---

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Kyra slowly turned around, not really believing the voice that she was hearing. That was until her eyes fell on the hooded figure and it was pulled back to reveal the face of Sana Rawn. Her eyes widened a bit and then even more when Sana addressed Keystone directly. Well this was surely an interesting turn of events. She had not seen Sana in sometime and the scars that were popping out from the neck of her cloak worried Kyra. There were not many people that Kyra actually worried about, not when they were injured, but Sana was an exception. She was like a sister to the archer, both learned the art from her father when they were younger.

"How?" was all she asked but Sana brushed off the comment as she began to riffle through her bag; completely ignoring the question for now since it seemed that people were going to be dumb enough to run into a burning building. Pulling out a deep crimson brown leather cloak that looked far too big to be any use to Sana a smirk crawled over her lips before she looked over towards Keystone.

"Man who likes to eat Hellhound Steak, got something for you," she said as she tossed the cloak towards him. "Remember that fucker? The blood? Yeah, well after your last cloak went to ash, figured I would do something to help on that. Granted the fog got me again before I could get back to the tavern to deliver it to you. It's treated in the bastards blood. Catch my drift?" she said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Kyra perked a brow. What the hell was going on? "Well that was cozy," Kyra quipped as she eyes Sana and Keystone. Nodding slightly towards the man that bumped into her but not really playing it much mind other than a quick look so he would know she wasn't going to lash out at him right then for the bump.

"Nah just owe the man a cloak was all, debt paid in full now," she said as she looked up as the rain continued to fall from the sky. Wondering if she should do anything to help with the burning building but opting not to at that point. Her only song of use would take far too much out of her to save it. Might as well let Keystone do what he was planning to do.

Then someone asked what happened towards Kyra and Sana remained quiet as she peeked over to the woman on the ground. This was going to be interesting. "Someone fucked with a crazy person and well, all hell broke loose. She still alive?" Kyra asked as she looked over about the time that Valona started being, well Valona. Sana stood there by the wagon watching and nearly burst out laughing as the woman covered in mud yelled and the area around her went black. Kyra groaned deeply as she rolled her eyes.

"Bloody hell," she muttered under her breath as she started looking around and headed off into the woods after the woman. "Hey, it's okay. They won't hurt you. Now get the hell out here before they think otherwise. Come on," she said into the woods. Turning she looked towards Sana. "Mind taking care of that shit?" pointing to the darkness.

"Ugh, fine, fine," Sana groaned. Pulling the edges of her cloak back and pushing them over her shoulders she rolled her neck a bit before her lips parted and she began to sing. Her voice was deep and rich, a hint of roughness to it but beyond pleasurable to the ears and the senses. Her hands arching and fanning out before her as her head whipped this way and that until her hands joined together and she pushed them out before her. A soft pillar of light forming from her palms and pushing through the darkness the mud monster had created. A simple unblinding light to cut through the spell and give those within it a path to follow to move out of it. It would not dis-spell the spell but it would allow their eyes to adjust as she sung.

"Alright folks, might want to get out there, I don't think Sana will let it go on too long," Kyra chuckled, knowing Sana was only going to give them as much time as she thought they needed before she stopped the Bards Song Beacon. Clouded vision on a marksman was not exactly Sana's favorite side effect from her song casting.

---

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Location: Road North of Salarn, Day Two

Interacting With: Sana, Cyneburg, Malkus

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Why the arse are we still talking? Building on fire! thought Keystone, hefting his pots and passing them out quickly to any who were around. Though there wasn't an endless supply of cookware, three or so good ones might suffice for his needs.

He noted the appearance of magic on the scene, and was dead set on doing nothing about it. He wasn't a huge fan in the first place. Granted, he had seen magic channeled as a useful tool by people he had come to trust, and he even carried a bit of minor magic on his person. But it came back to trust. If he wasn't confident in the motivations of the comparatively few souls in the realm that had the spark of arcane manipulation, then he wanted little to do with the effects of their spellcraft. Were he asked to handle a situation involving a magely type, he would likely advise simple and direct violence. It might not be the best course of action in this instance. Lucky for him, there were those in the group who had a better understanding of magic than he.

This level of disdain made him feel just a skosh like a hypocrite when Sana presented him with the oversized cloak. He remembered the Hellhound. He remembered being set on fire when he struck the killing blow, and having to ditch the long, black woolen coat he was wearing before it fully engulfed him in infernal fire. His mother gave him that coat, one of the last things she did before her passing. All he had left of it was a pocketful of brass buttons. Keystone was aware of the properties of Hellhound blood and the magical process by which said properties can be transferred to an individual wearing an item treated with it. He accepted the article of clothing with measured gratitude.

Yeah. Keystone felt like a hypocrite. But now, he had a better chance of staying alive long enough to get over it. He hastily threw on the cloak and recovered his pot. Motioning for others to follow, Keystone scooped up its capacity of rainwater and mud from the ground, and ran into the woods to the burning building.

The second he entered, Keystone was highly surprised to see someone else slumped on the floor. He couldn't tell if the hapless fellow was alive or dead, unconscious or merely feeling sorry for himself. "What in bloody, piss-'emorrhaging 'ell is this then, eh?" he bellowed, his urban underclass accent flaring as he spoke. Keystone shook his head and splatted his pot of watery sludge on one of the support beams, still licking flame. The hiss and bubble of the cooling wood was satisfying, but it wasn't enough.

Keystone turned back to the slumped form with the flute laying beside him. He sighed heavily. If he were smart, he'd leave the guy there and keep working fire. If he were kind, he would focus his energies on seeing to the well being of the horizontal man in front of him. Instead, he worked out a compromise. Empty pot in his left hand, the burly man picked up his half-human cargo by grasping belt and bandoleer in his right. He began to spin, seemingly using the pot as a counterbalance to the weight of the person, despite the highly improbable physics involved. After two such revolutions, Keystone let go, hurling the poor bastard out of the open door and into the weather outside.

He skipped like a stone, such was the trajectory of his body as it descended to the watery ground below, and came to a sloshing rest near an ash tree a few meters away. Keystone ran back to the doorway, sucking in a lungful of cleaner air, and passed off his empty pot for the one in the hands of the person behind him.

"Right! Keep'em comin'!"

The second splat was even more satisfying than the first.

Cyneburg

Location: The caravan
Interacting with: The Fire, Keystone and one of his pots

Cyne saw Keystone scoop up a potful of mud and water before rushing into the building and she got the idea. Use the preexisting water and nonflammable mud to put out the fire before it gets out of hand. She didn't really pay attention to the conversation or magic because of the more pressing issue (fire raging in the place where they're supposed to be resting tonight). What did surprise her was Keystone coming out of the building with a charred, probably unconscious half-orc. Well then, that certainly brings up more questions. But irrelevant questions for the time being.

She crouched down and scooped up a bit potful of mud. Cyneburg wasn't necessarily someone you wanted doing heavy lifting, and even though this was just a single cast iron pot filled with water and mud, it was really heavy (for her). The druid took in a deep breath and pulled up childhood memories of having to bring in pailfuls of water from a nearby brook back to the house for a stew her mama would be cooking for supper to spur her on into the house as quickly as her legs would carry her. The heat came over her like a wave as she looked about for the best place to dump the water. She ran over to a burning support pillar, and used the momentum of her travel to fling the contents of the pot on the flames with a comforting sound that was somewhere between a sizzle and a sploosh. Now with a much lighter pot, the druid ran back out of the building to gather up more mud for the next run.

---

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So much was going on around her, though none of it seemed to concern Lerraina much. A new face in the crowd, half of their group ran towards the burning woman before she cast a shroud of darkness around them and fled. While she might have been able to help on that end, she figured it was best to stick to the task at hand; the burning building. There was no pause or hesitation. There couldn’t be. There was no room for it here. All of her dreams of a dry place to sleep and a warm meal would come crashing down if they couldn’t get the fire under control, literally. And she wasn’t about to give up on that dream just yet.

Keystone had grabbed a few pots and made his way over to the building. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it seemed to be the only one that could work. She scanned the contents of the wagon. There was nothing else that could be of use, nothing to make a hose and despite the never ending rain, it would take too long to gather. She quickly followed in suit with the first two pots she could find, large enough to scoop up the mucky earth and use it to smother out the flames.

There were at least three of them, it had to be enough. Keystone had gone inside crazy lune…, Cyneburg was attacking it from one side and Lerraina took the other. It might help if we had more hands on this … I’m sure it doesn’t take the whole lot of them to handle one person … who may or may not be dangerous … who may or may not have caused this. Oh dammit. She cursed herself under her breath. The idle thoughts proved a distraction, but that is all that it was, a distraction, and it certainly wasn’t helping her to do her job any faster or easier.

The rain had pounded into the ground so hard there were several soft spots in the earth, several large puddles that would work perfectly. Packing the mud and water into the pot, nearly to its rim, she flung it onto the planks of wood that held the large building together. There was a force in her swing, as she repeated the movement over and over. But it was fueled more by determination and will than it was by strength, and it wouldn’t keep up for long. Lerraina had left the tavern before breakfast, and the pains of hunger were starting to devour her energy. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could keep it up, so she just kept moving, kept slapping the mud and water onto the flames hoping that it would be enough to get things under control. Just keep moving, just keep moving …

---

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Location: Outside the burning storehouse - Gorlf Northern Territory
Interacting With: Kyra, glaring at everyone else

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Interaction Tags: @Lady Amalthea

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Valona curled further into the tree as she heard the voice of Kyra, her latest "friend", calling out to her. They wouldn't hurt her? Why wouldn't they hurt her? She had just set the place on fire and had lost the only means of proper shelter from nearby for them all. No reason at all to hurt her, no no no... Grumbling to herself, Valona lifted her fingers and shoved them in her ears as she began to mumble away to herself in an attempt to block out all the noise outside. It was working right until something hit the bottom of the tree that she was inside of. Removing her fingers, Valona peered down and spotted the half-orc that she had attempted to blast to kingdom come.

Well seen that he had missed the blast radius and was miraculously unsinged. Go figure. He didn't appear to be moving very much though so maybe she'd managed to at least knock his thick skull against a wall or something. It was in this moment that the voices struck again.

You know you wanna do it... Go on, just do it...

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyeeeeeeessss! Drop it, do it, want it, DO IT. DropdropdropdropDROP!

Why you not fucking doing it? Do I gotta come out there and fucking make you?!

Awwwww, no funs? I want the funs, why no funs Valona? I'll make 'im laughs. Promise!

Shut your fucking scaly little hole, frog legs. That bastard deserves pain! Not laughs!

Youse'm is lucky thats you not in own body, Norsass. Else youse'm be bittededs, yes siree.

The bickering devolved from there and caused Valona to cover her ears hard underneath her palms to try to block it out but it didn't work. This was the curse of being alone with her thoughts and drowning out the world. She had to choose the lesser of two evils before it drove her insane. Unhappily, Valona began to clamber her way out of her hidey hole and made her way back down the side of the tree. As she walked past the immobile body of Malkus, she kicked some mud up at him and then quickly scampered off out of his reach.

Finding Kyra, Valona sulked up to her and kept the scowl on her face as she spoke in a flat monotone. "Fine. I'm here." She folded her arms across her chest and puffed it out at the same time, holding her head higher than her previous sulk and eyeing everyone up as if they were on trial. Honestly she probably looked utterly demented and like a pond creature but she didn't feel it and that is what mattered. In Valona's mind, she was a fucking queen who was in a bad situation and that was that.

---

Malkus opened his eyes as he felt cold again. He groaned quietly; why couldn't he just die? He looked around and saw others around him. For a while, his usual fear of strangers and crowds weren't taking over his head. He figured it was already over for him: might as well not piss himself about it. They seemed more interested in saving the cabin anyways, so Malkus would leave them to it. He couldn't find much strength in his body, fatigue and exhaustion settling in very quickly. It took him a momentous amount of effort just to stand up. Once he was on his feet he just... Walked away. He didn't care if anyone stopped him, called out to him, or hell, if they even attacked him. He belongings were being a burden, not helping that most of them were burnt up too. His Sleeves of Many Garments had caught on fire at some point and left nasty burn scars on his wrists. His bandolier was in tatters and his chest were stained in colorful liquids, likely his various potions that were shattered against his body when he was thrown out. He was alos missing his backpack and a lot of his knives. The only thing left where the clothes on his back, his kukri, and his traveler's anytool. Funny how he managed to hold onto this of all things. Regardless, Malkus walked into the forests where he vanished.

---

“It’d be rough ahead of us. For the sake of time we gotta skirt the border, but we ain’t gonna go into orc territory. Even so, ye still want to join?” A rough voice asked. It came from a clean-shaven dwarf leaning against a heavy crossbow taller than he was.

”Oui. Ntaj go Gorlf Hold. Half-way cheap. This okay?” In broken common an orcish man handed the dwarf a few gold coins. The dwarf tested the gold and sure enough it was legit. He wasn’t too certain where the orc got the money from, but maybe it didn’t matter. If an orc wanted to go back home, the dwarf was willing to profit from it. Who knows, maybe the orc could even help make sure the caravan didn’t get sacked.

The orc, Ntaj Zoov Yaaj,didn’t want to go home however. Gorlf wasn’t his home; it was just a land where orcs were. His home was wherever he went nowadays. A traveling vagabond, Ntaj was aimless but never lost. He intended to head to the Gorlf territory to learn more about the orcs there. See how they manage things, maybe even make a name for himself there. He hoped that his orcish would be understood by them. He’s already has a hard enough time understanding common, he doesn’t want to have a hard time with his own mother tongue. Though he didn’t imagine that they would welcome him with open arms. Even in Dark Star half-breeds like himself were barely tolerated. Ntaj was only treated equally because he was the King’s son, and even that didn’t stop gossip and slander. But Ntaj wasn’t going to let stuff like that put him down. Life is full of traversity: prosperity means overcoming those things.

After paying for his ride, Ntaj sat in one of the wagons. He was technically just a traveler, but he had volunteered for guard duty as well. Of course the caravan already had a fairly well-armed cadre of guardsmen: twenty warriors, local tribesmen who were familiar with the area and sold their services to foreign merchants. Ntaj could tell that he could easily take on a warrior with ease, but from the way they moved and organized themselves, Ntaj was also aware that they weren’t just barbarians. They fought with pack tactics, with a sort of hive-mentality that allowed them to fight as one as oppose as twenty men just fighting in a cluster. Put some metal armor and an insignia on these men and you would have some disciplined soldiers.

So it was no surprise for Ntaj that his ride was a fairly quiet one. On the rare times trouble reared its head, mostly in the form of a thief or highwaymen, it ended quickly. Ntaj barely reached the fight by the time the guards took care of the problem, and while they did suffer three casualties by the end of the trip, no one from the caravan was harmed. So for most of the time Ntaj had spent his time just carving from sticks he would pick up during stops. He made little effigies of animals and what he taught a couple of gods looked like. Most of them were natives to Sword Mountain: Chuantea the Harvest Goddess, Selune the Moon Goddess, and Luthic the cave mother just a few that he finished.

”Hmm. They’re all goddess. Well, I hope they sell well.”

On the first night, they stopped at the top of a hill. The guardsmen formed a defensive perimeter around the caravan while the caravaners themselves set up camp. They were kind enough to allow Ntaj to have some dinner, though he was expected to pay if he wanted seconds or another mug of water or ale. Fortunately he had managed to find some edible mushrooms, so while he accepted their offer he had some extra snacks for himself. As the caravaneers sat around the fire for dinner, Ntaj tried to strike up a conversation with a human.

”Ugh… What you sell? Weapons? Metal?”

“Many things, though nothing like that. We wouldn’t want to be targeted by orcs looking for weapons or anything. We’re just bringing flax, books, cotton, and wine. They might not be as impressive as weapons or armor, but they still bring a pretty penny.”

Ntaj nodded his head slowly, understanding most of what he was saying. Basically no weapons, just “Books and such”. That would explain why they’ve only be targeted by petty thieves instead of bandits. Ntaj wondered if they had any books he could read. ”Books. What kind? Orc? Elf?”

“Most are common, though I think we have a few elvish texts. I wish I knew what they were myself, but all I know is that they’re more expensive than the books in common. Prettier too.”

”Oh. Pretty.” Ntaj pondered if he could read one of those books. However if the last time he was in a library was any indication, people don’t want him touching their books. Something about being a filthy orc. Or was it just filthy? Ntaj swears he washed himself already, he just didn’t have soap. It wasn’t exactly a high priority item, and not easy to obtain when you’re wandering through the wilderness. So the chance of actually reading a book interested him. ”Can Ntaj read?”

“I’m not sure, can you read a book?” The human smiled at Ntaj, which confused him. ”Oui?” The human just chuckled and shrugged. “Not really my say. We do have a few of our own books we read during the travels. I don’t mind lending you one of mines.” Ntaj struggled to understand what the human said, and was only vaguely aware that he might allow Ntaj to read a book. He just nodded his head and the two continued to eat in silence.

An hour later and it was time for bed. The guards had already arranged their shifts so all of the caravanners can sleep soundly. The weather was suppose to be clear, and the ground was dry enough, so Ntaj opted to just lay out his bedroll on the ground. Around that same time, a badger showed up at Ntaj’s feet. ”Honey! Muaj koj!” In Honey’s mouth was a dead snake. It looked like he went to get dinner himself. Ntaj typically let’s Honey roam about on his own as the badger was more than capable of fending for himself. The only time Ntaj would carry his friend would be into buildings or onto boats. The caravan hardly moved so fast that Honey couldn’t keep up on foot, and even if it did get ahead of him he knew Ntaj’s scent well enough to follow. Honey the badger ate the snake right next to Ntaj’s pillow as he laid down. He was about to toss the cover over his head when the human from before stopped by.

“Hello! You wanted to read one of our books, right?”

”Oui?” Ntaj only vaguely remembered wanting to do something along those lines. The human knelt down and handed Ntaj a book. He squinted at the title and tried to read it, but it was in a fancy front and he could only make out the first letter of each word. A few minutes spent struggling to understand it’s title, the human spoke up. “It’s a bestiary! An Encyclopedia of Deadly Creatures. Um… A book with monsters and animals. I thought you might be interested in it.” Ntaj understood most of what the human said and nodded his head. ”Oui. Thank you!”

That night, Ntaj spent some time under the moonlight reading. He didn’t get very far into the book, what with his difficulty reading common and all. The font inside the book was much easier to read than the cover, but at some point he got bored trying to understand the index and just flipped through the book for a cool picture of monsters and read about them. He eventually stopped at one. ”E-The-Re-Al Un-dead...”

Regarded as a general classification encompassing ghosts, wraiths, wisps, and similar beings, ethereal undead refers to any magically reanimated creature with a central body functions that can no longer be disrupted by physical means. Consisting purely of a soul bound to a rudimentary magical body, ethereal undead are created by necromantic mean or, more rarely, a dying individuals own force of will. Of course, Ntaj didn’t quite understand what was written exactly like that. To him, Ethereal Undead were ghosts. Plain and simple. Ghosts weren’t things he ever dealt with. He’s seen a zombie before when he was still training as a Totem Warrior, but never a ghost. He’s heard Holy Water was effective against ghosts, but he didn’t really know much beyond that. As Ntaj read the book his eyes slowly began to drift to sleep, until eventually his mind wandered off to the realm of dreams.

Some time passed and Ntaj opened his eyes. It was still dark out, but the moon was on it’s way down. He would guess that in about an hour or so the sun would rise. He was surprised that he was able to wake up this early, he honestly was a pretty heavy sleeper. He noticed that Honey was no longer sleeping next to his head, but that didn’t surprise Ntaj. Honey tended to wake up earlier than Ntaj and did his own thing. Getting up and stretching his body out, Ntaj went to see if the other caravanners were awaken.

He found the rest of the caravanners, and the guardsmen, all dead. Ntaj froze petrified. ”Yup. This is a nightmare. It has to be. I’m speaking proper common.” Ntaj pinched his arm. He felt a sting but didn’t wake up. ”Still just a dream… Just got to wake up...” Ntaj walked through the camp. It looked like the caravanners did get up before he did. Parts of the camp like the tents were being taken down. A pot of stew was being made. The horses were harnessed and ready to head out. Of course they, as well as everyone else, were chopped up and torn apart. It was rather… Horrifying. Ntaj is no stranger to butchering his foes, yet this sight was sickening. This wasn’t the act of a man with a axe. A monster must have came by and killed everyone here. But who? And why would this monster kill everyone but Ntaj?

Ntaj soon found his answer when he saw some sort of ghostly figure rose from the ground. It looked like a skeleton of some sort and yet… It still caused Ntaj to tremble. He took his sword out in preparation to fight it, but his hands were shaking. ”Why am I shaking? It’s not even that scary. It’s just a… Damn… Skeleton…” But Ntaj knew the reason why. He looked around and saw the warriors remains scattered about him. They were not killed in their sleep, they had weapons in their hands, they were near one another. They had died fighting. And yet somehow they still were defeated by this… Ethereal Undead.

Before Ntaj could realize the folly of his ways the Ethereal Undead lunged at Ntaj. His instincts told him to block it’s strike as if it was just another blow. But instead of simply blocking, he fell to the ground, dropping his sword, and rolled out of the way of the creature. Briefly he looked at the ghost as it phased through a half-dismantled tent, before turning around. Before Ntaj knew it he was running. He couldn’t fight this thing; he had no weapons that could harm it. How could he hurt something that didn’t have a physical form? He ran into the forest, not caring where he was actually going. He figured if he could just keep running he’d eventually be safe from the monster. Maybe if he could survive till sunrise and let it shatter into dust. But as Ntaj ran into the forest he spotted a woman. ”Help me! You there, you have to help me!” He ran up to the woman and looked at her. But she didn’t have a face.

Ntaj didn’t even get a chance to scream when a set of claws stabbed him through the chests. Slowly, the claws tore his body in two. He could see his own innards fall out of his other half before his head tumbled to the ground, his own blood spilling onto his face. The last thing he saw was the monstrous woman pick up his severed head by its spine.

And then he woke up.

Ntaj woke up in a cold sweat. Honey was right next to him, raising his head suddenly just as ntaj got up. He looked around the camp and heard the bustle of the caravanners packing away their camping supplies and getting ready for their journey. Just like in his dream, it was still dark, but the moon was on it’s way to the horizon. In a few hours the sun would come up. This time, no one was dead. He could smell a simple gruel being stewed up, and soon the human from before came by. “Oh! I was about to come and wake you up. We’re leaving in a few minutes, you missed breakfast. I think Charlene still has some she can scrape up for you. Don’t worry, you don’t have to pay for this. And to be honest with you, you couldn’t pay me to eat that slop.” The human laughed at his joke but Ntaj wasn’t feeling so humorous. He packed away his sleeping supplies quickly, getting a bowl of the gruel. Despite doing so however he hardly ate more than a few spoonfuls before the caravan master, the dwarf, announced that it was time to move. Ntaj held onto his bowl of gruel for most of the trip, taking a few bites even after he had become cold. Eventually he just gave the rest of it to Honey.

By midday Ntaj was back to his regular spirit. The nightmare was frightening, but it was just a nightmare. It wasn’t his first, nor will it be his last, but it was just all in his head. He figured that the book may have given him the nightmare, but instead of blaming the text he sought answers from it. He looked for ways one would combat a Ethereal Undead, with answers like a silver blade or holy water being the most appealing. Magic was also possible, though Ntaj was no spell caster. So he looked into Silver Blades and Holy Water.

Though since this was a book on monsters and not adventuring gear, he only found scant information about the two: Silver could be added when making a weapon to give it a magical edge against creatures like demons, undead, and other monsters. It was often expensive and silvering a weapon was not something that a common weapon smith could do. And seeing that Ntaj only had about 50 gold in his wallet, which was barely enough to buy a regular longsword, he doubts getting a silver weapon was within his budget. Instead he looked into Holy Water.

Just like silvered weapons, the information the book had on Holy Water was limited. Holy Water was mystical water created by clerics of good-aligned deities, often used for blessing, anointment, and warding off evil. Holy Water is highly effective against the undead, and even incorporeal creatures like ghosts will be harmed. Speaking of ghosts, Ntaj looked up more about Ethereal Undead, and with the help of some of the other caravanners who explained what the bigger words meant, Ntaj learned that Ethereal Undead and their kin are immune to regular weapons. Even objects like walls wouldn’t stop them. That would explain why the warriors in his dream failed to fight the Ethereal Undead: Ntaj was pretty sure they only had regular steel-tipped spears.

Closing the book, Ntaj decided that on the next break he would try to learn about Holy Water. While not a religious man himself, Ntaj did occasionally pray to the gods for good luck and protection. Hopefully someone in this group was more pious than Ntaj was, because he had an idea. An idea about how to make Holy Water based off his own theories. He’d need a priest in case what he does fails or is even sacrilegious.

"Ntaj make Holy Water."

Location:The Forest, The Wagon
Interacting with:Everyone pretty much

The young Elf's entire world went black, and only the body under him scurrying away from his hands and the light splatter of mud that followed let him know he was still alive. He let out a breath, and realized he needed to get his bearings. He needed to get out of here. Whatever happened wasn't a curse, he knew that much. He didn't think he'd been struck blind. He turned, and did his best to crawl as far away as he could, before his head popped out of the impenetrable darkness. His nose poked Brogach's nose as soon as he appeared. Calanon smiled. "Hello, old friend." he said to his Elk companion. He got firm and happy nuzzle on his head for the words, and he could almost laugh. "One sec."

The Ranger then drew himself up, his head momentarily slipping back into the darkness. He patted himself off, and was just about to step out into the open, when a rich voice drew his attention. It was as lush and pleasurable to his Elven ears as a Nymph's melody. "That's beautiful..." he whispered to himself, and within moments, the darkness had dissipated. He looked around, and realized he couldn't linger. His easy manner quickly becoming as sharp as a blade in an instant. He saw the structure still on fire, and his new companions attempting to put it out. "Brogach, let's go." he said, grabbing his shield from Brogach's back and running over towards the structure, the Elk bounding beside him. As he ran, he saw Valona standing before Kyra. He skidded to a stop within the mud, and gave Valona a quick bow. "Glad to see you well." he said, and then nodded to Kyra, having at least seen her once before when he first joined the Caravan. He quickly ran past them. Brogach gave them a quick bow as well.

He made it to the swiftly charring building. On quick inspection, he could see that while it was still being damaged, the fires seemed to be lowering from the combined efforts of Keystone, Cyneburg, and Gretchin. Using both of his hands, he used his curved shield as a makeshift bucket, slipping it into the slick mud, before flinging it upon the structure. Brogach joined him, kicking as much muck and water as he could upon the flames. Ranger and mount worked furiously, going as fast and effectively as they could.

Satilla Valen

“I won’t hur…” Satilla was trying to comfort and explain to the woman on the ground, when what she feared most happened. The woman burst up in some kind of madness or panic and knocked her over. With a surprised and slightly painful cry, the witch found herself on the ground. Her already quite dirty white dress turned completely brown from all the mud, not to mention the rest of her body. She didn’t really like strangers and was pushing herself to deal with the sudden meeting with the caravan to this point, but this just pushed her a lil bit over the edge.

The witch looked at the mad woman with eyes filled with panic and fear for a brief moment, before everything went dark. She panicked and began backing in the darkness, unable to see anything.

Suddenly she heard the song and saw the guiding light. Like a drowning person clinging to a piece of wood, she followed it with haste, almost jumping out of the cloud of darkness. As she was using the light as a guide, she found herself by Sana.” Thank you, miss!” The witch said with great gratitude in her voice. She was trying to get control of herself again, now that she was under the effect of the darkness and could see.

And then another sudden thing happened. A person flew out the house/cottage thing and onto the muddy ground. The witch jolted in surprise, before she shook her head. She was about to go see if she should help him, when the man simply stood up and walked away. Satilla felt like she was a bad person for being glad she didn’t have to treat him. Not because of what he was, but because she simply was afraid to try to deal with anyone unfamiliar right now, because of the event with the crazy woman. Sats wanted to go and hide somewhere.

She then decided it was best to help with the burning building, so she took off her soaked cape and rushed, starting to ‘hit’ the flames with it. She didn’t have the muscle strength to easily swing around the heavy buckets of water and in the muddy ground she would be slipping a lot if she tried. So she simply opted to extinguish what she can using the easiest method possible. With the dripping wet cape, she was attempting to choke the fires where she could. The mud and the rain helped to at least keep her cape from turning into a pile of ash.

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Kyra perked a brow as Velona came scurrying over and sulked a bit. Well that wasn't the type of reaction she was expecting from the woman but hey, the woman was nuts, so what should she expect but the unexpected? Shaking her head she looked over towards the building as Malkus was tossed out of the thing like a sling shot and took a step back as his body came crashing into the mud. She wasn't sure if he was dead or not but that question was answered as he just got up and walked away. This day was just getting weirder and weirder. She wasn't about to chase after him to see if he was okay or to beg him to stay. If he wanted to go off, so be it. One less mouth to feed, and heck, she had tried to feed him already.

Turning she looked over towards Sana as the last of the people came out of the darkness and she drew the song to a close. Sana nodding slightly at the thanks before pulling her cloak back around her shoulders and drawing the hood of her mantle up. Taking a breath the gypsy walked over to her old friend and motioned over towards the building as the flames were gotten under control and only a little bit of smoldering was left inside, coming out of the door way and window that Kyra had crashed out of earlier.

"Seems like things are exciting as ever for you," Sana said as she laced her fingers in front of her beneath her cloak and gave Kyra a knowing glance.

"Yeah, I could say the same for you. What are you doing here?" Kyra finally was able to ask now that things were calming down.

"Looking for you actually. Stopped by to see the King and drop in on you and found out you were out this way. Figured I would head out and see if I could catch up. Give a hand for a while. Seems though you have it under control and don't need my services," she said coyly with a smirk on her lips.

"Don't you even dare think of leaving," Kyra snapped before chuckling a bit as Ash padded over to them, Epona's reins in his jaws as he pulled the horse over to Sana. Sana looked down and snapped her fingers before opening her palm to the wolf, waiting for him to spit them out in her hand before her fingers closed. "Aww, he still likes you."

Sana rolled her eyes a bit. "Well he hangs out with you, so no accounting for taste."

"Yeah, speaking of which. How do you know Arseblast over here?"

"Arseblast? You mean Keystone? Long story, another realm, fog, you get the drift."

"I wish I didn't."

Chuckling a bit Sana pulled on the reigns and lead Epona over to the building and peeked inside. The fire was out, the place was a mess but the fire was out. Leading her horse into the place she turned her head to the side, seeing a cloak hanging up on one of the posts and pulling it down. It wasn't damaged much because well it was Kyra's and Elven Cloaks don't just go up in flames like people think they do, not with the resistances Sana knew this one had. Kyra had had the thing as long as she could remember. Turning she shook it out and held it out as Kyra came into the building with Ash and tossed it to her.

"Thanks," she said wrapping the thing around her shoulders and scouring at a few singe marks on it. Oh well, at least it was still in one piece she figured before turning to the group that had helped put everything out. "Well, looks like you all did a good enough job so we actually have some cover tonight."

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Location: Road North of Salarn, Day Two

Interacting With: The Re-Revised Group

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The interior of the storehouse smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke. It had the look of a large room, set ablaze and put out with mud. In fact, at that moment, Keystone couldn't think of an expression better fitting for the situation than "a room set ablaze and put out with mud". While a good half of the floor was damp with the sluice of their labors, the other half was passably dryish. The odor of charred wood threatened to remain for quite some time; there was no getting around that little detail. However, the roof and weight-bearing timbers were intact. They would rest away from the penetrating cold of late season rain.

"Cheers for the assist, you two." he said, taking back his pots from Cyneburg and the newer newcomer Gretchin. He lay them outside in the heavy rain to rinse off, and swung open the doors fully. Keystone turned his attention to the merchant, Cremwise, motioning at him to drive the wagon inside. These items of mundane issue were the chief bits of concern to which he assigned himself; others in the group were better suited to deal with the obviously magical effects in play.

Scanning the scene, he quickly realized two things: There was little chance of getting hot food or real sleep again that night, unless there were factors unapparent to him. AS Cremwise maneuvered the apparatus bearing his goods and their supplies into the enclosure, Keystone made a brief circuit arounf the interior of the storehouse, searching for any other points of entrance aside from the main doors. He tapped boards to see if any were loose, checked to see if any small points of scorch still smouldered in ways that would be a problem later on.

Satisfied by his findings, the itinerant brawler recovered his pack, squared away his belongings, and prepared for a potentially quick exit, if necessary. The new cloak was folded carefully and placed among his belongings, if just for now. It might make an excellent lining for his coat later, if he could find a clothier or leatherworker with the time to do so at their next stop in a civilized area.

He had questions for both the Sana and their group's Captain, Kyra. They could definitely wait until the situation with the spellcaster was made apparent to the rest of the party. Until then, he would set up for the evening and ready for a long, watchful evening.

Cyneburg

Location: The house by the road North of Salarn
Interacting with: (almost) Malkus, Sana

Hot, covered in burns (well, all the ones from this morning, only a couple minor new ones from fire fighting) and sweaty, although it was indistinguishable on the rain soaked druid, Cyneburg looked over what the three man team had accomplished. That was a fire extinguished, (Druid job accomplished) and a shelter salvaged from it. Sure it was wet and dirty now, but it was 9 hells of a lot drier than the storm outside. Cyneburg was a dirty girl, the mess wouldn't bother her, although all the water would still make sleeping indoors for the first time in months not the most pleasant experience she's had. Still, you just had to grin and bear it. Still, with that done Cyne had the chance to deal with the 5 other things bothering her.

She turned around towards where the body of that other half-orc had been. Vanished. Oh well. He might have been the child of one of the orcs that populated the area. He wouldn't trust a bunch of humans. Next, the druid approached the gypsy woman who appeared to have some magical abilities tied to music.

"Evening, my name's Cyneburg. If you don't mind me asking, who are you?" Kyra and Keystone seemed familiar with her, but nobody else appeared to. It was one thing for a total stranger to come out of the woods, but when there were pre-established relationships that only a couple people were privy to, Cyne's interested was piqued.

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Location: The Storehouse - Gorlf Northern Territory
Interacting With: Herself

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Interaction Tags: -

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Valona was hugging her body and chewed the inside of her cheeks as she watched everyone in the vicinity interacting. Her brow was low and she watched them from beneath hooded eyelids and tried to decipher who was in charge and she figured it must have been the one she had already met, Kyra, with the large scarred and strange sounding man in the coat second. The fire had been put out and they all made their way inside the charred, wet and muddy storehouse interior. Picking idly at her fingernails, digging the dirt out from beneath them, Valona slipped inside and found the furthest and driest corner away from everyone else.

She sat down and crossed her legs, her rear resting on the floor as she shuffled backwards until her back was pressing against the corner of the wall, narrowing herself into the small space. Her eyes never left those before her that were interacting with each other and he studied who spoke with who and how their bodies seemed while they spoke. She quickly became bored with this however as Norsa began bickering with her in her mind, telling her to slap someone and pretend that someone else had done it. So immature.

Opting to try and drown her out, Valona took out her notebook and writing utensil and began to document the surge that she had experienced while casting the fireball. She had no idea that it would happen, like every other time, and she had been so mad that Norsa took over. Norsa had no care in the world on whether or not a surge happened and she was much more unstable than Valona was (which was saying something) so they happened more often when Norsa was in charge.

Sighing as she finished up her notes, Valona decided now was as good a time as any to read her notes. She could debate whether to stay or leave in the night while everyone rested. No doubt Kyra was bound to question her and that wasn't something Valona wanted to deal with. She had a plan formulated to leave if she so chose to. So far, despite the burning incident, it had been pretty entertaining and she was pretty overdue on having social interactions again. It had been, oh, about three years since she'd last ventured out into the inhabited lands.

She decided that she missed her cave. She would need to go back sometime soon. Four months was a long time not to have seen home.

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Glancing around, she noticed the figure that had been tossed out of the burning building walking away. The near lifeless body of a half orc just upped and left ... not the most comforting sight. Was he thought to be dead? Was he not a threat? Was he going for backup with intentions of killing them all in their sleep? Lerraina wasn't a very trusting woman, and despite her best efforts, she often thought the worst of situations, especially ones like these.

The flames had finally been smothered out of existence. A few others had eventually come to help making the flames that much easier and quicker to get under control. Covered in ash and soot, decorated with splashes of mud and soaked to the bone, she couldn’t help but chuckle. This was not at all how she pictured her day going. Praise was not something she sought, or was completely comfortable with getting, however this time it actually brought a sense of relief. She had made no enemies this day. Perhaps not all was lost. Though there was one thing that would make it all better, if she managed to get any out of this little venture. Food. Whether the meal was hot or even good, it didn’t matter at this point.

Lerraina took a moment to inspect their work, and the condition of the property salvaged; a job well done indeed. For it still stood, and ignoring the mess, it would be a lot dryer inside than it was out. She glanced around at the others as they went about their own affairs. The druid once more, off to pry into other people’s business, Keystone cautiously checking the perimeter. There was not much more she could do at this point, save for the attempt at being social. And what other way to continue to win their good graces was better than that? Swiftly moving between the chitter chatter of others, she came upon Calanon with an extended arm. "Thank you for the help"

Backflash: Two Days Ago

Ntaj was not a religious man. And while he was taught how to read and write as a prince of Dark Star, educated wasn’t the most appropriate word to describe him. But he did know things, and he liked to think he was creative. Ntaj’s crazy plan first began when the caravan was stopped at a river. There was suppose to be a bridge here, but it seemed that time and possibly vandals had made the bridge nonfunctional. The only alternative was to try to do a cheap repair job to cross the bridge, otherwise they’d have to turn around and find another path, which would take at least a day to do. Fortunately the bodyguards were also adapt carpenters, and while they couldn’t restore the bridge to it’s full glory, they could at least rig up some repairs to allow the wagons to cross. Afterwards they’ll leave it to the lord of these lands to deal with it.

While the guards were busy with their craft, Ntaj was busy with his own. As he worked, the human from before came over to him. Turns out the human, who Ntaj learned was named “Claire Ericson”, was in fact a cleric. But more along the lines of of a record keeper and historian. Though he was perfectly able to perform some magic and could easily make holy water. “Ntaj? What are you doing?” The half-orc raised up an empty pot in his hands. In front of him was a small fire. ”Ntaj make Holy Water! Ntaj no holy man. But many culture make charm for ghosts. So Ntaj make charm.” This both confused and amused Claire, who simply watched Ntaj.

First, Ntaj had managed to procure himself a small pot to hold some river water in, and made a small campfire. Using some tinder, flint, and steel he borrowed from the caravanners, Ntaj made a small fire.”Fire. Stop darkness, make light. Fire create or destroy. Fire make good holy symbol or ward.” Claire nodded, neither agreeing or disagreeing with Ntaj. Then Ntaj reached into his bag of food. Inside he took out a smaller bag, and from this bag he had a handful of… Beetles.They looked dead, dried, and slightly golden. ”Scarabs! Symbol of Sun and Sun Gods. And taste good.” Ntaj popped one of the beetles into his mouth; a little snack as he worked on this convoluted project. Claire looked slightly disgusted and spoke up. “Holy water isn’t made with any bugs.” Ntaj ignored Claire and proceeded with his experiment.

Next Ntaj reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle. Opening it’s cork, and the strong smell of alcohol wafted out. It was very strong; this stuff wasn’t meant for drinking, but cleaning wounds. ”Alcohol. Offering to gods, and cleans.” Ntaj only poured a few ounces before putting the bottle away. Claire could see alcohol being used for religious ceremonies. Some churches practice communion of bread and wine. Next ntaj reached into his bag, which Claire now assumes must be his lunch bag, and pulled out a box full of spices. ”Now Salt. Salt protects against evil, clean the body and soul. Also Sugar, because looks same. Might need lots.” At this Claire started laughing. This wasn’t making holy water so much as it was making a very strange cocktail. River water, golden scarabs, alcohol, spices, all boiled over a small fire. Claire could see elements of each employed somehow in different cultures, but as a cleric he could tell that what Ntaj had made wasn’t holy water. At this point it wasn’t even water.

“Ntaj, that’s not how holy water is made.” The half-orc was stirring his concoction when his friend explained to him how Holy Water was made. For starters, one of the ingredients that Claire uses is just silver powder. Silver’s innate magical properties is crucial to the holy power of Holy Water. It also helped channel and keep positive energy, which is what makes Holy Water effective against undead and the like. It was also positive energy that was needed: something that only those gifted in divine magic could cast. Or those who know their way around mystical arcane lore. Either way, two things that Ntaj wasn’t well versed in. Most are barely aware of the difference. ”Hnnng. Now how Ntaj get holy water?”

Claire shrugged and looked into one of his pouches. “I think I have enough silver powder here to make you a vial. However I was hoping to save this for some other emergencies” Ntaj looked at Claire, then back at his own poorly made holy water, then back at Claire. ”I pay.” Ntaj took out some gold, to which Claire happily accepted. “Give me some time and I’ll have a jar of holy water ready for you.”

Ntaj spent the rest of that day helping out the caravan, seeing that his holy water project wasn’t going to go anywhere. He offered his brawn to help cut down some trees as well as showed off his more hands-on ability to carve wood. Using only a knife he was able to cut sectional planks of wood from a log and used it to help cover up the holes in the bridge. And with a lack of nails to go around, Ntaj also helped create a crude support beam strong enough to support the weight of a wagon over the bridge. As he was helping one of the guards fit the last log into the support beam, someone started shouting. It was in a language that Ntaj didn’t know, but the guardsman looked and julped away. ”Huh? What-”’

Just then everything went black. The last thing Ntaj saw was the river right beneath him. He fell into the drink, and immediately his vision was dark and his body went cold. He couldn’t feel his body but despite that he fought, he swam, and he did everything he taught he could do. But regardless of whatever he tried, he didn’t wake up until nightfall. He ended up on a river bank, with the bridge nowhere in sight. He checked his person for anything he was able to keep, but all he had was the clothes on his body. Everything in his pouches must had fallen out, and even his sheath was empty of it’s knife. ”Not good.”

Ntaj could at least tell that wherever the others went, they would be up river. He hasn’t been to these parts of the woods before, but he generally knew his way around a forest. As long as he stayed near the river and traveled up stream, he should be fine. At the very least he’ll be back at the bridge and try to make his way back to the caravan. So without further thought Ntaj started walking up the river, unaware of those who were watching him. Watching the trespasser.

Moving quickly as night was falling fast, Ntaj traversed through the woods with a fair amount of ease. There weren’t many obstacles aside from brush and maybe a few stones, and while that might have foiled a city folk, Ntaj had no qualms hopping through briars or over sharp rocks. He figured he was making good time when he heard someone singing. Immediately Ntaj was on guard: singing in the middle of the forests were always a bad sign. Sirens or fey folk. ”Not. Good.”

Ntaj started running now. He wasn’t sure if the singer had found him or not, but if they did then he needed to leave. If they haven’t then that just meant he had more time to escape. But sure enough, whoever was singing did so to try to lure him. And they didn’t want him to leave. At the corners of his eyes he could see shadows darting between the trees; shapeless forms trying to get ahead of him. They were impeded by the woods, while Ntaj was fortunate enough to have a clear riverbank to run across. But his luck ran out when he came face-to-face with a cliff. ”Shit!” Wasting no time Ntaj tried to climb up it. There were some natural hand-holds to help him keep a solid grip, but he was too slow. He felt something solid and sticky hit his back and slam him into the ground.

During the few seconds he was air born Ntaj saw the monstrosity that had grappled him. An ugly creature he could only describe as a “large toad”, by all accounts it wasn’t that intimidating by appearance alone. But for the lone warrior, without a weapon or a clue of where he was at, the thing may as well have been an eldritch abomination. Ntaj struggled to get out of the grip of the monster’s tongue, but instead of slipping out it simply tighten, crushing his ribs and making Ntaj short of breath. ”Waaaargh! Fea ona amin val!” Ntaj called forth the strength of the beasts within him, ignoring the crushing pain in his abdomen and pulling himself to freedom. But as he struggled, the beast pulled Ntaj closer. He was in no hurry. He did not think Ntaj would escape. And he didn’t.

Before Ntaj could even get his waist out, the monster placed a heavy foot on his chest, pressing his weight against the half-orcs body. He thought he would die not, his body crushed underneath the weight of the beast and then devoured. But then the creature looked at him. From the monster’s mouth first came beautiful music; and then it became horrid droning noise that drowned out all other sounds. It forced Ntaj to look at it directly, it’s pulsating eyes hypnotizing Ntaj. He tried to look away, but the monster’s tongue wrapped around his body until it reached his neck, forcing him to look wherever the beast wanted him to. It lifted Ntaj off the ground by his neck, continuing to mjezermize him until Ntaj’s body and mind became too weak to struggle. Then it spoke.

”Feed me.”

Ntaj opened his eyes and saw Claire standing above him. Immediately Ntaj shot up and jumped away, suddenly on the defensive. But he looked around, realizing that it was still day time. Ntaj was very confused, so Claira spoke slowly. “It’s alright Ntaj. When you were helping the others with the bridge, a large current of water swept you into the river. You got dashed against a couple of stones, but fortunately you got caught in some roots. Despite what you went through, your injuries are fairly minor. You’re pretty tough, you know that?” Ntaj wasn’t sure to believe him. He swore he was just about to get eaten or… Something… By that frog monster. Was it all just some sort of nightmare? Surely not; Ntaj wasn’t asleep. But then again he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Claire, sensing that maybe Ntaj wasn’t doing so well, handed him some sort of liquid. “It’s medicine. While you’re wounds are patched up, I think your head might still be… Wobbly. This should help you think straight.”

Ntaj looked at the medicine cautiously. He wasn’t normally a paranoid one, but after that nightmare Ntaj wasn’t entirely wanting to drink mysterious liquids. For all he knew this was just another part of his nightmare. But soon Honey arrived, curious as to what happened to Ntaj. He went up to the half-orc and put his claws on his leg, the little warmth reminding the half-orc that the animal spirits were watching over him. True perhaps that they aren’t always working within his best interests, but he couldn’t deny that they were powerful, and so he should learn to work with them. He had no idea what the monstrous toad was, but if he had to guess it may have been a warning from the spirits. What the nature of that warning is, Ntaj isn’t certain. He’ll have to think on it.

For now he had wounds to restore. Taking the medicine Ntaj drank it, struggling not to immediately spit out the bitter drink. He swallowed it without giving too much of a chance to taste, bringing a smile to Claire’s face. “Impressive. Most people don’t just chug the medicine. You’re suppose to just take a spoonful and chase it with water.” Handing the vial back to Claire, the helped Ntaj to his feet. He pointed over to a wet pile of his belongings on the ground. While some of the stuff were ruined such as the tindertwigs, most of Ntaj’s other stuff were perfectly fine, if a bit wet. More importantly the pipeweed was intact and still dry, thanks to it’s sealed container.

“Oh, one more thing.” Claire spoke as Ntaj was getting his belongings together. “The bridge is nearly done, faster than we anticipated too. The caravan master thinks that we’ll make it to the border either by tomorrow morning, or possibly even tonight. I understand that’s where you’re heading, so I would suggest getting some rest while you can. One last thing: Your holy water is finished. Just come to my tent and I’ll fill you up.” Claire left Ntaj alone with his thoughts, trying to figure out what to do with himself.

Ntaj knew the importance of dreams and how they predict one’s future. Even nightmares can send warnings of danger within the near future. Discerning these things took much knowledge however, knowledge that Ntaj simply doesn’t have. At best he could provide guesswork and maybe do some self-reflection. But he was no dream weaver, nor a shaman. Whatever these strange dreams these past few days were about, he may never know. All he could really do is keep them in mind, and hopefully their purpose would be made apparent. So taking out one of his rolls of pipeweed, Ntaj smoked a blunt to ease his mind before he went to see Claire.

Claire was just packing up his things as the caravan was getting ready to leave when Ntaj arrived. Knowing what he wanted Claire had a fairly large glass jar of holy water for Ntaj. “Here you go. We just cleaned this jar during lunch, and it’s getting a bit old. Hopefully it’ll still hold water for you.” Ntaj looked at the bottle and felt a little uncertain. First starters, it was far too large from him to put it into his bandolier. He’d need to make a strap or something to attach it to his belt. And the glass certainly looked dirty and damaged enough that if Ntaj fell through the river again, this bottle would likely break. The half-orc was glad that Claire had been willing to make the holy water of course, but it wouldn't help him much if it won’t last long. BUt that’s when Ntaj had an ingenious idea.

”Claire, need magic weapon for ghost, oui?” Claire nodded his head. “Yes. Mundane weapons are ineffective against ghost and other incorporeal creatures. Magic weapons have a chance of harming them. Holy water can make contact with ghosts and hurt them however.” Ntaj nodded his head furiously. ”Oui, oui. Ntaj throw jar at ghost, ghost no hurt by jar, just water, oui?” Claire nodded his head, uncertain what Ntaj was going with this. “Yes… Ghost are able to ignore physical barriers. Weather you’re wearing nothing but pants or in full plate, a ghost could phase through either.” Ntaj nodded his head in agreement as he went back to his belongings and rifled through his bags. He looked around his various cooking wear and eventually found a metal jar currently containing honey. He emptied this out by eating it, sharing it with his badger who quickly licked the container clean. Then Ntaj poured the jar of holy water into it’s new, sturdier container. Claire came over and saw this, still not certain what Ntaj was doing. “Oh, you already have your own jar. Well, that’s good I suppose. But that lid looks rather hard to open. How do you intend to splash the ghosts with holy water when it’s sealed up like that?” Ntaj turned to Claire and smiled. ”No splash. Just hit.”

Taking some rope, Ntaj used the rope to help further seal the metal jar, leaving about three feet of rope hanging off to create an improvised flail. Claire seemed confused. “Wait… What are you doing Ntaj?” The half-orc looked to the human as he playfully spun the flail around in a circle. ”You say ghost no hurt by jar. Just holy water. So no throw water, just hit with holy water jar. Ghost go through jar, get hit by holy water inside. Save water, and Ntaj better at hitting with flail.” Claire scratched his head, uncertain how well that would work. He’s certainly never seen anyone do something like this. Claire figured that Ntaj wasn’t wrong and this would be a good way to fight ghosts. Won’t be as useful for other evil or undead corporeal creatures however, since then all Ntaj would be doing is hitting them with a metal jar on a rope. But Claire wasn’t going to kill Ntaj’s mood. “Good job, I guess.”

Soon after it was time to move. The sun was setting down to the horizon and the caravan master said that they will make camp within three hours. Ntaj hopped back into his cart with his new found holy weapon, Honey, and something to think about during the trip. He also took out the book that Claire had lend him, still wanting to read a few excerpts from it. He would have to give it back soon, so Ntaj wanted to try to learn as much as he could. If only it wasn’t in common.

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Location: Road North of Salarn, Day Two

Interacting With: The Re-Revised Group

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The itinerant brawler known as Keystone brushed back as much silt and mud from their prospective resting areas as he could manually. It was mostly a token gesture, and mostly pointless in hindsight. But it was doing something for the purposes of making their crispy temporary habitat slightly more homely. He grabbed a few edibles from his pack, suited to the lack of firemaking conditions. Luckily, Keystone was an adept Foodsmith and stocked accordingly.

He opened various moderately sized packages, revealing what he intended for his supper that evening. Keystone presented yet more in the way of hardtack, but supplemented it with chubs of hard sausage with a mottled white casing and slices of desiccated pears. It was, by absolutely no means, the giant, hot meal for which he had hoped. But it was more than he had gotten lately. A low fire still burned in the hearth, off to one side. If was enough to provide a little light and heat, but Keystone didn't want to risk cooking on it. Being warm and having a meal seemed the priority over only having a warm meal.

Keystone stood, looking around at those of his group taking shelter in that dirty, charred building. What an interesting group of outcasts and ne'er-do-wells he'd fallen in with. Glancing outside, he wondered what the rest of these outcasts were doing standing about in the hard, pouring rain. He walked just outside the building to recover his pots, washed almost clean by the torrential rain. The slightest bit of motion fixed the rest of it. He reset them, hoping to collect rainwater enough to fully refill his stores of potable.

Once done, the broad man looked to the rest of his party that had not yet chosen to enter the relative comfort of the building. "Oi! Whenever you lot're done kissin', I got some eats set up inside! ...ain't got the sense to come in out o' the bloody rain..."

Just for the hell of it, Keystone set two medium sized sugar yams neatly into a cooler section of the hearth. Just a little something for himself. He figured he deserved it.

Location:The Burnt Building
Interacting with: Gretchin @IcePezz

The fire had died down, thank the forest. Calanon flung one last bit of mud from his shield onto a dying ember, and then let his shoulders slump a bit. Brogach had halted kicking the mud moments before, and shook his horned head again, rain droplets flying everywhere. "We need to get you dry." Calanon said, wiping a bit of mud off his forehead. Or so he thought. When his arm ran across his face, it only served to cake more mud along his skin. His face was brown and muddy expect for his blue eyes once they opened up. He shook his head much like his truest friend did a moment ago, and then lifted his face to the sky and let the rain wash the mud away. The Elf breathed in the rain and moist air, letting it seep along his pores and senses, enjoying nature for what it truly was. Brogach simply watched him, loyal to a fault.

"Come on, friend." Calanon said once he was dry, a smile on his face from the sheer joy of both the natural world and his companion, and he led Brogach into the burnt building. The Elk lowered his head as he entered, carefully letting his horns pass under the arch. The two decided to keep to themselves mostly, heading over to a spot that seemed a tad drier than most. It couldn't fit them both however, so Calanon bade Brogach to take the dry spot while the Elf sat down upon wood that was moist in a few areas, taking it in stride. The Elk lowered itself until its legs were curled up, its head laying upon Calanon's lap as the Elf patted his head. From here, he could reach into his pack that was upon Brogach's side. He slid his hand under and produced some salted beef, chewing gingerly. The food was almost knocked out of his hand however, when Brogach lifted his large head. Calanon blinked, and looked up to see Gretchin standing before him with an extended arm. "Thank you for the help."

The Elf smiled, his entire body, from his thick hair to his tunic, was still wet from the rain. He hoped his hand was dry enough though, and he shook her hand, giving a friendly smile. "It was a group effort, but thank you." he replied to her. "If you'd like to sit, I can set my tunic down and share some of my food." His offer was sincere. He hadn't opened any of his Guaren Juice in too long.

Cyneburg

Location: The house by the road North of Salarn
Interacting with: Eh

Well it seemed that Kyra and the other new woman were too busy conversing, and it was still raining wolves and bobcats so Cyneburg shrugged and made her way inside the house. Once inside she removed her backpack and set it down on the floor to see the damage. It was composed of deerhide and was treated to be water resistant. Normally you would need to nearly submerge the thing to get the innards wet, but given the amount of rain that had poured down, she wasn't entirely sure that wasn't the case. Flipping open the hatch revealed that the outsides of most of the containers therein were slippery and covered with a thin sheen of water, but otherwise fine. Cyneburg fetched out her kettle. Maybe she could get some use out of all this rain.

"Excuse me," she spoke loud enough for everyone in the small building to hear, "Would anyone happen to have any tea leave on them? I've got a kettle and I was thinking having a hot drink would help everyone relax after today's travels. Would make for a good compliment to food." Regardless of any answer she may or may not get, she would also fetch out a wooden pipe and a small container of tobacco. A smoke was something she hadn't had in a while. She'd go about her business multitasking, setting the kettle (if needed) outside to collect water with the pipe in her mouth, grabbing a bit of food that Keystone was kind enough to provide (that she would thank him for) and a light for the tobacco from the fireplace at one time, finding a spot to sit back and relax. Maybe talk to somebody if the situation presented itself. Most of the day might have been miserable, but the night could be refreshing.

Satilla Valen

As the burning building was brought under control and the fires deal away with, Satilla found herself wet to her bones, covered in incredibly amount of mud and with a cloak smoking from using it to extinguish fires. She noticed that for a while now she seemed to go unnoticed by people, but just put that to exhaustion and the like.

While the others were entering the building to get the shelter from the rain, she stood outside for a while longer. Mostly to try to get some of the mud of herself. Because of crazy lady, Satilla was basically covered almost entirely by mud. It took some work, but by the time Keystone shouted that he prepared food, she had at least gotten most of the mud out her platina colored hair.” Thank you, mister Keystone.” She said as she entered the building and went to one of the corners, pulling her well closed leather pack.

Since she was already way too far for modesty, she quickly took turned her back towards the rest and took off the wet shirt, replacing it with the warmer top from her spare set of winter clothes, same repeated for her skirt, before she returned closer to the others, pulling her bedroll and setting it at a location that wouldn’t hinder anyone. She felt so very cold so without further wait, she snuck into her bedroll, using her cat Skittles as a warm huggable furball to keep her warm. She didn't really feel any hunger right now and wanted to rest as much as possible so she can prepare all her spells again. THere still were wounds needing treatment.

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Sana glanced over towards Cyneburg as she came over ad introduced herself, shaking her head slightly as she was asked who she was. "No, I don't mind. Name's Sana. Childhood friend of the elf wanna be over there," she said as she gestured towards Kyra. Kyra hearing Sana's usual insult and smirking towards her as Ash hopped out of the wagon and padded over to his alpha, laying down at her feet and yawning. "Only know that one from a fight that broke out in a tavern, Hellhound," she added, speaking about Keystone.

Shrugging a bit as Cyneburg excused herself. Wandering over towards Kyra, pulling out her bedroll and laying it down as Kyra did the same. The two sat down chatting quietly among themselves as they shared a little bit of food. Seemed they were catching up but they were keeping their voices down. Glancing around from time to time in the conversation to see what the others were up to. Kyra was hoping people would get some rest but she understood the need to unwind a bit after everything that had happened that day.

Sana on the other hand had been riding hard for three days and because of the spell was dealing with a little bit of tunnel vision. Kyra tried to get Sana to sing some, entertain the group a bit but she was denied. Told she would tomorrow, but right now wanted to rest both her body and her vocal chords. A bard with no voice because of the rain was a useless bard.

After a bit Sana was a sleep and Kyra followed suit. It had been a long day, hopefully tomorrow would be better. Come morning, things were already looking up as the only sound of rain at that point was the dripping of water periodically from the leaves of the trees. Kyra sat up slowly, the hour was early and she stifled a small yawn as she stretched her arms above her head before standing up. Sana still sleeping there next to her, like they used to as kids.

Kyra walked over to the window that had been broken out the night before and glanced around. It was peaceful but not too quiet. One could easily hear a few animals scurrying about. Looking up the sky was still cloudy but it wasn't as dark, hopefully the rain was starting the pass. There was a slight more obvious chill in the air but with the rain seemingly to let up, the cold wouldn't be much of an issue. At least not for her, she hoped it wouldn't be for the others.

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Lerraina used to be the type of person to wear her emotions on her sleeve, publicly broadcasted for everyone to see. Getting burned more times than not, had coated her sleeves with a hard, opaque shell. Of course whatever training she had received helped to coat the ash and soot, and smooth over the calloused surface. It was hard to pretend to be someone else when your emotions suggested otherwise. Had the shell not been present, her cheeks might have flushed a bright red. Not necessarily by the question that was asked, but by the pure genuineness behind it.

She was wasn't the greatest at reading others, but she sensed no hidden agendas with this one. It was refreshing to say the least, perhaps though made her even more weary. She hadn't been in this type of situation in a while. And despite being a woman of her age, it still took her by surprise. She wanted to let herself trust, to let the shell wither away, even if he wasn't the right person to let her guard down for. More than anything, she was just tired. Tired of the act, tired of the facade. Tired of the thrill it gave her that she just couldn't seem to give up. Middle aged and a mess, yeah that about summed her up, enough to brighten the monotonous down beat the rain and fire had seemed to fill the room with. One thing she did learn through all of this, there were too many personalities brewing between each cover, to take any one of them too seriously was suicide.

She must have stood there for at least a minute, caught up in her own contemplation. As more of their companions finally piled into the rickety building, she refocused on Calanon. A small smile flickered upon her face and she dipped her head in appreciation. ”I appreciate the offer, but I believe if I don't get some rest soon, I may not make it through tomorrow. Perhaps another time, though.” Open ended and vague, aside from the exhaustion that seeped from every pore. No promises, but opportunity, for nothing more than a chance … A glimmer of hope for friendship, even if it wouldn't last. Sure, he probably didn't mean anything by it, and was just trying to be nice. But even that was a pleasant change from the piss off sort of exchanges she would so often have.

She had exhausted her energy just to save the damn shelter for one measly night of what would most likely amount to a restless sleep, spanning 3 hours at most. Without breakfast, without lunch, no snacks and supper would be something small to keep her stomach from caving and rotting the rest of her organs with its decay. Her time with the ranger was brief, after which she found herself a snug space in which to sleep. She dismounted her bow, and lay out a blanket or two, before sliding up into the corner. Always with her back up against a wall, her hand firmly docked on the cold metal blade at her side. She watched her surroundings for a time, before finally drifting off.

Come morning she would have more energy to work on the illusion of 'who was Gretchin'. Come morning, she would be the first to rise and scope out the perimeter, if she could. Breakfast however, would be among her top priority.