Fanriel stands frozen in shock, like one of the whispy aspens that surrounds them. The moment would be silent save for Rolph's intermittent choking and hurling, as well as the tall elf's spastic profanity. Bile and damnation tend to overpower the serenity. The young man has been vomitting for the past minute and a half, and despite the now desolate gut his body continues its futile cleanse.
At their feet lay the barely recognizable corpse of little 'Magpie.'
Not many knew the halfling's real name, though rumor of the 'Magpie' had covered quite a bit of ground. He had shared his birth name with the length elf only once, which she committed to memory even as she continued to refer to him by his trinket hoarding moniker. He was the whole reason she took to the forest--drawn in by his wit and that tiny mustache, so perfectly waxed.
"Long arms like those..." he had remarked, with a wink and an appreciative whistle, "could draw a bowstring further then I could stretch with my whole length. What'ya say 'legs'?"
But now the bastard lies in a heap of his own entrails, minced as if by some pack of vermin, or a few man-sized ones. He was certain he had heard something in the dawning hours, but probably wishes now that he hadn't. Come to think of it, it's doubtfull that pile of hamburger wishes or thinks much of anything at all. The remainder of his trio, Fanriel and Rolph, get to do the bulk of that now that they find themselves leaderless.
They had worked these hills, covering the sloping roads up to Middenheim, for only a couple of weeks. Little 'Magpie' had the silver-tongue, Rolph had the muscle, and Fanriel was getting better sniping from the woods. Though more often than not she only offered cover fire, or the appearance of someone far more proficient. She enjoyed learning, but more honestly she enjoyed 'Magpie.' She had rather grandiose and fabricated dreams of the two of them running off together (her at a much slower pace, given the discrepancy in stride), though she never had a clue of whether he felt the same way. He had given her that gold tooth that now fills the rather noticible gap in her lower jaw, and would have to suffice as her only token of the rakish halfling--because nothing else was gonna be recovered from that mess.
"What do we do now?" Rolph asks, still pale faced and exhausted. They are the first words that have been spoken since the two found the body moments before, save for the same curse Fanriel continues to repeat in rapid succession. She suddenly stops the string of profanity and turns to face her muscle-bound and nauseated partner.
"You go south," she commands, answered by a nod, "and I'll go north." The second half is met with a curious look from the brute. "Because whatever did this probably isn't far, and you reek of vomit. I bet they love that."
