hardships I think that we would tend to live about as long as your people would, probably into our sixties or seventies. My experiences haven't been with those that have it easy.
Histrok looks back at the Merry-eight as if thinking of what some other world might be like before tucking it into a pocket and turning back to Cuneo. "As for meeting one of my people, I'm honored to be your first close contact. I do have to warn you though that much like humans, ogres, elves, and kobolds," Histrok gestures towards Surtur, Sir Gork, Jhaelwyn and Drekisal respectively, "you'll find that what you learn of one of us might not be helpful for dealing with others. Some hobgoblins are vicious killers and often whole tribes are organized as slaving warbands who glorify nothing but conquest. Some are artisans or farmers, nomads or city-dwellers, nobles or traders, mercenaries or anything else you might imagine. Reputations are often earned by the most atrocious examples of a people, but seldom deserve to be shared by all.
"But surely this is something that you've seen in many people in your travels." Histrok turns to the campfire and stares at the flickering flames that burn the wood so recently purchased before going on. "Life is fleeting, but best shared with friends. Shall we share some of our travels with each other now that we might better know each other? My tales aren't likely to be as interesting as yours, but I offer them to you should you be willing to trade."
As the evening winds down and the first of the party start to head to their tents in anticipation of a long day tomorrow, Histrok finds himself seated beside Sir Gork again. The hobgoblins listens to Sir Gork's assessment of what makes a day to Merry's liking and nods. "If this is what Merry wants for her followers then perhaps she has found one more. Since I was young I have been guided by the words of my ancestors, but I believe that they would approve of what Merry seeks to bring to the world. I must sleep now to prepare for the morrow, but please, as we remain companions continue to teach me Merry's ways so that I might honor her and in my own small way help bring her vision of a community to reality."
*** Talksy about the Clan with the Pinky ***
"Gorks Bros'n'Sis, eh?
Yeah, ty follow Merrys way now.
Ha'ad work it was. Bros'n'Sis can be ha'ad headed like rocks.
But Gork made 'em see Merry-Power and Gork got Boss.
Show'd em how Merry-live goes.
Show'd em what ha'ad work can 'chieve.
And ze funsies afterwards.
Opend 'eir eyes for what the Clan can do togeth'r.
Less smashy Bros'n'Sis, more strength fer makin' gud-things, bet'r foodsy and boozez fer ze evn'g partsy.
Tradsy with pinkies fer moar gud stuff - gud steel, sweet-booz an' fancy-tools."
His tone, proud and joyful until now, now changes into a more troubled tone.
"Now ty trust in Merry-way even when ze Grindaz an Rippaz tr'in to smash us.
Othr tribe.
No-talksy wif 'em only smashy - tried it moar 'an once, no helpin'.
Gork 'n Merry troubled.
Two tribez too much fer long time.
Less time fer Merry-life wif all ze smashy goin' on, ye see?
Ol'Hurk Boss now, Gork searchin' fer new place fer Merry-Ogres."
*** Jhaelwyn ***
As Cuneos cat is stalking your food, its epic preying is suddenly underlined with low drumming that is getting quicker and more audible the closer the feline gets to its goal ...
Looking around, you find Gork is playing his drums while following the scene with a broad grin.
*** Histrok ***
Gork beams at you with what only can be called childish joy in his (not very pleasant to look at) face.
"Thaz guud!
Merry love new sheep for her herd.
An not trouble wif the doingsys of ze othr hobgobs.
Merry sees what yu doin, not carin' fer ze doings of ze oth'rs!"
Later, as the meat finishes roasting, Cuneo approaches Drekisal, holding a chunk of ungarnished bread in his left hand and a small copper bowl of water in his right. He occasionally dips the bread in the water before eating it. "You're a diplomat, right? I wonder if you would happen to speak Belshiran."
Drekisal looks up at Cuneo and shakes his head slightly. "The tongues of dwarves and giants, hobgoblins and orcs I speak, but not Belshiran."
He cocks his head to one side. "How did you come to learn it?"
Cuneo watches you with interest, shifting slightly every time you begin to pause. There's clearly something he wants to say.
"Well, how about I begin with the oldest story of all." He takes his hands out of his pockets, folds his arms, and leans back in his seat. "I left home when I was still a child because there wasn't anything there for me." He pauses for a moment, then continues, the shadows dancing across his face, making it shift in strange ways that you haven't seen before. He grimaces slightly, voice monotonous. "There was an old man who took care of me. He was like a father." Cuneo cracks his knuckles one by one, a slow, deliberate motion to keep himself from holding still and getting stuck. "For a long time we worked together, healing soldiers and sick alike. It wasn't a bad life, though there was hard work and no pay. I was only a boy, what would I have done with money anyhow? And I learned many useful things. How to saw off a leg. How to make tea for throat ache. How to set a broken finger and how to keep a splint from wearing on the skin. The old man was a good teacher." He watches the fire burn for a moment.
"Then one day I wasn't a boy anymore, so I went away. I'm not sure I ever was a boy, though perhaps I was in more recent years. When I came back I was hurt, and when I was healed he was sick, and when I tried to help I failed." Cuneo takes off his helmet, and the weight being removed from his head seems like a great relief.
"When he was buried, there grew yellow flowers upon his grave. I have carried their seeds from shore to shore, over rock and under tree. They have come with me through jungles and desserts, through streams and fields whose names I will never know. Today I shall carry them no longer." He puts his hands in his pockets again, then withdraws a small tin box tied with a yellow ribbon. "Today I worry that I will not grow old and plant them where I will one day rest. Today I am afraid, and I know that there is now nothing to keep me away from my fears. So I'm going to give this box to you, to keep for me, since I believe that you will outlast me." He takes it gingerly into his hands, offering it to you.
Cuneo chuckles slightly at your mention of 'boozez', a sound as dry as the dessert around you. As your voice changes, Cuneo stands up slowly, sheathing his sword before sitting down.
"Do they care for you, your tribe? Do they follow Merry merely because you tell them to?" Cuneo looks you in the eyes now, clearly interested in your response.
When you toss the meat to the cat, it glances at you one more time before turning slightly to investigate. As it walks, a low rumbling sound issuess from behind, and it's ears perk up immediately, turning faster than it's head to locate the source of the sound. A grinning Gork.
Swishing it's tail back and forth, the cat picks up the meat in it's mouth and walks over to Gork, lying down at his feet and purring loudly while it eats.
"I found myself in lands where it was spoken, and could find no one who would accompany me beneath strange woods were it not for a few careful words in their native toungue." Cuneo takes a bite of well watered bread, chewing thoughtfully. "I've always learned new things quickly. Esspecially languages."
You note that, just to show off, Cuneo has kept even a hint of his accent from creeping into his words.
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Surtur knows exactly where he's going, and walks with the assurance of someone who's been there, even though it's his first time. He observes silent glances as they slowly file out and away from the main area of the lodge; once, a particularly burly man even tries to bump you, but Surtur does not give in, waiting until the last second to nimbly bounce to the side, showing surprising agility for one so big.
Finally, he clears the main tents of the Lodge, on the western side, and stops. He looks around, carefully noting each and every plain. He walks first over to a group of trees, near the north; and settles here for a long time, before shaking his head and moving on. Those close to him may have heard the words "Bad harmony," but again, it's barely a whisper, worse than a mumble.
He leads the group farther and farther away from Obega's Lodge, nearing a set of three tents out amongst their lonesome. Going a bit farther west, he stares around, and, breaths. He sits down, for several long moments, indicating each should do the same, then nods. "Yes. This is where we shall camp."
As everyone begins unpacking, setting up tents, he looks around. "Jhaelwyn- take man or two with you, and return to Obega's lodge, and await our quartermaster. We shall be safe enough here tonight."
"Sir Gork- accompany me. It may be that your talents are useful in this task."
He slowly unhooks his axes from his belt, and ponders them for a few moments, before setting them down next to his upraised tent. "Leave your weapons, and armor," he commands. "For this task, you shall have no need of them."
He sets off in the direction of the three tents they had passed by, at a brisk walk, hardly giving the ogre knight a chance to unstrap out of his colossal armor.
And, when they are within 100 feet of the tents, he calls out "Ho! We are travelers, and I request a word with you!"
*** Whuzzup? ***
After a way too long time, strong-pinkie finally decided upon a campsite.
Glad that he finally could start the work of setting up camp, Gork is surprised upon Surturs request.
"Huh?
Gork skillzies you need but no smashy-work, eh?
So ya gonna talksy to moar pinkies.
Hmmm, yeh 'ave ta wait a bit.
Tough-Hide 's ha'ad to get out off..."
He starts to lay remove several layers of armor and places them, surprisingly carefully, upon a semi-ordered heap beside ham.
Then he follows Surtur to their new neighbours to say hello.
A vivid stream of bad habbit is crossing before his eyes.
Years ago, he would have charged headlong into those tents and would have cracked open and sucked the marrow out of the inhabitants bones, whether they be man, woman or child.
Now he is going to talk with them, probably befriending them.
His hands take the worn out Merry-eight into his huge hands (he would have to make a new one this evening) and mumbles a short thanks to HER for the changes SHE brought.
*** Curious Cat-Owner-Pinky ***
Gork looks back with a resolute gaze, not flinching.
"'ey trust an' life da merry-life.
Gork push'd his Bros'n'Sis the toddl-steps, but now, 'ey life it.
No need fer pushies now.
's ha'arda fer 'em 'an fer me.
Gork got Merry-feelz'n'thinkies, 'ey not.
'ey can on'y trust an' do 'eir best.
Merry loves 'em now as any pinkie-groupsie.
Or moar, fer Merry knows how ha'ard it 'as fer 'em to un'stand Merry-ways."
Histrok listens in silence as Cuneo speaks. When Cuneo finishes and offers the box, the hobgoblin looks carefully at his face, as if searching for something and then nods deeply. "I am honored to watch over these for you until you're ready to use them. If you're right and I live beyond you I know what to do, but ..."
Histrok takes the tin gently and examines it carefully, delicately before looking back up at Cuneo. "We have a chance here, in this expedition, to create a place for flowers to grow. A place where one might rest and know that there will be a lasting peace. A place where a spirit would be satisfied to settle when it's time. When you know that we've found that place I would be honored again if you would allow me to help sow these seeds."
Histrok looks back at the fire, the tin still in his hands. "It's important to remember the past and maintain our links to it, but I hope that we can agree that we're also here to make a future where that task is easier. Life will be what it is, but can you agree to try to stay and help with the task, as hard as that might be?" Turning back to Cuneo, "We can face your fears, our fears, together. Together, if we stay, we have a chance to create something, someplace of worth."
"I've never had trouble voicing *cough* concerns." The elf cheers and her lips force themselves into a brief smile. Though, she supposed, it might actually be helpful if she voiced those concerns to other people too. Maybe. She'd have to think about it. For now she settled for at least a little attempt. She leans in a little towards the hobgoblin. "I'm curious to see how many hunters there are. And scavengers, vultures and luck-seekers not willing to face the mantids. The later might be trouble... Even more then usual I mean."
"Hmm..." Jhaelwyn glared at the other nearby tents. They weren't actually *too* close but she could still see them. She'd really prefer some privacy - but that was probably not the party's biggest concern. Ah well. she resigned herself to their spot. With a bit of luck their neighbors would be eaten by the mantids sooner rather then later. "Oh what a shame that would be ... Hah."
The elf made sure to find a good and level spot to pitch her tent. Wouldn't want to sleep in a slope! Despite having done so a thousand times before, she barely had time to finish before she was given a new task. "*Nod*" she acknowledged and pointed at the pair of closest grunts, surely they would understand, and headed back into the main camp.
Jhaelwyn found a nice spot near the post to lean against and settled in. Hopefully it wouldn't take their quartermaster much time to finish whatever he was doing. And then he could come here and they could leave. Yes that'd be nice. So she made sure to keep her eyes open.
"It has a theme song too?" Jhaelwyn glanced at Gork and sighed. How would she ever manage to keep her dinner now? I'll have to become a vegetarian! "...Bleh..."
She relaxed a bit and started to untie the beads and baubles from her outfit. With a bit of luck she wouldn't need them tomorrow. Or tonight. While she did she tried her hand a bit of small talk. "I never thought you would be artistically inclined Gork. Is that *ahem* one of Merries commandments?"
The tents seem to serve as a small camp for woodcutters, as there are fairly large piles of poorly sawn and chopped logs nearby. Surtur approaches the three lone tents and calls out a greeting. After a moment, the flaps lift on a pair of the tents and a couple of heads poke out. One of the figures, a hobgoblin, immediately heads out to meet you.
"If'n yer wanting firewood, talk ta Piotr in the square. We just cut the stuff," the hobgoblin says. He's large and muscular, though not so broad or tall as Surtur himself.
You cast around for some kind of errand runners or other such figures. It's hard to tell with the hustle and bustle of the various encampments. Some folks are obviously the hunter types, with the lean and hungry look of those who survive easily in marginal places. Eventually, among the tents to the east of Obega's hut you find a trio of hobgoblins shoveling out a latrine. Reasoning that this is a task that would normally fall to the lowest, you approach them.
Gork looks down at his fleshy fingers.
"'s Merrys symbol.
He'ar her betta, when wearin' one.
Good looksy too.
Pinkies see Merry-Eight an' no fearin' Gork ... sometimes.
Makin' one frees your thinkies.
Can thank Merry betta with free thinkies.
's like sleepy and bein' wide-eye at same time.
Come 'n join hobgob-friend.
He tryin' too."
Drekisal fares no better than Histrok in locating the halfling, but does find a group of a human and two hobgoblins who are butchering some large deer-like animal, no doubt hunted from the nearby area.
The small stand of wood to the north that the camp is cutting from covers about half a square mile and while not old-growth, has plenty of trees reaching over twenty feet tall. The camp is in virtually no danger of making an appreciable dent to the wood supply.
The woods are a quarter mile walk from the main camp over faintly rolling, hilly ground.
"Hmh. I'm not much for gods." Jhaelwyn grunted back across the fire. They seemed too far away for her to care. At least the ones that wanted to meddle here and there in her life. Bleh! No, she'd prefer to observe and enjoy the teachings of Merry at an arms-length distance.
"No, meant the drums. Some of our Gods have songs and rituals..." She closed her eyes and imagined one of those nights. Pretty. Pity she wouldn't enjoy that spectacle for a long time.
Drekisal hides his disappointment at not seeing their contact. He dismisses the diggers as dirtier than someone he wants fetching water and instead approaches the hunters.
He gives them a small bow and then speaks. "Good evening to you, sirs. I am looking for someone willing to earn a bit of extra coin by aiding with our camp chores. Might you know where I might find such a person?"
One of the hobgoblins looks up from his work. "Buri's crew is usually onboard for things like that. They camp east of the post, closer to the cliff."
"My thanks," Drekisal replies with another small bow, then turns and heads east. He keeps an eye out for anyone of interest as he does so, though at this point he doubts he'll run across Yidi.
Gork looks at Surtur with obvious surprise on his face.
"Ehm, why we 'ere Boss?
Hobgobs doin' eir job good.
Simple talksy hello or more?"
On the evening of your arrival to the Lodge, you've set up your camp and are enjoying a bit of a feast, made all the more satisfying by the side of bacon Surtur procured. As your meal winds down and the sun begins to set, a small figure makes his way from the main road and into your row of tents, stopping at a respectful distance to hail the group entire.
"Welcome to our little community, you lot!" the halfling says cheerfully. "The name's Yidi Tir, you might call me somewhat of a community organizer around here. Information, messages, odd jobs, what-have-you, I'm your man. Which a' you is in charge of this crew? Came to give you a rundown of things, if you feel like listening."
Drekisal had spoken briefly with Buri's band, but had decided against hiring any of them at the time, instead returning to the camp.
That said, he is not surprised when Yidi approaches the camp. A good agent would have noticed them coming in, after all. Drekisal gives him a small bow and points at Surtur. "Surtur leads us. I am but the quartermaster here, so it may be we shall speak later."
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"How is it with your people, Surtur?"
Surtur gives Cuneo an appraising look, and then resumes eating. "I don't know," he whispers. "It stopped being a concern of mine a long time ago." He takes another bite of ham.
He's obviously lying, but he's also obviously not going to speak any more of it.
However, he does perk up around the campfire, watching the mighty ogre preach his faith. He doesn't add anything, just listens, though he does ocassionally
close his eyes, as if reflecting.
Surtur motions when the halfling comes to the camp, taking a quick, casual look around the perimeter to see who might be watching, before responding "Come, Yidi Tir. A warm greeting is always appreciated."
He shifts slightly on one of the logs used in the camp to sit, and nods. "I am called Surtur Murumasa. What would you tell us, Yidi Tir?"