The day winds down to twilight and the ever noisy forest begins to calm to a lower ebb. The sharp cracks of chisel on krielstone fade as well, Algairn finishing his work for the day. Conrael puts Gordo abed in his lean-to outside the kriel-wall, the full blood troll taking scant moments before falling into a ragged-snoring sleep after a long day at plow. The smaller pyg cousins settle up for the night also, in their spray of huts on the other flank - but for many and most of the rest the kuar is their destination.
At the base Algairn sits enjoying a tankard by a stone as he waits for the gaggle of bairns to arrive and stories to begin. On the other flank fires burn and the enticing scent of basted and grilled meat waft through the air. A pair of kin are at either end of a rope dragging the night's keg towards the kuar's raised center... ready for the night's thirsty work.
Tis good ta be back.
Eoghann walks up to the table, garnering odd looks as he always did. It was the armor, damn it, but it was the best damn coin he'd spent. Oiled and powdered to let the acid slide right off. The slag troll hide he wore as a cloak helped too, but it couldn't hide the city-slicker look of the pressed and shaped leather armor. He had massive leather pouches on either hip, one with a mask inside, the other stained at the bottom with dried blood and streaked with loose hairs. On his back, the greatsword, the bow, and the quiver.
These days, can't even be unarmed at the table.
From his belt he removed a hollowed-out truffalo horn, nice and clean. He tapped it against the table idly, impatiently, waiting for the keg to be cracked open.
It had been months since he had been back. He had given his tribute to the Chieftan in the form of a massive razortusk-pelt mantle. Then he had dropped two ripe-smelling bags off at the bone-mother's hut to prove the success of his last ranging.
Tapping a half-remembered tune, he looked about for a familiar face.
He moved slowly amongst the Kriel, taking his time as he made his way towards the Kuar. His face was solemn, almost glum, but that was not strange, it was what people came to expect from the large oft-silent son of the Chief.
He spoke politely to those who called out to him though, offering words of praise and asking after the health of them and their kin. Anyone who looked like they needed it recieved a pat on the shoulder and an understanding look, calm and compassionate. He moved among his fathers people and knew, in his heart that one day this would all be his.
He knew her well, like an old lover. He knew the in-fighting she hid from the outer world. He knew the dreams she shared with no one and the fears she held tight. This Kriel held no secrets from him, he had made sure of that on his return and every day since. She was to be his and he would keep her safe, even if he had not before.
He stood apart from everyone, staring around the kuar slowly, making note of anything strange or out of place. His arms crossed across his chest, the, leaning casually on the haft of his Greataxe, he frowned.
'Aye, there is something in the air tonight!'
Large for a pyg, Katherson was nonetheless one of the easily overlooked members of the kriel. His face beamed with pride as he moved through the tables looking for a place to sit. Newly promoted to the scouts, he carried an oiled leather rifle case over his shoulder and there was no mistaking the spring in his step.
This is it, I'm an adult now! This is going to be great! Oh...there's Havar. What a mope. He's no fun. Hmmm...
The young pyg turns towards the smelly outsider, deciding he at least will be interesting. Sliding down across from Eoghann, he motions towards the cloak.
"So...that a cousin of mine you're wearing?"
"oi, i spose. Cousin o' mine too, if yer going that far. Crazy bastard came down off his mountain and started causin' problems for other kin, so they asked fer some hunters to take care of it. A lot of good stuff in a slag troll. A real wagon of treasure if ya know how to look."
A burly trollkin lumbers in, eyes the throng before him before grunting a smile and making toward the keg with his heavy tankard in hand.
As he fills the dented cup his amber eyes catch first the disapproving looks of several of the elder kriel members, then zero in on the pyg who somehow produced a flush that left him 3 gold lighter...
Lightly armoured and clothed in the Northern Kriel fashion and bearing naught but a mace at his hip, the newcomer never-the-less has a swagger about him.
Arriving at the table he takes a deep draught of his ale and grins at the pyg and the trollkin who reeked of urban living more than himself. In a booming voice he makes his introductions:
"Hoi Hoi lads! May I join ye? Seeing' as we're a' kith and kin here eh!? Óengus Mac Gairm I am called. Once o' here... then o' there... now back here again... Damn thirsty work a' that travellin'! Har!"
He takes another gulp;
"Best we get tae drinkin' then eh laddies?"
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The young pyg grins at Eoghann's reply.
"Well then that makes us cousins!"
He clasps arms with the kin as he smiles.
"I haven't seen you in a while Eoghann, look at my new rifle! That's right, I can finally go out on hunts with you."
He sits back as last night's poor card player introduces himself.
"Sure, have a seat. Drink all you want, I could use the extra coin. Ammo isn't cheap you know."
A wink to Eoghann.
Havar spots two trolls and a Pyg gathering round a table and he smiles. Grabbing a large tankard of ale from one of the casks, he moves over towards the table right as he hears Katherson complain about the price of ammo.
"Aye, black powder isn't a cheap material Kath, that is why we use these!" He grinned, tapping the axe off of his thigh. "You are damn impressive with that rifle though, you have earned it. Here's to you and yours Scout!" Havar salutes the man with his tankard before taking a long swallow of the rich dark beer.
"So what brings you motley lot together then? Up for some trouble?"
"of course! Guns're a bit noisy, but so is anything if ya don't kill it in one shot. I'm ready fer some drinkin. I'm up for trouble, but trouble always seems to be more up for me, than anythin!"
.
Óengus flashes a slightly unhinged grin as he sits;
"Feh. Ammo. Axes... Listen lads all yease need tae send yer foes tae the boneyard are these..."
The rough trollkin taps his hessian wrapped fists before continuing;
... an' yer heid..."
He makes a head butting motion with a drunken scowl
... an if that don't work... hit em' with some hard iron! Har!'
Afore slamming his dented tankard onto the bench with a bellowing laugh
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"There's a fine line between tenderizin and bruisin the meat!"
The burly trollkin casts a jaundiced look at Eoghann;
"Up North its hardtack an' harder drink... tender disnae come intae it!"
Then he winks at the assembled group;
... Lessen o' course yer courtin' a lassie har!"
"A lil fresh meat never hurt. Lotsa things're downright tender after ya get past all the teeth and claws! Lassies included!"
Havar began to laugh, first a slow chuckle then a loud howling bellow. He stopped and looked around to find those around him staring at him in confused silence. He shrugged, frowning, before taking a drink.
"Sorry... Lassies included. That was a good one!"
He plopped himself down on a chair and sighed before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I need out of this bloody place, just for awhile!" He frowned before glancing at the three men gathered with him. 'I'm slipping...' He stood up and saluted them with his mug, before downing the last of it. "Welcome back to the fold brothers. The Kriel is richer for having you. Scout!"He nodded before moving away a short distance to sit at a separate table.
"I feel ya there. Sometimes I leave, meanin ta come back in a week or two... then I come back and tha tykes ain't tykes no more. One of these times'll see me back and everyone who knew me'll be long gone from the world..."
Katherson nurses his drink, watching the trollkin banter.
"Punch them all you want, I prefer to kill them before they find me."
He watches as the would be chief arrives and then abruptly leaves.
"What's eating his warts?"
The remainder of the kriel filters in over time... most ignoring the very few chairs and tables to either congregate in standing or lounging circles on the floor. The talk is still relatively sparse and most of the kin on their way to the circle when there's a commotion near the kriel's gate.
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Katherson slips away from Shrodinger's chair, moving off to the side, well aware that trollkin tend to run things over when they're excited.
Havar begins to move towards the gates of the Kriel, pushing through the throng of Trollkin before him. He wasn't able to hear what was going on but it was his duty to go and find out. 'Please don't let it be a rabid Dire Troll!'
"Hoy, what is going on? Step back there, make some room. Some one fill me in!"
Bastian knows the woods around his estate well and he slips through them with a whistle and a smile. Still always wary. There was still danger, even here.
:
Óengus draws himself from his tankard, and casts a look toward where sounds o' commotion;
"Righty-o lads... best we go find oot fit all the ruckus is eh? Might be that trouble our chiefling was lookin' fer!"
The rough trollkin follows Havar's wake and moves toward the gate...
"Yeah. Maybe something you can punch!"
Eoghann follows Oengus over to see what's what.
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The knot of kin upon the kuar moves from the collegial perch and makes their way towards the front gate. The cause of the commotion then becomes fairly plain as words are more easily made out. Conrael, the older warlock who tends fields with the kriel's sole full blooded troll, is holding court with an excitable youngling covered in sweat. The bairn stammers "Aye, out in the East fields... we were cuttin wood and the whole trunk came down."
The older troll's eyes pick up on Havar arriving and quickly co-opts him "Boy, come here. Coupl'a lads got pinned by a tree-fall... best ye get some volunteers and follow Eamon here to do what needs be done tae help em aye? I'd take Gordo, but he's sleepin an'd be a b1tch of a job tae wake 'im."
Havar frowns coldly at the older troll, when he refers to him as boy, but shakes it off, before turning and gesturing to the three men he had just been speaking with. "Eoghann, Oengus, come, let us go try remove these trees. Katherson, we could use someone watching our back!" He gestured for Eamon to lead on, before slipping past old Con.
"Warlock!" He nods, as he walks past.
Eoghann grunts, now being ordered about by one called boy by the old warlock. Nevertheless, he follows, but none too cheerful about it.
Some things, ya don't miss.
Katherson shrugs but follows anyway.
"Don't worry Havar, I'll make sure the trees don't bite you."
Óengus grumbles about missing drinking time, but also trudges alongside as he drains the last dregs of his tankard.
At Katherson's comment he flashes a hard grin;
"Har. Some dark places o' this world they will bite ye wee pyg... But I reckon ye'd bite back hard enuff yersel!"
"I'm more worried about the things that haunt the night little Pyg, those undead abominations that are encroaching upon the woods, the Farrow who would grind up your bones for their boars and those Blood Witches that would feast on your heart. But yes, by all means watch the trees!" Havar pushes his way past the gates of the Kriel, scowling with his one good eye, as they make for the fallen tree and their trapped compatriots
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"Oh aye, undead farrow trees, I'll keep both my good eyes out for them. But the next one of ya half bloods that calls me a little pyg is gonna get shot where it don't grow back."
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Havar laughed slightly and glanced back at Katherson. "Understood and I apologise for belittling you. Now keep that Rifle trained on the night and off my nackers!"
"You'd be surprised what'll grow back... but that ain't no whelp you want around! HA HA HA!"
With the crew assembled, Eamon tearfully but competently takes point leading you out to where the tree-fall occurred. The encroaching dark makes it necessary to take lit torches with you to guide the way... which cast scattered and disparate shadows into the woods and fields that you pass through. It takes just a hand of minutes tramping across packed earth before you move under the boughs of the wood and into ground less stable.
The wee bairn leading you along then grows a little unsure, slowing to a walk as he flusters over the ground "Baws... which way was it..."
Havar frowned, catching the glint of metal in the grass. He moved over to the item and crouched down, staring down in to the grass. He slowly and carefully, making sure to apply next to no pressure, pushed the grass out of the way to reveal the item.
'If this is a f@!!ing bear trap and I have to regrow this bloody hand I will be so angry!"
Havar shook his head softly, frowning around. "Tis alright lad, take a moment, center yourself. You'll find em!"
Katherson hisses as the bairn gets lost and then again when Havar moves towards the glint.
"Stop moving! You'll spoil the trail."
Eoghann points at the glinted metal. "What's that? A trap, eh?"
Investigation of the glint, that coincidentally does not coincide with the trollkin whelp's tracks... but does with the extra information Katherson is able to glean, shows that it's a metal insignia clasp - like the one that would affix two halves of a cloak together. The insignia upon it is a yellow triangle beneath an inverted black triangle, with the number 1 at it's center. You all recognize it as the symbol of The Anvil Khador's Llaelish occupying force...
Not bothering to track or search, the Fell-Caller non-nonchalantly taps at his tankard seeking the last tasty drop of ale.
At the discovery of the Anvil symbol his look darkens;
"Pistoleers an' wine drinkers! Llaelish are aboot this night!"
Katherson scowls at the insignia.
"Khadoran's, not Llaelish. But what are men doing here? Best I lead."
The slippery scout moves to the fore.
"We take the tracks to the tree and save our kin, then back here to these other prints. Boots going that way, and not more than a few days past."
"oi, lead on then."
Óengus muses over the insignia further;
"Khador? Good vodka those boys make... Iffen they're abroad then might get a decent wee nip... Llaelish an so much..."
As the wee scout shifts past, the Fell Caller hitches his tankard to belt and nods;
"Track away langshanks..."
The scrapper winks mischievously at Eoghann and Havar as he falls into line.
Havar laughed softly at Oengus and his joke, before continuing to follow the Scout, keeping the young Eamonn by his Side. "No wandering off now lad!"
Led by Eamon's now freshly reminded sense of the route it doesn't take long before you make the site where the tree fell. Even before the metallic tang of blood reaches your nose, you hear the mewling cries of a youngling in great pain. A narrowed glance at the surrounds gives you no reason for immediate pause so you look through and take full stock of the situation.
Propped up against a rise are a pair of trollkin whelps the same age as Eamon, one face down and unmoving while the other is face up and the source of the piteous cries. Tracking down the body of the lads brings the gravity of the situation to the fore. A tree trunk with girth near the same as Oengus' gut rotted through at the base before toppling. The boys were caught at midsections, before the tree rolled down the slope and their bodies to rest atop their knees. Even a layman's eye sees that both have at the least shattered hips and broken legs to deal with... and the puddle of seeped blood is ever growing beneath each.
Both also have open wounds in need of tending, lest they bleed out.
As you contemplate the manner in which you're going to extricate the boys... a howl is heard carrying through the darkened air...
Havar moves forward to inspect the log, but stops when he hears the howl.
He puts his back to the log, facing the direction the howl came from, weapon bared and teeth gritted, waiting.
"What the hell was that? Can either of yeah wrap a bandage?"
Katherson looks at the boys and the tree.
A trap? Probably already dead.
When the howling starts he crouches before attempting to determine which direction it's coming from.
He'll move to the opposite side of the area from the howling as best he can, then lay down and hide, gun at the ready.
Wonder what's howling?