-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* 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.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   3m

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

Blushing Rosalia <BR>     The Front Lines <TFL>     

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

---------------------  At a glance around Myrrish Camp  ----------------------

 

Jenner            1m 5'10"    160 Lb     Human             Male      

 

    Sailor Mage! Also not fragile.                                            

 

Hernan           10s 5'11"    280 Lb     Human             Male      

 

    A heavy man with short graying hair, clean-shaven, dusty longcoat.         

Gauvain          10m 6'2"     213 Lb                                 

 

    A tall brown haired armored man.                                          

 

Laoise            9m 3'2"     24 Lb                                  

 

    Ash-blonde, green-eyed hafling lass.                                      

 

Arianwen          4m 5'0"     93 Lb      Wild Elf          Female    

 

    Fiery-maned maiden in a dove gray cloak.                                  

 

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

 

    Mechagodzilla                                                             

 

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

 

It's Gilday, Callem 05 17:35:34 1006. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and ebbing.

 

Towering white clouds drift slowly through the blue sky. It's hazy and hot, and the glare of the sun seems to drain the color from the landscape.

 

 

Under the towering white clouds rests a towering camp, a camp filled with a hubub of races: goblins, hobgoblins, humans and orcs, a true mix of races and various sundry thanks to Alexandria's infusion into the war. Myrrish flags from that great nation fly above, snapping in the wind--where they're not tattered, torn, or burned through from the Bludguni lines that lie, for now, quietly, just across the way. Soldiers and mercenaries talk and chat, or cook--one in particular makes his way in slowly, an almost stupidly pleased look over his reptilian features. A swiftclaw, a raptor-like creature pacing behind him, and today, Srassha's head is held high. Today, she almost prances, dancing across the blood-soaked earth...and blood soaks her muzzle, too, and her claws, and behind...behind trails the carcass of some beast, to be brought into the camp.

 

A figure in a gray cloak seems to be in the opposite situation of the lizardperson; surrounded by soldiers, dragging a carcass of some beast, and trying to /leave/ the camp. Arianwen, chin held high, is explaining in heavily accented Common how she found the sheep-thing wandering freely on the edge of the camp, far from pasture or pen, and shot it for dinner as fair game. This doesn't seem to be impressing the armsmen, who are lecturing her most severely.

 

A rather scruffy looking bastard atop a black Veyshanti gelding rides slowly into camp, easily overlooked amongst the tumult. He swings off his mount and leads it to one of the camp stables, talking quietly to the boy there before heading out again. Hernan finally arrives near an officer's tent at the outskirts of 'town' -- evidently an officer of insufficent rank to warrant one of the town houses. As he waits, he looks about... pauses, frowns at Darshan, then grins and waves toward the Sith'makar, giving out a shrill whistle.

 

Laoise has disconnected.

 

Gauvain arrives in far less pectacular fashion then Darshan. And is also not carrying a beast. He is however ona Horse, who appears to be thrilled to be in the camp. Practically prancing as he moves through the encampment. Gauvian simple pats the Horse's neck, knowing full well that the horse is just excited. He spies the Beasts being dragged by two different people. Darshan and Arianwen, and just blinks a few times. He looks to Strider, hiw Horse and says evenly, "It's going to be one of thsoe days isn't it?"

 

I am the princess! I am the FIERCEST princess! The prettiest, most awesome... Srassha dances and prances with her walk, quivering with excitement on her long, two legs. The blood on her face stands starkly like a bizarre Am'sherian makeup, the claws like dainty Am'sherian clawpolish, gleaming too cheerfully in the sun. She prances, dances, struts for all to see, and her rider, smiling, looks to the side while she does it. Lets her do it. Lets her have her moment in the sun. She killed it! She did it! She is a HUNTER! ...and today, no one asked her to be a pony. The waywards gaze of the sith'makar draws up at a snap, and laughing, he raises a salute to Hernan and Gauvain, about to reply when he noticed the dispute. The laughter, smile pauses, and becomes something more curious and thoughtful, and he nudges towards it with his muzzle, indicating it to the other paladin. "Do you want to sort that out?" Would you like to eat raw glass and kiss a goblin for a date?

 

"I can see we are not going to come to an easy accord about the status of the creature," Arianwen murmurs after another few moments of guards talking her pointy ears off. She seems to be struggling to maintain attention, the raptor has caught her eye. "I apologize for my mistake. Is there a way I can make amends?" The carcass she dumps in the arms of the youngest, greenest soldier, who turns even greener at the (admittedly, critter) gore all over his tunic. Gotta toughen up the young.

 

Hernan hands some papers to an aide, then looks around thoughtfully. He eyes Darshan's swiftclaw for a moment, then heads over. At a (relatively) safe distance he raises a hand. "Hullo hullo! Been a dog's age... sorry, but forgot your name... I just remember your fondness for ice fishing or sommat.

 

Hernan hands some papers to an aide, then looks around thoughtfully. He eyes Darshan's swiftclaw for a moment, then heads over. At a (relatively) safe distance he raises a hand. "Hullo hullo! Been a dog's age... sorry, but forgot your name... I just remember your fondness for ice fishing or sommat." He grins. "How the hell are ya?"

 

Gauvain leans on the saddlehorn and says to Arianwen as she drops the Gore leaking Critter into the the arms of a younf guardsman, "Where'd you find the sheep?" he smiles lightly and watches the woman as she starts to head toward the Lizardperson. "Also. Is there anymore. I'm rather fond of Mutton." Strider snorts and for the first time notices the Swiftclaw and edges a little way. In a Prancing manner.

 

What is this? What is...? Srassha eyes the other, she EYES her rival, and the swift stands up and straightens to all of her ten feet in height, and looks away--pretending for the moment that Arianwen's catch is beneath her notice. It's all in her body language, the strut, the pose--look at ME! I am the fiercest...

 

Her rider, in turn, looks from one to the other. And his features settle into a sort of quiet, a grumping, grumping quiet that has him looking quietly at the ground again. "One of those days." And he looks up at Hernan, then, eyes light and a quiet, lively tint to them for the day's going. "Darshan...and mrm, you're one of Vardama's, aren't you?" he looks over towards the dispute then. And Srassha promptly looks indignant--he's paying attention to her rival, apparently, and by that, we mean talking to. "Is there something we can help with? ...mrm, Darshan, service to Daeus...same as this one, here," a gesture towards Gauvain. A second towards Hernan,

 

"And he's mrm, fairly good at shooting things."

 

Arianwen is not blind to Srassha's body language, and postures right back, shoulders back, head held high, also carefully looking away. "I found the ... sheep ... in the forest, sufficiently far from this encampment that I'd hoped it was free, or perhaps from an enemy camp. It appears I was incorrect," she chins a curt nod at the gentlemen, "And this meat is not mine." The guards have already made off with the stuff, presumably for their own cookfire. "I am Arianwen, oh Daeusians and shooter," she replies to the introductions lightly, her gaze level but not unfriendly; perhaps a little defensive from the berating she just received. "Please forgive me for taking supplies from your war camp, if inadvertantly."

 

Hernan looks the elf over, considering. "'name's Hernan, and it's an understandable, if unfortunate, mistake. Still, if there's anything this world needs, it's ladies who know how to handle meat." He nods slowy. "I think the honor of my staff here in my war camp might be assuaged if you made amends. I have a tent over that way..."

 

Sniff! Srassha turns half-way around again in her attempts--studiously she ignores the other hunter, and her rider...her rider...her rider's smile slips off his face, at least until he looks towards the ground again. And eventually, he clears his throat, "We seem to have extra," he says, solemn, referring to the bloody carcass the swift had all been but prancing around. "Srassha's reminding me I don't let her out hunting enough," he looks back, to the swift, and back again. And blinks, slowly. Slowly, and looks towards Hernan. "...I thought softskins needed to be married for that."

 

Arianwen's eyebrows slowly lift at Hernan's words and Darshan's implications. "Unfortunately for you, the amends I must offer are of another kind. I shall hunt you replacement meat -- or, if I can, steal it from an enemy encampment. In that way I can replace what you have lost, and take something from your opponent, twice helping your cause." Never mind that the 'lost' meat is already filling soldiers' bellies; it's the principle of the thing. "Srassha is a beautiful creature," she adds, bowing slightly to the swiftclaw, admiration filling her voice.

 

Hernan glances sidelong at Darshan for a moment. "Ah. Not if you are quick on your toes, my friend." He smiles, glancing at the swiftclaw. The smile is a touch lessened, there... Eek. Big raptor. Turning back to Arianwen, "Whatever you hunt will be quite welcome. More meat, fewer enemy mouths to eat it. I believe there's a bounty on ears, on the q t, down by the ..." He pauses, glances at Darshan. "Grain silo. Ears of corn. Mmmm. Corn."

 

If anything could have surprised him--it seems the elf's entire speech did. Darshan blinks, again, that slow reptilian movement which must evidence surprise, which /must/, because the next thing he does is clear his throat before half-turning and following the look.

 

And Srassha starts to preen. Suddenly, the rival is forgiven. She said she was...well. She may not know what 'beautiful' is, but it sounds good, so she preens appropriately, giving it the preening preeniniest it deserves. And gestures to her kill, to show it off. To show off what a fierce jungle princess she is.

 

"...I don't take her hunting nearly enough," solemn. "...what...brings you out this way? Mrm, both of you? Hernan, I haven't seen you in a while." And then, "...grain silos."

 

Gauvain laughs lightly and looks to Hernan before looking back to the Elf. "I think he just assumed becuase you are a woman, you cook." He snickers a bit and grins to Arianwen. "Well. I'd rather have a Hunter to provide, and offer recon than a cook." He gestures to himself by way of introduction, "My name is Gauvain Tarris." 

 

 The horse turns his head to give the rider a most irritable look and snorts. Then looks away, clealry wounded at being left out of the conversation. 

 

 With a light pat to the Horse's neck, he says "And this is Strider. I'm trying to decide if he knows he's a Horse or thinks he's the family Dog." he shrugs and looks to Darshan. "What exactly did Srassha kill? It looks..." he looks at the thing and raises an eyebrow. "Well... It sort of looks like meat."

 

"The practice of putting a bounty on enemy opponents -- proof via appendage -- is not a human custom unknown to me," Arianwen says flatly, burning the idea of corn silos to the ground. "I know little of your war... perhaps I could be educated as to the causes that fuel it?" Gauvain's question brings a flicker of a knowing smile to her face.

 

Hernan rubs his chin, spares Gauvain a polite nod. "Well, let's see... Bludgun is a nation of savage hobgoblins and ogres, slaves to the most vile and evil gods, bent on raping, burning, and enslaving ... everyone else. They assaulted Myrddion and took much of Sendor." He thinks for a bit. "That's the gist of it. You should help slaughter as many of them as possible, because it's just a matter of time before they get around to the elven lands."

 

And here, Darshan shows just what sort of sith'makar he is. "I have no idea," he returns to Gauvain, solemn and straightfaced in his reptilian visage, "But it smells good." And that is that. He says the words contentedly, and the tail picks up a slow movement behind him, and Srassha, no longer a Focus of Attention, drops her head and begins to snuffle at the grass, smelling, smelling. At the rivalry between elf and hunter, he says not a word, except a solemn, quiet look that's almost universal, 'you dug your own grave, buddy.' "...he has the general idea of it." And, "One's liege is Myrrish, which has me here--though--one could say, so are most of Alexandria's mercenaries and soldiering folk. Sendor used to be part of Myrridion, and now belongs to Kinnevack, one of the ogre mages. She...slavery would be the kindest word for what she does."

 

Chiddle has arrived.

 

Gauvain says witha look to Arianwen. "They have some Human and Elven helpers as well. Not many. But they are there. And they are far deadlier then the Goblinoins or anything else. Becuase they know /us/ and how we operate. Because they can think like us." He shrugs. "The Bludguns prefere to enslave both our kind. Yours especially. You live longer." He grins to Darshan and shakes his head. "Remind me never to ask you hunt down a dear. There might not be much left."

 

A small group sits gathered in the camp, composed of unlikely members and marked or blessed with a great and bloodied carcass off to the side, freshly arrived. A dispute had just been settled--raised voices recently quieted, resulting in a guardsman pacing away from the group. Who stands there, still talking.

 

The elf listens seriously to all three men. Her arms fold instinctively over her chest. Almost absentmindedly, she murmurs the elven name of the slain beast, to clarify -that- comparably innocent question. "It surprises me not that the trail of a fel being led me here. They feed on such fear and pain. Certainly I shall help eradicate its source."

 

Hernan's face flushes at the mention of Kinnevack and his casual leering smile melts into a scowl.

 

Jenner has disconnected.

 

Darshan looks down at his armor, and a wry, almost embarrassed look plays there. "I never did play 'chase the squirrel'. Mrm...I was too busy talking." A smile comes with it, human-style and clearly translated, were one to look, and made easier to 'read.' It comes with a blink, another of the slow ones, and the tail of the sith'makar moves in that slow, slow movement with it. "It's a what?" he asks, looking that way.

 

Gauvain laughs and slides off Strider's back. Still holding the reigns of the War Horse, lest he decide to chase something. Or someone. He looks to Hernan and nods once to the man. "In general That Ogre is not pleasant. But we'll bring her down, and hopefully the rest of the Bludgun as well." Folding his arm over his chest he then just stnads there watching everyone.

 

Arianwen repeats the word, enunciating it a little more slowly, less fluidly. The silvery syllables object to this treatment, but manage. "I do not know the Common translation," she says apologetically, with a shrug. "I hope to see you again alive." Apparently that's her way of saying goodbye, because she's turning to leave, perhaps to set up a tent somewhere. Well, it -is- a war.

 

Hernan smiles to Arianwen. "A pleasure meeting you, m'lady.

 

Hernan smiles to Arianwen. "A pleasure meeting you, m'lady." In elven, he adds, "take care, sweet cheeks."

 

Darshan looks after, and lets go a breath. He doesn't know what Hernan said, or is saying, but it must be nice, because everything in elven sounds that way, so he smiles encouragingly at the man before looking back towards Srassha. "I could use some help with that, if either of you don't mind. The cooks said they'll use it in the stew this evening."

 

Gauvain shakes his head witha grin and kneels down to help Darshan. "That's all it'll be good for brother..."

 

Hernan eyes the mess, then nods. "Sure thing. Be nice eating fresh food for a change. Been out scouting for a week now."

 

Darshan kneels, and grabs hold of one of the bloody legs. And on three, it's heft! with Srassha prancing behind. Like a princess.