Logfile from Ten.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Myrrish Camp *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

    Soldiers. Ferriers. More soldiers. Cooks. Cavalrymen (and cavalrywomen). Healers. Officers. All these and more bustle through the neatly-pitched sea of tents that make up the Myrrish camp, no matter the time of day or night. At night, firelight flickers off the tents and lengthens peoples' shadows.

An herbal scent comes from a large group of tents off to the side, nearest the front lines--these tents an an appropriated farmhouse make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought. A neat graveyard stands behind the field hospital--a few men are almost always on duty digging new graves.

Nearby, an entire (albeit quite small) town has been appropriated for officer's quarters and Myrrish war business--the smithy in particular is certainly making money. The only tavern in the tiny town, the Blushing Rosalia, is something of a gathering place for officers and adventurers.

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 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   4m

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Blushing Rosalia <BR>     The Front Lines <TFL>    

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Sandy has arrived.

Serene has arrived.

Sandy dropped Serene.

CLANG! "Damnable--" CLANG! "--bloody..." CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! resounds throughout the camp. The poor anvil stands there, proud and squat...and abused by blow of an angry hammer. On the anvil lies a sheet of metal, beside it, in a bucket, smaller metal objects that rattle with the constant CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! As the hammer falls, angry sparks fly, undercuttering the continual muttering. A clanging tune to the continual muttering.

"Darshan," says Sandy, since she's showing up here at the camp with a wooden box in her hands. "What the fuck are you doing not wearing any boots?" She's honestly confused by this. She's looking down at his wiggly lizard toes. Then up at him.

Darshan brings the hammer down, rolling it in his palm--and down again. "Maugrim." Curtly said. And again. Anger fuels the heat as much as force, and the hammer strikes with solid, clear tones on the anvil. What shapes on the anvil takes the slow form of a curve, what might be a heel. He swipes this off the anvil, and holds it up for the elf to see. "Some bloody creature ate them." So angry. It ate his booties!

"Serene," says Sandy, pointing down at Darhsan's boots. "He doesn't have any booties on. Ahahaha." She finds this funny, actually. "Something ATE his boots!" She finds that really, really funny.

Serene tucks her gloves into her belt after removing them. She does not appear amused. "It reminds me of the time the ooze monster made its way into your basement and consumed some of your spare artifice tools."

Darshan cups the half-heel, bouncing it lightly in his palm. "One hadn't heard about that," he says, and drops the metal back on the anvil. "...this is going to take me a week to fix," and he still sounds angry over it.

"...that wasn't funny!" Sandy, of course, immediately protests when Serene brings up something similar happening to her. She's petty and hypocritical that way. She gives Serene an elbow to the side despite this and then glares at Darshan.

"No, It was not," the Elunite replies. "At least it did not take your foot, Ser Darshan. You would have been harder pressed to replace that. I heard that some of the soldiers have not been so lucky."

Ceres has arrived.

<Meet> Ceres joins Sandy.

After a brief pause, the hammer end's wraggled at the other paladin, "It may as well have. I'm giving myself a new set of scales, Serene. Metal...the good ones were metal," he mutters, half under his breath, and turns back to the anvil. The three of them stand near the edge of the camp, the sith hammering on a makeshift forge, with Sandy and Serene engaged in debate over the qualities of humor.

Arngrim has connected.

After a brief pause, the hammer end's wraggled at the other paladin, "It may as well have. I'm giving myself a new set of scales, Serene. Metal...the good ones were metal," he mutters, half under his breath, and turns back to the anvil. The three of them stand near the edge of the camp, the sith hammering on a makeshift forge, with Sandy and Serene engaged in debate over the qualities of humor. (repose!)

Jenner has arrived.

<Meet> Jenner joins you.

After a brief pause, the hammer end's wraggled at the other paladin, "It may as well have. I'm giving myself a new set of scales, Serene. Metal...the good ones were metal," he mutters, half under his breath, and turns back to the anvil. The three of them stand near the edge of the camp, the sith hammering on a makeshift forge, with Sandy and Serene engaged in debate over the qualities of humor. (repose!)

Sandy points at Darshan and then laughs again, though. "Wouldn't he regrow his foot, though? I understand they regrow tails." Even if they wiggle when they fall off.

Serene says, "help""

Alina has arrived.

"One..." tersely. Geez, he's in no good mood today. "If mrm, one remembers...you had an adverse reaction to that." His hand grips the handle of the hammer tightly, and he positions the half-formed boot on the anvil's surface. "...despite the...despite the name one had given it," and that...that's worth an almost-smile.

Karelin has arrived.

Ceres picks about now to make her way out of the Rosalia, finishing up a drinking song with a number of rather drunken Myrrish fighting fellows; at the end of the rousing song, the two 'groups' seperate, the men towards their tents (or someone else's), the bard set to wandering about the area.

Alina is wandering out from the makeshift hospital. She's always working! She's on her way to the Rosalia, when she sees the lizard and a group around an anvil. She turns and starts heading that way, peering on curiously. "Evening!"

Karelin comes back up from teh front lines, chin down, moving slowly.

Ceres's wandering ends up near a small group near the anvil, the familiar sight of the mechagod...er.. Darshan gaining a wave in that direction, and a cheerful, "Hello!"

"Someone...had mentioned the idea," uneasily, as though uncomfortable, somehow, and the almost-smile goes back to the anvil. "But mrm, come. You're not here to laugh at my boots. What /did/ you show up for, Sandy? It can be no good reason." Darshan jabs a claw lightly at her, expecting some answer, and still uneasy, uneasy perhaps that she'll pull out the rabbit-ray again. He stands near Serene and Sandy near an anvil and his feet are bare--the remakings of some sort of armor lie on the anvil. He is also awfully grumpy, the Daeusite, but the Althean's arrival does wonders. It even makes him grin. The almost-smile becomes an outright grin. "...hey there," to Alina and Ceres.

"Ah, a bard," says Sandy with a malevolent gleam in her eye. "Just what we needed." She then glares at Darshan before saying to Ceres. "I am comissioning your services. I want a song written."

Serene acknowledges the approach of the others.. but fails, as usual, to offer much more than a nod. And then there's the elbow, repaying Sandy in kind.. though Serene's elbow happens to be protected by something a little more solid. Like mithril. "Go easy, Sandy. Taking pleasure in the misery others can lead to nothing good. We all pay our dues in time."

Alina smiles prettily to the paladin, "Hello, hello." She eyes his work, and then ohs, "Fixing the boot." She nods solemnly, then smiles to Serene and Sandy, peering curiously at Ceres. Karelin gets a wave from the cleric, "Hello!"

"Hey, dilly-diddle, said the cat with the fiddle, to the pussy on the side of the road?" Ceres replies immediately to the Sandy, coming to a stop. The lack of boots is noticed, before she tilts her head to look up at the sith'maker. "Did you wear out a hole, Sunblade?" she asks, a bit more serious than her previously stated ditty.

"I pay my dues every bloody day," says Sandy, folding her arms across her chest. She gives Ceres a flat look. "First, however, I want a test of your services. You will sing a song about a bootless Sith-Makar." She nods towards Darshan. She smiles cheerfully. "If I like it, you will be paid well for your services *and* have an additional comission worth even more shortly."

Too late, he remembers to wipe it, resettle it. The sith relaxes, some, and slides the handle of the hammer down his palm, then down to the head of the anvil. "Whatever she's paying you, I'll pay you twice not to do it," immediately, wry in response, and there's a touch of Coyote, too. "Let it never be said I would not stand against the forces of yea, overwhelming evil." Meaning Sandy. A light gleam in the eye's Coyote's own, and he winks at Ceres, as soon as Sandy's looking the other way, he hopes. Probably doesn't manage it. "One has an angel here, too. You would not commit sins before the symbols of heaven, would you?" Wings. And just...shakes his head at the question. The smile slips, and...he looks fixedly down at the hammer after that.

Alina gives Sandy a look. "Leave Brother Darshan alone. That blasted monster wasn't -his- fault." She says nothing of the foot-breaking. And then she smiles at Ceres, "Nice to meet you, I'm Alina Brightmoon." She eyes Sandy again, then peers at the anvil to see how far along Darshan's gotten.

"Extra coin if it involves a little rust monster scaring the big bad paladin away," adds Sandy, cheerily. She seems to expect That Her Will Be Done.

"Is there a reason behind this besides to merely embaress Brother Darshan, or is there more af.." The elf pauses for a moment, then delicately changes a word, "..to this story than is hinted?" she asks, before offering a smile to the winged cleric. "Ceres N'ayushi, at your service.." she introduces herself with a small bow.

Sandy has disconnected.

Sandy has connected.

"Oh, it's defintiely to embaress Brother Darshan," says Sandy to Ceres, "But that's just part of it. I need to test the skills of a singer in whom I have plans for. And I do have plans. And they're very important. Please have a little faith in me." She smiles. That's not a nice smile. But there's still a definite gleam in her eye.

Karelin waves towards Alina, "Hello, Alina." He looks over towards Sandy, arms folded across his chest.

A pause, and then the clearing of his throat. Darshan looks down at the anvil again, "M'lady Serene...mrm, may one express concern over one's roommate? She begins to display the twist and gleam of evil purposes. One is shamed, seeing them displayed before such symbols of Althea's grace," poor Alina, "I begin to wonder if it is not the fountain, and mrm, if such is the case, if action is not warranted." Oh, now. Now it has the most pious and holy of grave, grave tones.

Alina smiles prettily at Ceres, "It's a pleasure to meet you." She rolls her eyes at Sandy, and then smiles at Karelin, "How're you?" At Darshan's words to Serene, she looks to the other aasimar curiously, and then she stifles a chuckle at Darshan.

Arngrim has disconnected.

Ceres hms, then murmurs, "Well, I do have one small rule, and that is to make sure to whom I would accept commission from. Have we met as of yet, that I have just forgotten your name?"

Arngrim has connected.

Serene's stern face sours.. only slightly, so as not to distort her face into something... ugly. "I admit to some concern over Sandy's behaviour of late.. and have wondered what sort of influence might be turning her so."

"We've not met," says Sandy to Ceres, "but I have heard of the Ballad of Brave Rimun," she drawls. "I rather liked your stylings with that regard and I hope that we can work together on this." She gives her a toothy smile.

"The fountain is still possessed, according to the whispers one had heard. It's possible she fell in it again," gravely, to Serene, though Coyote's light touches it, too, and after a moment, he winks at Ceres again, then...then drops a hand on the artificer's shoulder. And just looks at Ceres. "Triple," he says.

Alina glances between Serene and Darshan, a brow arching, "A fountain? What fountain?"

Xander has arrived.

<Meet> Xander joins you.

Jenner has disconnected.

"To make clear then, you wish a song, performed immediately if not sooner, involving a bootless palidan; naught more, not less?" Ceres clarifies, grinning a bit from Grey Elf to Sith'maker and back.

Serene puts two fingers to the side of her head, briefly closing her eyes as if attempting to dispel some sort of headache. "Did you fall into the fountain again, Sandy? That would probably explain it. Someone ought to put a fence, or railings, around it." Her eyes open then, and turn towards Alina. "The temple square fountain."

"Somethign like that. Perhaps," suggests Sandy to Ceres, "it ought to involve a bootless paladin who runs away in terror from tiny little monsters." She wiggles her fingers. "And he doesn't even know how much I am willing to pay yet." She then eyes Serene. "There is no such thing as a Possession Fountain," she glares.

Valeska has arrived.

"Care you do not further the cause of evil in this land," gravely. Darshan moves the partly-made heel out of the way and takes a seat on the anvil, instead. The movement's slow, and he creaks into place. A light frown is given towards the punching-elf, "Twenty-five."

Alina looks confused, and then she blinks at Sandy. She just shakes her head and stays quiet.

Serene looks unmoved by Sandy's declaration. "That is something I would expect someone under the influence of some fel power to say."

Ceres tilts her head a touch, then sings lightly, "Such as... 'The rust monster came back, he couldn't stay away. The rust monster came back, the very next day?' No... that lacks a certain dignity, and liveliness of tune. Ah, I think I have it...." the bard trails off, thinking of the song in question, and the poor song she's going to warp it into. Because, well.. it amuses her. And she's curious about this other possible commission. Alas, her soul must be dark this day.

A darker frown, then! "Evil gains strength." Darshan looks to Ceres, "Fifty. If she is mrm, paying you twenty-five, then...one will offer...yes, fifty." Serene is absolutely right. Sandy is possessed. Utterly, horribly possessed. They need to call the clerics.

Xander is striding through the camp, not yet noticing the merry gang here because his eyes and mind mostly seem to be on some roster or other he is holding in his hands, casually flipping through it and looking over the contents. There's a cigarette at the corner of his mouth. Give 'im a uniform and some stripes and with the expression and cigarette he'd be a proper-lookin' sergeant.

"I haven't said how much I'm paying yet," says Sandy, cheerfully, "But it's a lot. Don't worry." She brings her hands up together and places them behind her head, leaning against a wooden panel. "I'm liking what I hear so far."

Ceres shakes her head at Sandy,and points out, "A bit too.. hm.. unrefined, I think. This may not be much better, however.." she hums a moment of song, then leans back a touch, one foot forward.

 

Gilday mornin' standin' on the corner,

pardon me if we're gettin' in your way

We'll tip our hats, be you native here or foreigner,

drop a coin if you're likin' what we play

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle,

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day with the cat and the fiddle,

come and lay with the heather on the hill

Ward the cold from your fingers as you're clappin' hands,

Keep the rhythm with the tappin' of your feet

Fiddle music minglin' with the rappin' boots,

Rust monsters chargin' down the street

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle,

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day with the Cat and the Fiddle,

come and lay with the heather on the hill

We'll sing our songs of places that are far away,

Armies and battles, heroes brave and bold

Never travel farther than a Blushin' Rosalia away,

Lady Sandiel's fury will keep the away the cold

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle,

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day with the Cat and the Fiddle,

come and lay with the heather on the hill

Tomorrow we'll be just where we were

Minus a rustmonster foretold

Bravery's not just standin' strong

Goin' without a boot is proof of gold

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle,

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day with the Cat and the Fiddle,

come and lay with the heather on the hill

We'll disappear into the dusty alleyway,

all you hear is the echo of our song

Sith'maker palidin shows the way

Sometimes wiser than witless long

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle,

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day with the Cat and the Fiddle,

come and lay with the heather on the hill

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

answer me this riddle

Hey diddle do

tell me what you will,

Dance all day between the Paladin and the Artificer

Come and sing near the anvil on the hill.

 

Singin' hey diddle dee

where is that fiddle

Hey diddle do

tell me whats your bid

Here's that tale of metal and a monster

An' why it's better to be goin' the other way.

 

Speaking of which, Ceres finds herself out of /immediate/ reach of Sandy and probably Darshan as well, having sidestepped on occasion at various points of this improv permformance.

"...I think I'll have that cigarette..." to Xander, as Darshan looks towards the bard with such a mixture of...horror. Amusement. And...horror. the words come out half-absent. Horrified. "...yes. A cigarette would mrm, be nice," a breath, "And how are you today, Xander?" he looks at the man.

So Sandy stops.

She listens as Ceres sings. She seems... impressed is probably not the best word to use here. Her eyebrows have lifted. "You lose points for not following the spirit of the instructions," she remarks, cooly, after long moment. There's no other immediate response. Which probably means the danger is increasing!

Xander looks up. A hand lifts, removing the cigarette from between his lips, the other flicking to once again gather and close the roster. Ashes are tapped on the ground. He strides over, looking Sandy's way, then Darshan's, and then to Ceres. "A divine moment of inspiration? Or do I not want to know?" he asks of the bard, amused. The cigarette is placed between his lips as he reaches for the cigarette box, as per Darshan's request. "Did I not give you a cigarette box so that you may carry your own cigarettes?", he asides at the lizardman, just a tiny bit admonishingly! He still flicks open the box for Darshan to retrieve one.

Oh, hell. Darshan looks over at Sandy, at the bard. And the paladin untucks a bag from his belt, and...drops some coins in it. Hefting it, he lofts the coinage the bard's way--it sails, landing there after a while in the grass. "There's mrm, a hundred in there," he tells the artificer, with an underscore of: top /that/. He absently reaches for the cigarette, and, "Magus...you mrm, do not wish to know."

"Sandy wished to mock Brother Darshan, using my song. Given I prefer to save embaressment for those opposing forces, thereby raising our own morale, rather than dash it to the ground, under boot and heel, I attempted a... middle ground. Alas, without proper practice and revision of the lyrics.." Ceres explains to Xander, refusing to look at Sandy or Darshan, though that does mean she spots the bag once it hits the ground. She pauses for a moment, then reaches down to heft it in her hand, considering it.

"The song is adequate, as you have it right Lady Bard... now is not the time to be demeaning each other," Serene says, a look warning Sandy away from taking her wrath out on Ceres. Her nose wrinkles. "And I am sure it was more than good enough to qualify you for whatever task Sandy has in mind."

Darshan removes the cigarette, and looks down at the ground. His look's sad, if thoughtful, and he looks over towards the artificer, "She had more honor than either of us," he says, at length. And..."Though I confess..." and whatever that was...whatever that was, he lets trail off to silence, lets it fade away with the smoke from the smokestick. "I should buy you a drink, and declare a peace, at least for the day," a pause, "...but I doubt that mrm, would endear the Moonwarrior to either of us," that's said with warm humor as he looks to Serene. "And as like, the winged one is close to smiting."

Xander nods. He does not sound at all surprised by this. Once Darshan has taken the cigarette, the box is snapped closed and put away. A glance at the lizardman at the suggestion, and then the mage looks at Ceres, telling her, with a little grin: "You may have achieved the impossible with that song. I doubt it, but mayhaps." Peace between Sandy and Darshan, that is!

Arngrim has disconnected.

Sandy hands a pouch of coins over to Ceres thereafter, nodding her head. "You'll do," she says. "Come to my estate in Alexandria later this week. We have a lot to discuss. Especially since you're a fucking elf." She says it like its a matter of distaste despite her own pointy ears.

Ceres ends up with two bags of gold, when she hadn't finished contemplating the first. To Darshan, "While unnecessary, I shall keep it on hand for those purchases I was speaking of a while ago. Or, perhaps, a drink or three." To Sandy, "Of course, Lady Sandy," her reply just slightly barbed after the matter of distaste is stated, before shaking her head at Xander. "That would have required actual work on the song, rather than minor replacement of a known set of lyrics. But I am pleased that there is no bleeding of the ears, or thrown rotten tomatoes."

Arngrim has connected.

"Lady Ceres, mrm, it is through Lady Sandiel one first learned of the punching elves...you know, before coming here, one knew very little of either kind. So far I've met three," Darshan holds up his fingers, three of them. "Mrm, sorts. So far I'm aware of only one type of sith'makar, though we split into groups sometime ago. You could say there are two others we're related to."

"Your own worst critic, I see." Xander replies to Ceres. A glance at Sandiel. "Don't mind her too much. She really does treat everyone like that." he explains to the poor minstrel, looking back at her. Sandy discriminates everyone equally!

Valeska has disconnected.

Ceres lifts a shoulder, and offers a bit of a rueful grin. "I prefer, rather, that my usual public offerings are to the best of my ability. Short-term, that was true of this as well - but I prefer a bit more time even during my short-term efforts."

"There are mrm, fine, just the same," and a grin follows, "Though there is less bellowing than mrm, one is used to. Or bugling. You know, Srassha has quite the voice. Perhaps the two of you could duet..." Darshan's mount sounds like a rusty foghorn.

Sandy gives Darshan a look. "Darshan," says Sandy, casually, "You're not wearing any boots. I wouldn't test my luck." she casually stomps one of her own boots on the ground before nodding to Ceres again. "It did thwe trick for what I wanted, anyways."

Ceres eyes Darshan, then grins. "Perhaps one day - but I believe I shall wander on this evening. Places to see, other songs to sing..." Sandy is given a bit of a jaunty bow, and the others a nod.

"It may not have been as refined as you may have liked, but it made up in its promptness and efficiency." Xander says, turning away so as to not have himself blowing cigarette smoke near any non-smoker's face. He's gallant like that. The nod of farewell is returned.

"What can one hope but for a few moments of peace?" asked to the heavens. Darshan starts to pack up his work. "Mrm...but here I have the artificer's own eyes boring holes into my back. Good day to you...and mrm, with thanks, for the cigarette, but one feels it is time for a strategic retreat."

"I am so going to set him on fire one of these days," says Sandy to Serene, casually, meaning Darshan whe nshe says it. Then she glares at Xander too. Because he's here.

The screeching cry of a griffon suddenly pierces the air about the Myrrish camp and this in and of itself wouldn't be too unusual given the fact that the Myrrish armies do make use of talons of the flying creatures and trained warriors who ride upon them - but this particular cry seems familiar to the gathered soldiers and knights who lounge about and they all pretty much snap to immediate attention with more then just one or two beginning to look slightly nervous as an immense winged shadow passes over the area.

The revelation as to why comes very quickly as an immense war-griffon suddenly descends into the midstd of the area, heavily armored and to the regular griffon what a trained war horse is to a horse. Wings flecked with silver beat a great gust of wind that billows clouds of debris upwards that momentarily obscure the immediate vacinity and when all passes the griffon has landed and its rider has disembarked. He is a large man, Highborn but large even for them, with vermillion hair, a light beard that circles his chin and a hawkish nose. His armor is ebon and gold in comparision to the silvers and blues of the rest of the army and a great red cloak wraps about his form.. When he impacts one might imagine that the earth rumbles faintly under his weight. He takes a moment to survey those gathered and then speaks with obvious disdain and humor in his baritone voice.

"..Sandy.." says The Hound, "...You're putting on weight. Going to those hips.."

Well. He stops. He stops, one foot in the air and that same foot rotates. The rest of the sith follows. The foot plants on the ground, and he looks, expectant, over towards Sandy. Well...perhaps the sith is not above letting her know he's watching, and letting that add to the discomfort. ...at least. ...at least for a little while.

Ceres, taking several steps away, comes to a stop when the war griffin makes its appearance - with, it would seem, a suicidal Hound.

Alina has been loitering. Maybe she wandered back to the hospital, who knows! In any case, she's back, and just in time to here that. She goes all kinds of wide eyed and has to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Xander shields his eyes and his cigarette from the swirling dust and winds of the gryphon's descent, one quick flick of a hand banishing what dust managed to get to and cling onto his clothing. He nods the Hound of Myrrdion a respectful greeting, but little more than that. He wouldn't want to distract him from tormenting Sandy!

When Sandy hears the voice that's presently speaking to her, her ears twitch. She pauses for a long moment and then *slowly* turns around to look at the Hound. She just looks at him. "I have not gained a single pound. Nice try, though. So you've finally deigned to come out of whatever hole you've been hiding in all this time?" Her eyebrows lift.

Darshan looks with interest towards the Personality, for surely it is, and his tail flicks, just the tip of it. And begins to flick quite rapidly, and eventually, he looks away and down. Whoever it is carries with them a cloak of authority, a mantle so naturally born--the flicking begins to increase. Unrest. And he inhales deeply the smoke from the cigarette.

The armored man reaches up and pulls his helmet fully loose, letting his blood colored hair fall at length down his barn wide back. He just grins at Sandy, teeth all to full and all to perfect really. "For a creature as full of the fey capriciousness of the elves as yourself it would give me great pleasure to presume that you've put some meat on your bones but I suppose you're right. You shall remain as skeletal and full of spite as always. As far as hiding..? The war is fought on many fronts, my dear 'Lady' Sandiel... And at times hiding in a hole is an apt tactic."

He then turns his attention to the others present, settling the full weight of his gaze upon Darshan..then Serene..then Ceres and beyond. Finally he rumbles, "I am The Hound of Myrddion. I had heard that the more...schizoprehnic and colorful denizens of Alexandros flocked to the frontlines once the city council got off of its ass. I see I was right..."

Serene's cowl blows back off her head from the wind kicked up by the landing war griffon... aside from having to brace herself, though, the dark skinned paladin shows little response beyond a shake of her head. And the replacement of her hood.

The...Hound? And at that, the sith's gaze sharpens, painfully, on the creature. Were he no paladin, he would be afraid, but what results instead is a twitch along the muzzle, where teeth would bare themselves. "...Myrridion's dark knight," he says, thickly, with the thick unease of someone just swallowed a pidgeon's corpse, "I have...heard of you. From whispers, from anger, one has heard of you." A pause. "That is what they say. One hears little praise, Hound. A newcomer to Myrridion wonders why this is true."

Ceres titls her head to the other side as the Hound looks around, and Darshan speaks up. To stay or to flee, that is the question; and rather than answer immediately, the bard just continues towards the Rosalia, in tiny increiments, listening to the conversation.

Alina clasps her hands behind her back, flicking her wings absently, and she glances at Darshan as he addresses the Hound. She considers the Hound curiously, herself, but she stays quiet.

"Yeah, I'm sure. No doubt the squeals of goblins as you threaten to crush the life out of them is a valued interrogation technique. Torture is torture, regardless." She cracks her knuckles thereafter, giving the Hound a look. "What do you want? Really want? You don't come out of your hole without good cause and rarely to just 'check up' on us."

"The presence of the Irregulars has so far been considered a mixed blessing - but a blessing nonetheless. Welcome to the lines, Hound of Myrddion." Xander answers calmly and simply enough, letting out a mouthfull of cigarette smoke skywards.

"You are my favorite pupils. Beloved from the moment you ran head first into helping Augustus Alexandros 'accidentally' achieve his goals of demigod-hood, then going oops, and trying to fix the situation by beating him to death." says The Hound with a tone that gleefully mixes venom with good humor. "How can I not 'check' on you?" He then looks away from Sandy and eyes Darshan thoughtfully before looking away and simply smirking, "Perhaps you've been listening to the wrong people then, lizard. Of course at least a few of you know that the most worthy jobs are often the ones that earn you the least ..praise. Two of you, at least, know this.." He glances between Darshan and Serene and then he looks away to regard Sandy again and then Xander, "..And perhaps I could use a favor..."

Karelin has disconnected.

The eyes regard the other as a sith would look at a beast in Am'shere, one it's not sure whether will roar and charge...or beat its chest and run away. He shifts, tight beneath the armor, and the drops his gaze to the man's creature. "The rumors do not let me believe you...but they may let me believe him," the griffon. After a moment, and after that moment he seems to make up his mind, and walks towards the beast. Stops a few feet away. God-given creatures are no ordinary ones, and he gives it due scrutiny.

Arngrim has disconnected.

"Pupils. Did you just call us pupils? I think he did," says Sandy, dourly. "And none of us here had anything to do with Augustus' assinine quest." She sniffs, shakng her head. "All right, then. Out with it. What the fuck do you actually want, Hound?" She folds her arms across her chest. Still waiting.

"Well, it seems to me like you have our, and others', undivided attention, for the moment." Xander says to the Hound, solemn, a hand sweeping out in almost idle motion to indicate the undoubtedly nigh-endless amount of curious bystanders, guards, passer-bys who are by now observing the people conversing. "So, let us hear it. Unless, of course, it is of more delicate nature." He's so much more polite than Sandy, isn't he? But then again, nobody has ever accused Sandy of being polite.

Ceres is guilty of being one of those who's attention is caught. At least enough that the slow journey to the tavern is halted, though she's still being overly silent.

Alina's eyes flit from the Hound to Darshan as the sith moves to the griffon. She's watching quite carefully, her eyes darting to everyone else as they speak, too. She's got nothing to add, however.

"Do not jump to conclusions." warns The Hound of Myrddion quickly as Darshan approaches the griffon, though his gaze does not leave the others. The creature itself just eyes Darshan with an appropriatly imperious air, "Things may not be as you think they are. It is enough for you to know that I do what I must and don't much give a damn what you think in the process."

He then smirks at Sandy, "Of course not. At anyrate if you want the truth, no I did not come here to see any of you but rather to meet with the local commanders - however - there are some matters that could use your hands. For one... the recent arrival of the Dranei Mercenaries is somewhat troublesome. The Dran love a good fight, and the war against Bludgun is quickly escalating to be something more then it once was. The Dran fight for whoever pays them more and whoever proposes the most challenging warfare for them but I'd just as soon prefer that their own irregular units are found and removed from the playing field. It is bad for morale and so I would have them removed from the playing field. The Bludguni are placing their champion kas pieces upon the boards to break our tired soldiers with tales of warriors that shake the ground and sorcerers that summon the stars from the skies.. So, I wonder, where are ours?"

So the sith and the other ani--er, the griffon eye one another, and for a while, he tunes the man's words out. They eye eachother, one staring at the other before he jerks his gaze away and...the oddest, oddest look comes over his face. And he takes a step away from the griffon.

Serene folds her arms and settles in for a... listening, she supposes. "War has little use for champions, at least in the conventional sense. It would do no one any good for a 'champion' to be felled by a simple arrow out in the field."

Valeska has connected.

"These are not conventional circumstances." remarks The Hound to Serene, "..And in some cases all too conventional. Remove the leaders and the pawns will scatter, though in some cases the pawns may become the new queen. But in short, there are tribes assisting the Bludguni that live and die on the deeds of their champions and leadership. At least one among you, though not present, understands this principle and has already begun working towards this end. You are irregulars and in some cases you're not even that. You're just 'bored'. You're not limited by the same rules of engagement as the Myrrish and Alexandros armies. You should put this freedom to use."

And he says nothing. The sith's tongue seems tied, with whatever it is, and he continues regarding the--this Hound, his expression suddenly...no, he drops the helm over his face, and it clicks into place with a quiet shhhh of steam, the joints sealing, and covering his face with metal, metal. But before he had, it had been...numb. So numb. And now there is none at all. When the Hound keeps talking, he turns to regard the treeline...or what had been a treeline, before the war had had hold of it.

Alina looks a little alarmed at Darshan's change in expression, and her lips purse, silvery brows furrowing faintly. She crosses her arms over her chest and just flicks her glance from one to the other as they speak.

"Do not we all? Do what we must, that is." Xander replies, glancing away to look at Darshan and the griffon, briefly. A brow arches, slightly, but that is the extent of his reaction. A thoughtful, "Hmm." as he ponders the Hound's words. There's a moment of pause, and then a nod to the large man as he speaks. "'Bored' is hardly the word to use, but nonetheless, I understand. We shall... see what we can do." There's a grin there, not upon his face so much as the glint in his eyes.

Ceres continues to listen, though with only part of her attention, alas. More attention is being paid between the physical interactions.

"You're telling us this is a game of...personalities," the sith says suddenly, with sudden force. "That they base their leadership on how well someone flexes their arm, or the...power...they..." he trails off, and the numb look fades enough. Enough. To focus on the Hound there with a sudden, primitive intensity. "I understand this. I understand this /very well/, if that is what you are saying."

"He is saying the men need... examples, dear friend, more than we've been providing partaking in skirmishes upon the field and saving the encampment from sabotage." Xander addresses Darshan, approaching him and laying a hand on his armored shoulder. That concept should be close to heart, as well, what with his dual nature of the Paladin.

Ceres's attention is drawn a bit at that; the head is tilted to one side, as she considers the matter.

"I say both." says The Hound as he replaces his helmet atop his head, "...My goodness..I think somebody is figuring it out." He looks up and then adds, "Also..keep an eye on Skald, eh? Those in that tainted land would love to interfere in these matters if they could.." He turns to begin to face the command tents.

"...then one prefers the former," the sith says, looking down, and away. It comes with a scowl, a start of one--though that's hidden under helm, now. The armor hisses softly, the light changes its glow. "It is saying we...I do not like that," he says, finally. "I am not comfortable with that, Xander. To set...to be heroes. Were it springtime...but it is not springtime, and I have chased no tail since Daeus got hold of me."

"Perhaps you underestimate us, Hound." Xander suggests solemnly, but leaves it at that. He nods a farewell, first for the man himself, and then another, for the griffon. "Until we next meet, for I am sure we shall, provided we both live." he says. He drops the now-spent cigarette, crushes it under a boot, and turns to regard Darshan. "Come." And then he's striding away, arms tucked behind his back, hands joined.

Alina eyes everyone, and the Hound. She watches Xander draw Darshan aside, and then she nods to herself. She turns and wanders back to wherever she calls home for the moment, giving a wave around in good bye.

Alina goes OOC.

Alina has left.

"And one mrm, beats one's chest and roars and collects trophies...it is for a purpose. To mate. To lay eggs. ...but for a war? Who am I courting?" the sith sounds honestly bewildered. "Who am I offering the corpses to, so that she may lick her claws, and declare before the tribe, that 'this is a good provider?'" He walks with Xander. He sounds offended. And bewildered.

The Hound emits a hoarse rumbling sound that could be considered a laugh at Darshans dismay and confusion. He then simply looks at Serene and smirks and finally he turns and begins to walk away, giving a halfway dismissive departing wave at any of the others.

"Champions?" Sandy snorts. "Champions. Bah. We've *got* champions. They're even doing champion like things and killing them all over the place." She snorts. "But your point is taken into consideration. My oh so larger than life persoanlity needs more work done." She then casually goes to step on Darshan's foot.

Serene gives her head another shake after watching the Hound head to the command tents. She has little to say, at least for the moment. At least until there's a smaller... audience.

Darshan has had...enough. Or he's had enough, and he's concentrating on the problem ahead. "I am not courting Myrridion's /queen/, and mrm, one is sure she would object, in any case, were one to deliver pieces of a sliced ogre to her dias." When Sandy steps on his foot, he reaches out, and--grabs hold of the elf, and just starts dragging her along. He keeps talking. This is just upsetting his sensibilities. "If, by some miracle, one had Whitebone's head...there is no female I would want to give it to."

Ceres just shakes her head, and makes her own way away. That conversation hurt some part of a brain. Specifically, hers.

Ceres has disconnected.

Xander just LOOKS at Darshan's hand - claws, rather? - and the elf now unceremoniously attached to them. It's just... the image is... He isn't quite staring, but it's not far from it. He shakes his head, as if to clear it. "Perhaps you could look at it another way." he tries. "Perhaps I am the one that is on the hunt, for whatever reason, but the beast I go against is far greater than any one of us can ever match. As such, from amongst my closest tribemates I choose those most worthy to fight by my side, and you are one of them."

"...that is not what the Hound asked," the sith says, frowning at the mage. "...the way you describe it...that is a chiefton building up followers." A longer silence. And a longer one, where he...shakes his head, at whatever it was he'd been going to say, as he continues to drag along the kicking, screaming, and no doubt, cursing, elf. "One is not your follower...and mrm, you are not a female, which is the other option," wry, "Which I hope you were not going to suggest."

Xander chuckles, shaking his head. "Of course not." he answers the latter, before adressing the former: "I have been planning to do something similar to what the Hound asks, albeit perhaps not in the manner in he wishes it done. When I do, I would be very grateful to have you at my side."

"...one mrm, would be glad to be there," Darshan returns, after a time. And his poor arm...is likely mauled. Clawed to ribbons. The helm is silent, but underneath...underneath, the smile is perhaps not very nice. And it fades, fades, because he is faced with a Problem. And Problems... "We should perhaps...get something to drink," he suggests.

"I fear I've work waiting for me." Xander says, somewhat apologetic. A small grin, then, and: "But perhaps you can take her. She sounds like she needs some." Sandy, that is! Then more seriously: "We shall speak more of this later. I'll call upon you, soon enough." A deep nod is offered to the lizardman, and then he's turning, to depart.

Sandy, of course, gives Serene another elbow. Just because she can.

She's been quiet for a while, muttering. Madly! SCIENCE!