Katherson whistles as he turns towards Conrael's hut/yurt/cabin/stump.
"Well let's go check on him then."
"Aye." Eoghann says, solemnly.
Óengus looks down at the pyg hunter with a wry smile;
"Lead on laddie! Let's get that lazy bugger oot o' his pit eh!?"
Havar shrugs and follows the others, shouldering his axe and frowning slightly. It really wasn't like Conrael to not be up and about early. He hoped things were okay and nothing had gone wrong.
Walking through the kriel you come upon the healer's hut where the bairns were dropped off the night prior, and find Conrael still hard at work. His eyes are heavy lidded and forearms covered with blood as he mutters mostly to himself and the two lads laid out afore him. Both the lads are still out cold, likely from herbaceous aid in this case though. The legs and hips of each are similarly blood laden, having been opened in parts for the older troll to get a decent look at how bad the bones had set. Even to a layman's eye, it doesn't look too hearty nor hale - as you were fairly sure there weren't meant to be that many pieces.
He notices you after you get fine and close, drawing a tired wave. "Like puttin together a fence after Gordo's bloody went an sat on it... shambles in there. Poor bastards might not walk agin if it heals off." he sighs in a slightly defeatist manner. Looking around bleary eyed he finds a half-finished mug of stale ale and takes a hefty swig.
Knowing Conrael can get a bit scatter minded when he's tired... you can't help but wonder if he'd thought of whether knitbone or similar herbal aid might assist in getting the bones healing a mite quicker...
"Oy, inn't there some tree bark 'r somethin' to get them bones healin' faster? Knitbone? Maybe somethin' to pep you up?"
The scrapper takes the healer's mug and takes a sniff in mock disdain;
"Ale? At this time o' the morn! An' flat too..."
He empties the remainder outside the hut with a flick of his thick wrist, before returning with a grin;
"Nah. You need a nip o' the good stuff tae pep!"
Óengus takes his canteen and will empty a generous shot of Eiske into it...
"Mair than earned I reckon! Medicinal like!"
... before taking a wee nip himself from the canteen.
The scrapper's jaw tightens at the harshness of the spirit, and he grins again before offering it to anyone else;
"Breakfast o' champions..."
A slow tired realization comes over the older trollkin's features as he watches Oengus see him whiskeyed "Aye... aye, that'd firm things up an send em along proper. 'Aint got none in the hut at the now though... someone'll need go harvest up another batch."
"So where's this stuff grow? And hey, while we're out there let's go looking for those Khadorans we skipped last night yeah?"
After having the plant described Katherson is able to recall seeing it deeper in the forest to the South and East, in the swampier areas near to a few lakes and streams.
"If someone can point out the plant I am sure we can find it. I have no eye for such a thing but Katherson as a Scout has the finest eyes we could ask for, so I am sure we could go get some!" He turned to the Pyg.
"Do you think you can follow their trail after it being so cold for so long? If so it could be worth a look. Let's just hope they ain't got any Jacks with them!"
"Aye, I can point it out. Shall we go, hopef'lly be back by nightfall...?"
Óengus nods sagely as he joins Conrael in a medicinal dram;
"If we're tae go a huntin' then best we get some supplies eh lads? A wee keg o' the good stuff for campfire tinctures gets ma vote..."
At Havar's concern he scoffs;
"Ye've a Son O' Bragg in yer company! Nae need tae fear the Jacks... for I'll bust em wi ma mace lad, and boot their tin-can sacs!"
Katherson shakes his head.
"I didn't see any sign, but that doesn't mean anything. As much of a trail as they were leaving it should be fine to follow. Doesn't seem like they're woodsman."
"An' we know the land better."
Óengus scowls then nods;
"An we're thirstier... Am aff tae grab the cask lessen ye lot think otherwise?"
Havar shakes his head and laughs at the Fell Callers bravado, before grinning. "Oh aye, boot their sacks and get a broken toe from a couple tonnes of steel and iron. Then poor Eoghan will have to look at those spades you stand on!" He winked at Oengus before laughing.
"We should probably move out right away, if you all think we can find it!"
Eoghann chuckles at Havar's barb and says, "Well, best be hurryin' with the cask, sounds like we're ready ta go? D'we need tools? Axe? Shovels?"
As the group says their farewells to Conrael and considers their day a few points of clarity swim through the haze of thought:
- The tracks from the day before were indistinct as far as direction goes in the dark. A fresh trail would need to be sought if tracking was intended.
- The marshy area where the Knitbone's likely to be found would need a fairly direct intent of travel to get there and back inside of a day... so any significant dilly-dallying would turn it into a two day round trip.
- The elders of the kriel would likely want to be at the least informed if you were heading out for longer than a single day.
- Knitbone's a ground plant that you're unlikely to need much more than a firm grasping hand to harvest.
As they were leaving, Eoghann turned around to ask Conrael a question.
"Got a [tool/pick/saw/shovel] I c'n borrow to get yer knitbone?"
Knitbone's a ground plant that you're unlikely to need much more than a firm grasping hand to harvest.
Óengus heads back to where a cask of strong eiske can be had...
"Fer medicinal an' fortitudal purposes on our sojourn like!" is the reason he offers if asked.
Oengus is met with a narrowed eye, but is able to liberate a cask of libations for the group without much of a worry.
Knitbone's a ground plant that you're unlikely to need much more than a firm grasping hand to harvest.
The group sets out with the snores of a full blooded troll at their back and with intent on keeping a straight tack towards their chosen herbal prize. The majority of the morning is spent bushwhacking through known territory and without any hide, hair or sign that gives them any reason for pause. If there are khadorans hiding in the surrounding countryside... then they're doing a good enough job of it for the moment.
It's as the sun's making it's approach to the zenith in the sky that the marshy area draws up ahead of you - promising the potential for the plant that you're seeking. Remembering the tales of your mammys and pappys told as bairns... you're reminded that gatormen and bog trogs are known to roam the area - as are more mundane threats like crocodiles. Taking a wee break for refreshments and snacks... you lightly ponder how to approach the search.
Katherson thinks on it.
"Best to keep to the outside, I'd normally scout ahead but I'm not sure how easy it'd be to get to me if there's trouble and it sees me."
Óengus nods in agreement;
"Makes sense. Dinnae want them gettin' the jump ontae us!"
The scrapper will keep in rank, allowing a his precious cargo protection in the group.
Eoghann similarly makes no effort to play the hero, but keeps his eyes peeled for the knitbone that should be around here.
Setting off around the outskirts of the marshland, the group keeps their eyes open for the knitbone. It's hard to tell if the decision will cost you time until you've laid eyes on the herb you seek...
Katherson, leading the way, keeps his eyes searching for knitbone and trouble.
Letting the more wilderness savvy of the group take the lead, Óengus keeps his eyes open betwixt the odd wee nip;
:
"Yer wee beadies spoke anythin'?"
Havar keeps to the edge and keeps his weapon to hand, ready to deal with any situation.
Though the initial peering into the underbrush doesn't merit much success... persistence allows for that to change, with Havar spying a likely looking plant in the undergrowth a good fifteen meters past where the ground begins to squelch. Katherson picks a relatively solid path through the underbrush and Eoghann is able to confirm that it's the plant you're looking for. The herb's a bit scraggly, but taking it down to the roots should still yield enough for the old healer's purpose back at the Kriel.
With a steady eye in all directions, you set to tearing up the plants and bundling up the leaves for processing back at the healer's hut. Though the air is wet and heavy, and the sounds of mosquitoes and some larger wildlife echo through the air... you are left undisturbed and are able to work in peace.
Extricating yourselves back beyond the swamp line, you send eyes to the sky and measure what time you've got left. A choice could be made to swing past the area where you saw the Khadoran tracks, though it would put your eventual arrival back at the kriel well into the night. Alternatively a straight bee-line back to your clan would get you there before the sun passes below the horizon line.
As the group pause, Óengus offers up the keg of eiske;
"N'ere make a decision withoot a dram lads! Here fill yer boots an' we'll muse oor situation like..."
The scrapper takes a deep quaff and passes it to any receptive hands;
"So do we crack Khandor skulls or heal the bairn's braickit bones? Ma heid says the latter, whilst my heart yearns fer the former..."
"Sooner they get the proper herbs, the better on their legs. So they c'n crack skulls o' their own, one day."
"Yes, I vote for directly back to the Kriel. We were asked to bring the herbs back, best we do that directly. Besides there is always tomorrow!"
Katherson nods with the others.
"No sense risking their legs for a cold trail in the dark."
Unsure whether the staid and boring nature of the trip thus far bodes fair or foul, the crew wastes no time or light bagging up the boneknit they've found and setting off back towards the kriel. The journey back along the tracks they've only just made is similarly swift and easy, with good time being made and the sun still lingering above the horizon line as you make round a copse of trees about a mile from the kriel.
It's at that point that Katherson first notices something not quite right... a small cluster of smoke trails that appear to be rising in the distance... in the direction of the kriel.
"Oi! Artill'ry sounds comin' on th' wind!"
"Guess them Khadorans found us. Better move."
The pyg puts actions to words and begins to hustle towards home.
The scrapper-poet swings his mace above his scarred head as he runs, bellowing loudly;
"Intae them lads! Grind their bones tae make troll bread! Iron or flesh we leave 'em dead!"
"If'n they sack'd our home, they'll get a mighty pain from me. But to get past Connor...? Them gotta be tough'ns."
As Oengus' legs begin to pump like hydraulic pistons driving him forwards, the rest of you figure you'll need to break into a similar run if you're planning on keeping apace with him. There's still scrub and copse of tree here and there - and the source of the screams and thumping explosions seems to be at either the side or far side of the kriel from this direction.
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