The Waters of Life

A medium sized camp, build in the shadows of a rock formation. The inhabitants are busy with their own things. A new chieftain had recently been 'elected' and he had quite the task to solve. The water supplies were getting dangerously low, but they couldn't move out of the shadows before a new night would appear and who knew when one of these would come. The people were getting troubled. If they didn't move soon, they would be sure to die. Finding water in this world was like finding a diamond mine in the old one...

Grobnick was wise to stay inside of his tent. Even in the shadows you would be sweating buckets. Though.... was it really better in that tent? Across the 'floor' lay all sorts of strange inventions and other scraps. Non of these things actually worked, but that didn't matter for Grobnick. He would be the gnome that would bring back the Gnomish arts!

Wiping sweat from his brow, Dafaden peers out from underneath the shelter of his tent. Even though it has been years since the calamity hit, the dwarf has not gotten used to the heat and feels he never will. Daf isn't the prettiest of sites either, shabby old armor and only half a beard which looks as if it hasn't been cleaned in a long time. His tent was no better, looking more like an old bed sheet held up with an old dead tree. what does a dwarf know about building a tent anyway? Up until a few years ago when the calamity hit,Dafaden had always lived underground, in the nice, cool, dampness of the rock.

Dafaden has been casually sharpening his pickaxe, for as soon as the sun goes down, he is searching for water. While the others look above ground, Daf has decided to stick to what he knows best, mining. Perhaps there is a spring buried within this rock formation!

"Just how do you expect me to find more aloe plants around these parts, hmm?" Basko the troll retorted in a booming deep voice to the reddened young elf in front of him, "You'll just have to nurse your burns on your own and get your fair elf-skin used to this eternal sun of ours."

"-But, but-" The elf started. The elf in question was almost completely sunburned on his back from lying in the sun for too long, a fitting punishment for slacking off in these hard times.

"No." Basko reaffirmed, raising his hand and pointing to the elf's forehead, "I will save my supply of burn salve for those who need it. Now go!" Basko's point had transformed into a shooing hand "Don't bother me unless you have a problem that requires my attention." In a frustrated huff, the elf left Basko's tent and went back to whatever apprenticeship he had taken up. Basko got back to knotting the final branch of gerum weed on a support in his tent for drying out. As if trying to sneak it past himself, Basko quickly pulled off a small leaf from the branch and began to chew on it. The gerum leaf was fiberous, but as long as you kept control of it in your mouth, it wouldn't get caught in your throat.

Stepping out into the light, Basko left his tent and stretched his arms. In case you were wondering, Basko did not have much sympathy for the distinctly non-troll affliction of sunburns. Trolls could be burned, but in sunlight? Such such a thing was laughable.

Having not much else to do except look for some place that he might be helpful, Basko took a stroll through the camp. Various smells came with a wide array of people, especially as mixed as this camp. While walking, Basko spotted a familiar dwarf perspiring drops of sweat onto the tool, or weapon, he was sharpening. Basko stopped and crossed his arms. "Still going out to dig for water, sir? I've seen you around with that rock breaker of yours, how do you know there will be water underground?" Basko inquired with one side of his grey brow raised. Basko did not know the dwarf well, but was curious to find out his methods, or his madness. Basko continued to chew on his crackly gerum leaf while he stood.

Dafaden peers out into the brightness only to see Basko, towering over him. With a grunt the dwarf wipes his brow and goes back to his work. "We've been searching for water above ground around here for along time, guess what? There is only sand, sand, and more sand! All the water on the surface has been soaked up by the blistering sun." Dafaden wipes his forehead once more. "At least if we dig we may find a spring of some sort. I've lived underground the majority of my life...the lifeblood of this planet flows from the underground to the surface....since there is no water on the surface, we need to find it's source under it."

"Hmm, you make a good point, dwarf." Basko said, thinking to himself that the dwarf in front of him was starting to get a bit funny in the head because of the sun. For a moment Basko thought he might be able to make a wager with the dwarf as to whether he finds water before the camp packs up and moves on, but he thought better of it. What does this dwarf have to barter that's useful to him anyway? Well, anything he would be willing to give up for a small amount of dried mushrooms that cool the body when ingested. No, those are too useful.

Even so, Basko was still curious about this dwarf. The troll extended one hand, he could never remember which one was customary to shake hands with, but it seldom mattered, "I am Basko, the camp apothecary. What is your name, sir?" Basko said, "And you mentioned living underground? I've never heard of such a tribe, would you tell me more about your former home? If you do not mind to."

A loud bang could be heard from the other side of the camp. Grayish smoke circles upwards and several people start to rush to the place where the smoke came from.

An angry glare snapped to the direction of the ascending puff of smoke from the other end of the camp. Basko never knew 'what' in these situations, but he always had a good guess at 'who'. He started to briskly stride off in the direction of the smoke, his fists clenched in mild annoyance. "If that Sandpants character has exploded another goat, I swear I'll!-" Basko stopped and turned around for a moment back to the dwarf, "Excuse me, I have to see if anyone's injured." Turning on his heel, and in the process drilling it a couple of inches into the sand below, Basko resumed his grumblings and marched towards the site of the latest 'accident'.

Now it's not to say that Basko knew everyone in the camp, but most people had at least heard of the mad gnome, Grobnick Sandpants, and his wide array of scrap metal that had a tendency to cause chaos. Basko was generally the one that had to tend to any caught in the crossfire of Grobnick's war against his own ignorance.

Basko used his height and bulk to push the various onlookers out from his path, "Out of the way! Out of the way! Sandpants! What have you done this time!?"


((I'll let you describe the scene, Flynn :) ))

Riken Steelhands looked up at the soon, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then looked back down at his 'home'. He was sitting on the top of a hill, looking down on his tribe below. It was something that he often did, it somehow brought him peace in the desert. He knew he wasn't like everyone else in the tribe. He did not care for the others like they cared for each other. Riken was simply an outsider, at least he believes himself to be one. "Some home this is." Home was supposed to be something one was proud of, at least that's what he believed when he lived with the Dwarven tribes. Isolated underground his tribe was able to live a somewhat easy life, as long as the caves didn't collapse; some did. That was history now though, and Riken was stuck living with other races. At first it was interesting to watch them. How they lived, how they interacted with each other, but not he finds himself hating every minute he has to spend with them. Weak, brittle, sensitive, and yet the filth manages to survive. Riken knew all wasn't bad though; there was another Dwarf in the tribe--Dafaden Thorblade. The other dwarf wasn't much, but he was a dwarf nonetheless. And so Riken decided that he would stay with the tribe. If not for himself, then it would be to protect another exiled dwarf.

It was the croak of a raven that brought Riken out of his musings. "Shall I return then?" He asked the bird. The raven croaked again, and then flew away disappearing into the desert. Riken stood up, stretched, then made his way back to the tribe, his armor glinting as the sun reflected off it. As he entered the encampment Riken noticed that Dafaden was sharpening his pickaxe, while speaking with a troll. He was able to pick up a little of their conversation as he approached them.

"And you mentioned living underground? I've never heard of such a tribe, would you tell me more about your former home.."

Riken was about to interject and tell him it was not for him know about a dwarven culture, but the sight of smoke stopped him. "I wonder what happened this time." Riken wandered aloud. There had been instances like this before, a got exploding, a tent catching ablaze, and many other small disasters. All of it was usually the fault of a gnome named Grobnick. Riken didn't know much about him other than the fact that he tinkered with things that he shouldn't. Suddenly the troll was walking towards the smoke, saying something about looking for injured. "What do you think, Dafaden? Should we check it out?"

"Bah!, blasted gnome, always gathering junk, piecing them together then blowing it up and getting no where...I can't remember the last invention that was put together that WORKED! Maybe this time he blew his hands off!" Dafaden gives out a loud bellowing laugh. He has always thought of gnomes as a cruel joke of the gods. However, he has been fond of this gnome since he came to the camp because above all else, he was always trying to help, always coming up with an invention that would benefit the whole tribe, even if the inventions haven't panned out. "Might as well head over and see what is going on, by the way, I don't know how you manage to sit out in this heat without melting...blasted sun has my blood boiling and I hide in the shade of my tent as much as possible!"

Riken laughed at the mention of the gnome losing his hands. "We can only hope that we are lucky enough for that."

"Might as well head over and see what is going on, by the way, I don't know how you manage to sit out in this heat without melting...blasted sun has my blood boiling and I hide in the shade of my tent as much as possible!"

"Oh trust me," Riken pointed up at the sun, "that damn thing boils my blood too." Riken used his warhammer like a walking stick as they made their way to the smoke. "It just becomes more bearable the longer you sit in it. I'd much rather be back in the dwarven tribe. Underground is where we belong," Riken gestured at the people around them, "Not up here with these people."