-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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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---------------------  At a glance around Myrrish Camp  ----------------------

Graga             1m 7'7"     450 Lb     Orc               Male     

    Big muscles, tawny yellowish-green skin, black hair, big weapons, armor.  

Xander           49s 6'1"     184 Lb                                

    Tall, handsome, goatee-wearing human mage.                                

Darshan           0s 6'4"     274 Lb     Sith'makar        Male     

    Mechagodzilla                                                             

Disa              7m 4'0"     146 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Female   

    Slim Elunite dwarfette in rune-strewn robes.                              

Dern              5m 4'4"     260 Lb                                

    A black haired mountain dwarf of regal bearing. For a dwarf, that is.     

Valeska           8m 5'8"     142 Lb                                

    A strawberry-haired aristocrat wearing elegant gown and mechanic's gear. 

==============================================================================

The front lines.

Or at least close to it.

Dern is seated at a table with a number of other soldiers. At the moment, he's polishing the breastplate of his plate armor and is presently shirtless and covered in dirt, mud, and other accumulated filth. He doesn't seem concerned about that, though. There's armor to polish! The evening is otherwise cool and calm, with the war having broken for the night.

Xander seems to be on his way back from the lines himself. Entering the camp, he leads his all-black horse by the reins, using his free hand to magically spirit away dust, blood and grime from his clothing. He looks fatigued - you would be, too, had you been out there fighting the monstrous hordes during the daylight.

Valeska was out and about! Really! She was speaking with a few officers around, lecturing them about her own theories on the proper utilization of heliograph communications, and how long distance contact could be maintained with heliograph relay balloons. During the daytime of course. At night, such balloons could be equipped with automated photosensitive repeating lanterns for messaging. All very rational and sensible, enough to be putting the officers half to sleep.

A caravan has just arrived. The teamsters are busily helping unloading wagons, and passengers and guards are milling about. A perfectly ordinary day at the front.

Except for the female dwarf that's with them. Immediately upon arriving, the oddly slender dwarfette with the medallion of - of all deities - Eluna, begins to walk through the camp with purposeful strides, peering hither and yon as though looking for something. She doesn't even bother finding her accomodations or unpacking her travelling luggage; it's left standing by the wall of a stable with only the sigil of the moon goddess on the trunk to dissuade any would-be thieves.

Darshan sits near Dern, doing the same. A pair of boots rest on his thigh, and a small anvil rests just to his left. In the dirt, a hammer, its leather grip pierced from claw marks and oiled from use. He turns the boots around in his hand, intent as he does so. "You know," he says, wry, "It feels mrm, odd, not seeing a stack of potatoes." And as Xander heads that way, he nods to the man. Valeska receives a quiet, thoughtful, and watchful look.

"That can be arranged." Xander, who obviously overheard Darshan's words, tells the lizardman, with a bit of a grin. Just to make him twitch. The tone is jesting, however, so there isn't really much need to fear the prospect of, uh, sudden potatoes. He nods a greeting to the group of soldiers in general, including both Dern and Darshan in the greeting.

Graga has presumably been off doing osmething. Given his somewhat nocturnal inclinations, this may not have been something particularly productive. He certainly doesn't look like he's been wallowing in any battlefields. The orc takes a meandering path, stopping here and there to listen to people. Most likely in an attempt to gather some of the day's news.

"Potatos? Are you running that thing on potatos?" asks Dern, giving Darshan and his armor a strange, wary look. "...forgive me, Master Smith Darshan, but that armor is a bit unusual!" He's definitely eyeing it and then he sniffs and shrugs his shoulders, turning back to begin beating a dent out of the armor he just noticed. This has caused hi msome disatres at the moment.

A wry, flat look Xander's way at the potato comment. Darshan picks up a thumb-sized piece of scrap, and pitches it at the mage. "I'll thank you to leave those in Alexandria. What'd you run into?" he gestures with his chin at the mage's clothes. And on second thought, he reaches down, and picks up another thumb-sized piece. And looks like he's considering tossing it at poor Dern, too. He flickers his tail to Graga in a hello.

Valeska was finishing up her discussion, walking back a bit with her hands to her pockets. She tipped her pith helmet back, moving to a large crate, on top of which she has set up a tea-producing apparatus. It was about time, and she poured herself a dark cup of such from the device. Roughing it really is hard.

Xander is too used to having small metal things thrown at him, courtesy of Sandy. He lifts his cape, protecting himself from the little metal projectile. It impacts on the fabric, slides off and splashes into the mud below. "Ogres, mostly, and hobgoblins." he answers. That's pretty bland, all things considered, but hey!

A dwarven woman on a mission really is a sight to behold. Her deliberate strides, the air of utter inevitability about her, the steely set of jaw and eyes. As she reaches the table set out near the campfire, the table where the soldiers tinker with their armours and do small talk, she stops, drawing herself up to her full height, and plants her long, gnarled staff in the ground with a thud, free fist on hip.

"Dern, son of Korrack!" Dwarven voices. Always just a bit louder than strictly necessary. The imperious statement draws looks, small talk dies down as the surrounding soldiers watch curiously.

There is a pause. The color drains from Dern's face at this clarion call and he casually steps back. That's right. The manly dwarven warrior? Is hiding behind Darshan. Oh no! A dwarf woman is here!

Darshan doesn't notice at first, he's blinking at Xander, slowly, as he thinks over what the man is saying, and possibly recalling some similar events. And then--then Dern's hiding behind him.

Sith'makar don't generally adjust well to change.

So he simply--stops. The hands that hold the larger scrap stop what they were doing, which was making a bend. And hold.

He looks over his shoulder at Dern.

The expression says: What the HELL?

Valeska sips her tea. Mmm. She lifts an eyebrow, turning to observe all that commotion. It was interupting her artificery teabreak!

Disa takes a step or two forward, again planting her staff in the ground with a *thud!*. "Dern, son of Korrack!" she announces again, clearly getting the idea that yes, her assumption that this is indeed her target, is correct. "Come out from behind that sith-makar and face me! I would have words with you!"

Xander doesn't seem as surprised as most. Perhaps the mage has been around dwarves long enough to get used to the mannerisms! But he does make sure not to stand anywhere between the two dwarves. It's bad for the health, you see. Now if only Valeska's machine were to produce popcorn and not tea... Alas.

'Too late' is what Dern's expression reads. He was simply too late to've avoided noticed from the girl. His expression is clearly filled with dread. He takes a few steps out from behind the Sith-Makar and puffs his chest up. "I was not *hiding*. A dwarf never hides. The Sith-Makar in question has excellent craftsmanship that I was watching him work on!" A finger is wagged at Disa. "What have you come for?"

Graga does get around to approaching Darshan. A lizardman in giant metal armor is difficult to miss, even when sitting. "More damage?" he inquires after his customary grunt of greeting. "Is this war not expensive for you, to continually have to work on such a thing?" He doesn't appear to pay any mind to the conversation between the dwarves, though he does raise his own volume a bit to be heard.

"It's a reason to do most of the work myself," wry. Interest sparks in the makar's eyes at the topic, and he reaches down to grasp hold of the boot for Graga to see. "I'm working on some modifications--see how the feet are broader? Someone told me the tale of a mule a while back, and how their hooves kept above the mud, while a horse's sank in." A mule's hooves are wider, broader in other words, and the new 'design' reflects it. A set of flat 'wings' look as though they extend, arc down the sides of the metal footwear. He glances up at the dwarves, then Valeska. After a moment, he waves her over.

Valeska walks a bit over, sipping her tea. Really now Xander, who ever heard of popcorn and tea? She looks a bit over, considering Darshan's excitement. "My, what is going on?" she asks, watching him show off his expanded ground contact.

Disa puffs out her own chest, to significantly more impressive effect than the male. For obvious reasons. Fist still planted on her hip, still staring at Dern with an undeniable air of challenge, she says with the air of grave formality, "Dern son of Korrack, by the compact that was joined between your clan and mine, by the oath sworn between your father and mine before we were born and upheld by the close ties of family and trade, I come before you in the honour of tradition." She raises her voice just a little bit louder, and smiles a brilliant, dazzling smile. "Dern, son of Korrack, I am your wife to be."

To say that Dern is surprised is putting it mildly.

Why, his eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to say something.

And then there's a 'thud' as he keels over and faints dead away.

After another look at the boot, Darshan hands it over to Valeska, "Do you think that will work?" he asks her, bluntly. A keen interest, definitely, for the metalwork. He looks towards the dwarves again, and after a pause, well, there isn't much to say. The tail flickers slow, slower, and a wise man keeps his mouth and muzzle shut. Today, he pretends--said muzzle snaps shut with an audible *click!*

Interest decidedly does not spark in the orc's eyes. Graga tends towards the other end of the fixing-breaking spectrum. "You are making a larger boot?" he asks blandly. There's a glance when the dwarf keels over. Nothing more. "I need better movement," he declares, rolling his shoulders. "It is not the Mountain's way to be covered in so much metal."

Xander blinks, a moment. And then, then... barely, JUST barely, he keeps the laughter at bay. It remains just a glinting hint in his eyes. He even manages to sound solemn as he offers to the conscious one of the two the traditional Dwarven words of congratulations. And then goes to pick Dern up and place him somewhere where he's not laying in the mud until he can recover. "Paladin, help me out." he asks. Because Dern is fat.

Well, now. Disa may be here because of tradition and all that, but a fainting dwarf, well, that has to be because of something serious. And by the medallion resting on her significant bosom, she is a priestess, to boot. Concern stamped on her face, rushing to Dern's side, she reaches him simultaneously with the mage, grasping the poor unconscious figure by the other arm and peering into that pale face. The words of congratulations are, apparently, ignored in favour of making sure her husband-to-be is actually, you know, still alive. "What is wrong? Oh, I did not come here to gain a husband and lose him in the same breath!"

Dern /is/ fat, and so, help must be made for the fatness. Help must be made to lift the great, heady belly out of the crater it most surely made. As the dust clears, and surely, for even so deep a crater, it so eventually must, the 'makar in metal makes to stand, and this having been accomplished, clears his throat. "One...I would suppose the lady has him well in hand," because he doesn't look like he knows what else /to/ say. "Would she--ah, Sister Disa, is it? Would you like help, getting him up?"

Dern just sort of lays there liek, well, a sack of potatos. A very heavy, hairy sack of potatos. He sort of groans and mumbles some thigns in dwarven.

With the dwarf woman's help, then, Xander hauls the delirious (and fat!) Dern to the nearest seating - or leaning, whatever works - place and leaves him in Disa's capable hands. "I am certain it is merely fatigue from the battle." he says. To save what remains of Dern's dignity. Thanks can come later.

"Please, would you?" For a dwarfette, Disa is downright -willowy-. And doesn't look like, despite the great show of traditional boisterousness, she's got the physical strength to lift the poor prone Dern to anywhere less muddy. "Oh, Dern mine," she says, and heaves, and with the aid of mage and paladin, manages to get him propped up in a chair. 'Dern mine'. Oh gods. "Quick, someone fetch some cool water," she instructs, pulling a piece of cloth out of a pocket and beginning, with the possessive, efficient motions of someone cleaning a child or, well, helpless fiancee, to wipe the mud off Dern's face.

Dwarfette? Is that an odd subspecies, such as the elusive Elfess? Valeska hummed a bit. "Well, it would certainly be a probable solution." she says to Darshan. "Increased surface area would reduce your substantial ground pressure."

Darshan looks back at Graga and Valeska, the latter of whom presumably, still has the reconstructed boot, and quietly aids the dwarf to a vague sort of...flopping-over sitting position in the chair. The expression's quietly polite, and to someone who knows him a little, it says just how much he has no idea what's going on. "You know, I've--" he looks like he's biting his tongue. "I've never heard of contracts." When Valeska speaks up, the look over that way is sort of wild. /There/ is something he understands. /This/ clearly, is not!

"Nngghhh.." is what Dern's present response to external stimuli is. "rrnggh?" And that is followed by a 'rrrnngh'. He's starting to come around, however, slowly.

What a way to wake up. First thing you see is the face of someone who's proclaimed themselves your wife to be. "Oh, thank the Dreaming Goddess, he is coming to," says Disa. And proceeds to plant a big, wet kiss right on Dern's face. Mud be damned.

"Mister Darshan, are you having problems with soft terrain?" she inquires. "If reduction in groundpressure is a concern, have you considered introducing vertical lifting mechanisms into your equipment to aleviate the problem without directly altering your physical footprint parameters?" she asks, clapping her hands before her.

The confusion splits. It splits, and the sith'makar starts to hiss. It's an odd, choking hiss, his equivalent to outright laughter when he isn't supposed to be laughing, and he drops a fumbling hand on Valeska's shoulder in some sort of 'just a moment' gesture very briefly before stopping off a ways and taking a great, great big gulp of air.

Xander politely leaves the lovebirds be! He returns to his horse, once more taking the reins in his hand. There's a glance at Darshan, a raising of brows. Maybe he's just making sure Darshan isn't about to pass out himself, cause he's REALLY fat! But not much more.

"aggagh!" That is Dern's next response when he opens his eyes and sees Disa looking at him and then KISSING HIM. He flails a bit! It wasn't just a terrible dream after all! "My father sent you, did he?" He manages to rasp. "You'll have to forgive me. It's the heat. I've not had a drop to drink in a day, I realize now." YEs, blame it on dehydration and heat. Yes. That's the ticket. It was not the shock and terror of a potential wife approaching him.

Disa clutches - clutches! - at one of Dern's hands, and just stares at his face with the expression of someone finally coming face to face with someone of whom they've only dreamed previously. Which is probably quite accurate. "Yes," she says, breathlessly. "Your father and mine both. I'm Hrafndis Runa, daughter of Ormur. Oh, I've longed for this day!" She presses her hands - and Dern's - to her bosom, and just -beams- at him. "Don't worry about anything," she says, in the tone of inevitability. "I'll take care of you now. I'll take care of everything." She utterly, utterly ignores anything going on around the two.

Valeska waits a moment as promoted by gesture, merely... watching the curious interaction. Is this how dwarf married couples act, or was it some aggressive courtship ritual? She paused, deciding that, for the sake of science, such be recorded. Out of her pocket comes a recording apparatus, and she begins fine-tuning the knobs and levers on the device, directing it towards Dern and Disa.

He isn't, but it's close? When Dern goes off again, when Dern gets er, squished, so does the hissing--Darshan eventually falls to the side, grasping hold of something, any--an anvil? The anvil? to sit on. He plops his tail right there on the metal and finally just--he ducks his head between his hands, he's trying so hard. Instead, he sounds like a hissing, oversized teakettle, probably looks like one, too.

"I. I...what?" says Dern, then he gives Darshan a look. It is the sort of look you give someone who just loudly farted in church. It is the look of pain and DEATH with a heaping dose of 'You're going to pay for this, you filthy lizard!'. "...this isn't a put on, is it?" He's somewhat suspicious because of the laughing lizard and Vlaeska's distinct looking at them as well. "I, ah... I am fine!"

Disa looks MORTALLY offended. MORTALLY. "A -put on-?" Reaching into a wood-lined document holder at her belt, stiffened to preserve the papers within, she produces an extremely official-looking piece of paper, lined with runes of dwarven antiquity and tradition and stamped with the official stamp of the equivalent of a dwarven notary, and pressed it into Dern's limp, free hand. "This is a copy of the contract entered between our families," she says, sounding hurt. "Everything is there."

If it is, Xander's not involved! He peers at Valeska and her recording device, but his only real reaction is a shake of the head. And then, then he's on his way deeper into the camp, horse following, likely to get some rest! Poor Dern will have to... uh, suffer? ... alone!

Valeska presses her eye to the optics of her recording device, panning towards Disa. Her free hand takes out a small notebook from her pocket, which she places on a nearby surface and opens. A little stylus emerges on a tiny arm, and begins to write as Valeska narrates. "Cynosural Optic Motion Dynamophone recording test 31, subject: Dwarven mating rituals, already in progress. Currently, the dominant female of the species is attempting to enforce written legal agreements to which one may surmise, is required before dwarven reproduction."

Darshan grips hold of his muzzle--it doesn't do any good. A big, noisy SPLURT! comes out of it in place of a hiss, and he eventually lets go and coughs and chokes as he stands. "Unghh. Ah...one will..." there's nothing, really, he can do. No duties at the moment, no... He looks up skyward. As if searching for something. "I'm sure there's--" and then Valeska produces the device. "Really?" he asks, suddenly. "My own is sort of like that." And he walks over that way.

Dern just sort of sits there and then takes a breath. His first very real, calming breath. Or at least what appears to be an effort to calm himself. Darshan gets another dirty look before he turns his attenion back to Vlaeska and says, "Would you *mind*?" He finds her narrating distasteful, apparently, and then says, firmly, to Disa. "..I, er... This is the *first I'd heard of it*," he intones, firmly. "Apparently, Father sees fit to do something like this without properly informing me!" He's upset to say the least. This was not expected at all and then he grimaces. "We will need to talk. A lot." And Dern is already inspecting the papers, desperately searching for the 'way out' clause.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it. We shall definitely have to get to know each other. I don't expect our fathers wanted us to marry before having spent some time together." Disa just smiles. Blissfully. Apparently the offense of just a moment ago is already forgotten, and the frantic scrabbling for the escape clause in the document ignored. Thoroughly reading such a document is, after all, only good and proper. "Your father did send you a letter, but it would appear I've arrived before it. Communication while there's a war on can be tricky, apparently."

Valeska turns her head a moment to look at Darshan, blinking at his apparent agitation. Then, she realizes her horribly impolite act! "Oh! I am so sorry, Mister Darshan!" Valeska gasps. Then she returns to narrating, in a lower tone, as not to disturb the Sith with her volume. "..now is advancing towards some sort of communicative interplay, with attempts at negotiating a settlement..."

"I meant more that the females are dominant," and the sith'makar stills, gaze flicking towards the pair just before he straightens, and, "A topic I'm mrm--I'm told that," topics about marriage, longing looks and the like, "is off limits. You'll--" stiffly, to an observer, though someone who knows him well might hear the faintest of of smiles. "I'm sure there are things I'm supposed to be doing." And, he proceeds to gather his things.

"I...er.." Dern is still looking at this contract. Peering. "I... see." A boggle is what his expression shows right now. He's just -boggled-. "I... need some time. To red this. And understand a few things." He staggers to his feet.

Graga has reconnected.

Disa does let go of Dern's hand, finally. Mercifully. "Of course," says she, smiling. "I'll attend to arranging our quarters. You just take your time." She sounds positively cheerful. Rising to her feet, she hefts her long walking staff again, and... blows Dern a kiss, before turning around and heading towards the stable at which she'd placed her luggage. There's an air of inevitability and, possibly, triumph, to the sway of her hips as the slim she-dwarf sashays off.