Vada moves to assist Septimus in tying up the wounded elves. "Hope you bastards enjoy sleepin' in the elements," he grumbles at them, knowing they won't have an idea of what he's talking about.
Donatello finally finishes gathering his bolts, giving up on the final one in disgust and coming over with what he has salvaged.
"So, what now? Rhfelwer " - he stumbles a little over the goblin name - "Seems to reckon we kill the ругатня." as he speaks he looks over at the Hobgoblin and nods.
"I reckon we need to get back ругатня now. Could be more than one bunch of them, and we've got wounded."
Sorala opens her mouth to respond to Vallen and then blanches, pale with horror as Rhyf ends the elf's life. Then anger boils up within her, and stepping next to Vallen between the elf prisoner and the goblin, the words come out clipped and harsh. "Ni allaf gredu bod Goblin lladd ein garcharor Elf! Ni all fod yn morthwyl da, ac yn eistedd yn y gwregys offeryn pan nad oes angen?"
Sighing the anger floods out of her, and Sorala's shoulders slump, just a little before turning to Vallen. "We'll make him see the wisdom in cooperation, Vallen. Surely these elves are less fanatics than the Kuru?"
Once the situation with Rhyf is diffused, Sorala makes her way to the corpse of one of the loinclothed elves. Removing the elf's loincloth, the linguist takes it and wraps it around the elf prisoner's eyes, talking to the elf as she does so. "ਭੂਤ ਉਸ ਵਰਗੇ ਨੂੰ ਮੌਤ, ਤੁਹਾਨੂੰ ਮਾਰਨ ਚਾਹੁੰਦਾ ਹੈ. ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਤੁਹਾਨੂੰ, ਮਰ ELF ਸਵਾਲ ਦਾ ਜਵਾਬ - ਸਾਨੂੰ ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਜਾਣ ਦਿਓ, ਇਸੇ? ਇਹ ਸਾਡੇ ਲਈ ਕੀ ਕਰਦੇ ਹਨ?"
Giving the loincloth a final tie and tighten, making sure the pouch falls over the elf's face, Sorala sighs and wipes her hands distractedly on her pants. Nodding her head to Donatello, the half-elf says, "Agreed. Keep your wits about you. We may still be under attack. Let's get the dead onto the bison so we can burn first chance - we don't need them rising against us later."
Smiling a flat, grim smile, Sorala looks to Don and Ysanne, and says, with no humor in her voice, "Welcome to Newspring."
Don raises an eyebrow at the suggestion about the corpses
"That's a thing here? Huh. Good to know."
Donatello will pitch in to grab the corpses
"So, miss. What was that big" pauses "Rhyfelwr? Saying?"
Once the prisoners are secure, Septimus will begin collecting weapons and items from the slain.
Sorala casts an angry eye to the goblin as his name is mentioned. Idiot. That one will be more trouble than he is worth. Perhaps we can send him back to his people.
Sighing, she turns back to Donatello. "Rhyfelwr says the elves only speak in lies. We don't know much about them really, except that the goblins and the elves have been bitter enemies for a long time. The elves are also powerful necromancers, and it appears capable sailors to boot."
Pausing a second, the woman eyes the elf, slain by the goblin's hand. "That one, I think he thought you all were slaves. So perhaps the elves are slavers as well."
Vallen listens to the exchange between Sorala and Rhyfelwr, staying quiet. He shrugs his shoulders dejectedly at her comment about the elves and kuru.
He snorts at the comment about the elves believing them to be slaves. "We seem to be the only bit of goodness in this world."
"Goodness isn't apparently all you've got going on here..." Ysanne trails off as she reflects on what just happened with the elf.
She pauses a moment in thought before hearing Sorala call on her mount for work. ."Bebop is already carrying his share of the load," Ysanne smiles recalling the rude introduction she received only moments before an arrow balanced that woman's karma, "but I'd be happy to unload these tools and supplies at my home or camp before returning to help. I just need a little help with my bearings here in Newspring."
"I'll give you a hand with dragging 'em mate" Donatello offers Vada "We do two to a body we can stop 'em getting caught up."
Turning to his dog Donatello continues talking
"Keep an eye on these guys for us, willya?" he indicates the prisoners
Saltpeter barks a few times and heads over to the Elves
"Yeah, good point." he answers, and turns to Sorala
"She says we shouldn't leave your big mate here with 'em." he indicates Rhyfelwr with a nod of his head.
Vada nods gratefully at Donatello's offer. "Thanks, lad. It'd be a real pain in me rear t' have to drag these good-for-nothin's back by meself."
Sorala nods to Ysanne. "Oh yes, of course. I didn't realize that... Bebop... couldn't carry more. My apologies."
When Donatello talks with his dog, Sorala smiles her little flat, humorless smile. "Saltpeter is very wise. There may be a way to keep Rhyfelwr happy, get back to camp quicker, and save our backs in the process. We need only take the heads back with us - the elves won't be able to rise again, and we deny them anything resembling a burial." Nodding in Rhyf's direction, Sorala says, "I don't think I can take the heads, but it seems something he might enjoy."
"Huh. That'll do it. Gunna make a mess though." he warns.
[b]"We'll have to get the rest later, or we'll give the stuff 'round here a taste for us. Maybe bury 'em until then."
After a long moment of quiet realization as others move to saw the necks in half, separating the heads from the defeated and fallen foes, Ysanne can't resist inquiring, "Alright, I know I'm green, only having been here less than an hour, but what is this talk of removing heads and not burying the dead? Don't take this the wrong way or anything, I just would like to know what I just got myself involved in here. I'm trying to resist passing judgment here but I can guess why these elves might be trying to kill the settlers. Good news though, they won't try anything quite like this again."
Vada frowns at Ysanne, looking away from the grim task. "That'd be nice, but don't count on it," he replies, his tone dark. "This is likely jus' th' start."
Sorala watches, detached, as Rhyf goes about his work. Funny how you get used to things. I had not even seen death, real death, until I arrived on these shores. Now, it comes in like the tide, in great messy waves. Vada's comment brings a soft, sharp chuckle, and Sorala rubs her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache settling in.
"He's right, Ysanne - this is the beginning of a long conflict. It is grim, yes, but nothing that they haven't had coming. We've showed no aggression on first contact to anyone here. The elves have raised our dead twice, and the second time used our people against us, in an assault on our beach. These elves don't deserve burials. Let them rot in the woods. And make no mistake - they started this conflict, and they'll do worse than let your body rot if they can get ahold of it."
Donatello shakes his head as he grabs an arm and a leg.
"Grim ругатня business. Reminds me o' Geb."
Kal'Tos stubbles out of the thicket, "Now that we are through that should we stop for lunch?"
Tomag sighs as he too clomps out of the bushes. "I could eat that whole boar right about now," he says, the hand over his softly growling stomach proving he's at least partially serious.
Cueta drops her pack to the ground, and looking up to the sky, stretches her back, swinging her arms from side to side. She doesn't bother to comment on her hunger, simply figuring that the others know by now that she'll eat pretty much anything. As she swivels her body, she takes note of the surrounding countryside, looking for anything that walks, flies, crawls, slithers or climbs. Oh, the creatures we'll eat! A long, low rumble emanates from the woman's belly.
Istiel notices the others stopping for a break, and silently finds a tree to rest at. She sits cross-legged near the roots and looks up to the sky through the leaves, before closing her eyes and leaning back against the tree trunk.
"I wonder if anything interesting is happening in Newspring."