"So," says Shalelu. "Hrithik's affection for you. Do you return it?"
Archery practice.
Shalelu beside you, alternating picking out targets with you.
Treestump. Branch. Each others' already shot arrows.
Increasing the difficulty step by step.
Words. Who needs words? It's Shalelu. It's time with her sister. Myriana is very happy.
Kalimac seems taken aback at the question. He thinks about it for a moment, though, and starts to realize that he really hadn't spoken to Ameiko about anything not caravan business oriented in a long while.
Sheepishly, he replies, "I hadn't really realized that he hadn't been talking. But I guess you're right: we don't. At least not lately. But it's not by design. I haven't even had much time to talk to Sandru lately, either. Between all the caravan work, plus making sure Attatoq and I are in fighting trim (which takes us away from the social center that is the wagon train), I just don't seem to have the down-time for idle chit-chat I had back in Sandpoint."
Kalimac pauses to give Attatoq a treat he'd been saving. "So, anything on your mind?"
"...they will be forgotten in a generation. That is what happened to the orc perspective of every orc group who was lost: it also got lost, entirely, with little written record, and it died out with the death of the speakers to carry the perspective forward."
Until this point Mel was listening quietly, attentively, letting the words percolate through her mind. Suddenly she stops moving the debris, eyes closed. She looks at Hrithik and shakes her head, sympathy on her face. "Nothing is ever truly lost, you know. But the written word is disloyal, it can't be held to the scrutiny or standards that a living being can be. As such... Makoa does not want anything he says to be written."
She pauses, trying to explain something of which she is only starting to grasp herself, "There is a code that I am trying to learn, I do not think indiscriminate relay of information without meaning or context or soul is part of it."
And tries to soften the rejection, she looks around, her eyes catching on a particularly deep rend in the wall. "It sounds like you want to write a historical treatise on this place." She looks at him, "And we know the bare bones of that story..."
"Man to be king, fled to save his life and loves, horrible mistake from idiot son, monsters arrive and kill all, most monsters leave, older beings here before the man wake from the blood, claim a abandoned place, defend it against those who wish to kill them, don't succeed in the end."
She looks at him, "Even if you can detail the minutia of Nindenzingo, who did carry the blood of a fiend and may or may not been the offspring of Pazuzu, and Kikonu, who I still don't know what he was, it doesn't tell the corby's story, you are right."
A pause, "However, if you want to pen a story, not a historical tome which can be pointed to and used to prove anything that the reader needs it to... write all three stories. One, the story of brave and foolish adventurers, who sought out a place to save a friend. Through cunning and luck they defeated foes, or created allies in a place where rightful there should be none. Two, the story of the besieged, those who have a home and are often attacked by outside forces that neither want not nor try to understand them. Ambushed and decimated, and their murderers leave. Three..." She stops, looks at him. "Three is the hard one. Three is where you accept that both one and two are true, and try to find the middle ground that lets you keep your sanity."
She shrugs, "If you want me to, I will ask Zaiobe."
"Do you need rest? You look more exhausted with every effort. Trouble sleeping? A new illness? Are you a shapeshifter?"
"It's late. I'm moving rocks, they are a bit heavy, but it needs be done. Don't know, haven't tried yet. I don't get sick. I have no talent for transmutative magics."
** spoiler omitted **
Mel hops out of the women's wagon, catching herself from a stumble somewhat clumsy for her. Based on her walking, she is near asleep on her feet. It takes her a little bit of time, especially if the uncleric is scouting away from the caravan. Assuming she manages to find him...
Alaric smiles, gives her a gentle hug. "Good night, Mel."
|
"However, if you want to pen a story, not a historical tome which can be pointed to and used to prove anything that the reader needs it to... write all three stories. One, the story of brave and foolish adventurers, who sought out a place to save a friend. Through cunning and luck they defeated foes, or created allies in a place where rightful there should be none. Two, the story of the besieged, those who have a home and are often attacked by outside forces that neither want not nor try to understand them. Ambushed and decimated, and their murderers leave. Three... Three is the hard one. Three is where you accept that both one and two are true, and try to find the middle ground that lets you keep your sanity. If you want me to, I will ask Zaiobe."
"Thank you. I appreciate it. The second of the three tales you mention is almost impossible for me to do justice, knowing so few details of the actual longterm residents. And given that, the fusion tale will not weight them equally, if I pen it now."
Sense Motive:
Hrithik smiles at Melinda. "Sorry to elicit annoyance. I am trying to take a different Path, and it will elicit that on occasion. Your resemblance to your relations makes it perhaps too joyous to elicit it from you. I will try to only elicit it equally."
Mel, as has become standard, helps Rhost with the food. However the mundane boring conversation is now in Thassilion rather than goblin.
When the cooking is done, Mel looks around the fire. She grabs three plates (or bowls). Her first stop is in front of Lio, she smiles at the elven woman, "I didn't see you today, but I hope it passed pleasantly." And hands her one of the plates with absolutely no hesitation.
Then she moves on to Amieko, handing her the other portion of food and motioning to the spot next to the bard. Sitting, she smiles at Ameiko, "So... Do I get to help you save a country?"
Mel comes back to the fire with a mug for hot water. Sipping the milk colored brew she sits next to Alaric. "Ten minutes?"
Alaric spends a good chunk of every day speaking with Reta, both practicing his Goblin and her Taldane. Without lecturing, he's clearly attempting to get her to understand a more... life-friendly brand of morality.
She pauses for a bit. "Glad you're coming along with us, you know. You're very ... centering."
Mel comes back to the fire with a mug for hot water. Sipping the milk colored brew she sits next to Alaric. "Ten minutes?"
Alaric, nervous: "What happens in ten minutes?"
"You think he is insincere?" she asks.
Alaric, nervous: "What happens in ten minutes?"
She looks at him, her lips quirking up in a smile that she is trying to repress, "Can I have ten minutes of your time, privately, before you go to bed?"
A small face of yuck as she finishes the drink, bone white remains of the tea at the bottom of the mug.
Then she moves on to Amieko, handing her the other portion of food and motioning to the spot next to the bard. Sitting, she smiles at Ameiko, "So... Do I get to help you save a country?"
"Wouldn't even think of trying to do it without you," says Ameiko cheerfully. "Which, considering what your mom will probably do to me if you get even mildly chipped during shipping, should be a pretty clear mark of how much your help is wanted."
"You will like Karlsgard," she says, as usual without preamble. "Miserably big city. Probably not a plant within the walls."
She looks at him, her lips quirking up in a smile that she is trying to repress, "Can I have ten minutes of your time, privately, before you go to bed?"
"Of course."
"Wouldn't even think of trying to do it without you," says Ameiko cheerfully. "Which, considering what your mom will probably do to me if you get even mildly chipped during shipping, should be a pretty clear mark of how much your help is wanted."
Alaric looks quietly terrified in the corner.
Alaric looks quietly terrified in the corner.
"Count yourself lucky, Graff," says Ameiko. "You, she'll probably just do that thing where she touches you with her hand and then if she feels like it any time in the next couple weeks, you'll simply drop dead. Me, she'd probably force to listen to her try to play music."
"I would," Rhost says. He looks Kelda. He looks at lunch. "When?"
Dinner early in the Nolands is peppered cabbage soup (with a chicken broth base). This is served with bread, and dried apples for a touch of sweetness. There is a small amount of non-chicken-broth-based cabbage soup for the vegetarians (or anyone else).
Rhost keenly awaits the day that the scouts bring him an elk.
"Of course."
She nods, rises to get some water. Her own energy obviously returned by a full day's sleep. "Need to get my things for scouting. After?"[/b]
"The wagons are full at night," she says. "So. Either afternoon, in a wagon, for safety -- or night, in the wilds, for privacy."
Night in the Nolands falls early and swiftly at this time of year, as if the struggling sun can only climb so high above the horizon before the darkness claws it down. Far off to the south, faintly heard, a wolf howls into the blackness.
"Count yourself lucky, Graff," says Ameiko. "You, she'll probably just do that thing where she touches you with her hand and then if she feels like it any time in the next couple weeks, you'll simply drop dead. Me, she'd probably force to listen to her try to play music."
Alaric looks stricken. "Fantastic. I already voted against going back to Sandpoint, right?"
"Need to get my things for scouting. After?"
He nods.
"Count yourself lucky, Graff," says Ameiko. "You, she'll probably just do that thing where she touches you with her hand and then if she feels like it any time in the next couple weeks, you'll simply drop dead. Me, she'd probably force to listen to her try to play music."
Mel rolls her eyes. "I'm hale and hearty. Not a scratch or bruise on me... which is more than can be said for others of our company." She smiles at them both. "Besides, I get to free an entire country of people repressed by a tyrant... That's even more impressive than what Mom did, so she'll understand a little damage."
Alaric looks stricken. "Fantastic. I already voted against going back to Sandpoint, right?"
She smiles, but can't hide the note of sadness. "Yep, I did too."
She smiles, but can't hide the note of sadness. "Yep, I did too."
Alaric pats her leg sympathetically.
Alaric's eyes light up as he nods eagerly. Grabbing her hand, he seems to want to scamper off into the woods, but his utter lack of night vision means he lets his paramour take the lead.
A small clearing, meaning that Alaric's eyes can eventual adjust to the light of the quarter moon. She turns, "Talk? Or..." The flute is in the hand that isn't holding his.
Perform:wind
"I like the wild," Rhost says, and grins. "What is more dangerous there than us?"
As she finishes and takes the flute from her lips, he reaches across, sliding one hand into her top to grip her waist, the other cradling her head, and draws her into a hungry kiss.
Her body is soft at his touch, all the more surprising for the tight lean muscle. Her hands move for a bit, trying to decide where is to go. The one with the flute ends up resting on his shoulder, the creeps to his waist.
"I know," he mumbles into her mouth, "I'm supposed to be sleeping... but I thought I'd lost you... and I..." He supplies the rest of the sentence by laying Melinda down on the cold earth, never once breaking contact.
Alaric approaches Myriana at some point. "I suppose I've put this off for long enough. Can we speak? Privately?"
The only additions to her wardrobe are the amulet and belt that she put on at Brinewall. Both seem too large for her lean frame. The amulet, which must have fallen to chest-level on its original owner rests on her stomach, the chain under her bindings. The belt, even low on her hips, is closed via a convenient spar although this leaves a short length of metal hanging from the belt.
Koya takes a puff on her pipe. She does not seem overly surprised to hear your confession.
"Well," she says. "First part of what I'm going to tell you, I'll tell the same to anyone who comes in this door asking me the same question. Fair's fair."
Koya's routine treatment of his case allays much of Hrunndalf's discomfort. She's a professional, and she's not judging. Or at least she's hiding it well.
"Girl got hurt bad at some point. Don't know how. Sandru knows, but good luck gettin' him to tell. Whatever it was burned her so bad she ain't looked twice at anyone since."
Hrunndalf is not very surprised to hear that either, given Ameiko's reputation of turning down suitors of all stripes. The thought still brings a frown to his face.
"I'd rather hear it from Ameiko herself, when she's ready to tell the story. It's not like I can talk to Sandru about anything, either. I just don't have a handle on that guy."
"Now that don't mean she never will. But she ain't ready yet, I can tell you that much. You ask now, she'll shoot you down, and good luck ever gettin' back up again after that. Or she won't, which'd be even worse."
Hrunndalf nods. It's what he had expected for now.
"Now. Here's the part that's just for you. You're solid. That's good. You make her laugh. That's good. Girl needs a feller what makes her laugh. But maybe talk with her sometimes when you're not tryin' to make her laugh, too."
Hrunndalf ponders the idea. "I suppose I am making a bit of a lone wolf of myself at times. I am not uncomfortable in that role, but it is not helpful for building a caravan spirit. I'll give it a try."
He rolls his eyes at a thought. "Sometimes I just feel like I'm a grown-up sitting in a playground, trying to fit in, you know? Not with you and Ameiko's inner circle, obviously. There I feel like a child sitting in an officer's mess, trying to fit in."
"So... may I ask you for a Harrowing, if you have the time and inclination?"
In Goblin: "Do you have some time to spare?"