No one attacked Ntaj yet. So Ntaj assumed they were friendly. Sure he did spy one man in the back with his bow drawn, and instinctively Ntaj shifted his stance to put his shield arm forward. Only issue was that he didn't have his shield on his arm but his back, so the best he did was make him a slightly more narrow target. Still, one bad apple of the bunch shouldn't spoil the rest. And it's not as if he was wrong to worry if Ntaj was a threat; he'd likely do the same if their positions were reversed.

One of the humans came to greet him, a woman named Gretchin. He has had slaves with names like that, but Ntaj felt it would be best to stay silent on such matters. After all he was sure no one here wanted to talk about slavery considering their location. He simply howed his head to her and greeted her in kind. "Please to meet you." She extended a hand out to Ntaj, which made him panic a bit. I his culture to extend one's hand out to someone not only was a gesture between equals, but for two people of different classes, a challenge. A prince such as himself should never go hand-in-hand with someone who was a complete stranger, or possibly even below his station. But this wasn't Dark Star and handshakes were a common enough greeting in human lands that Ntaj has seen them done in his travels. That and Ntaj himself just didn't like being so touchy-feely with others if it's not in a fight. Felt awkward.

But also never one to be rude to his hosts or guests, Ntaj accepted the gesture as friendly and not challenging. He reached out and grasped Gretchin's hand with his own, and gave it a light shake. His grip was solid but not firm, more like cupping her hand rather than actually grabbing it. More of a habit than anything related to his home country; he was never good at judging his strength with others so he just made his hand go ridged and shook it like that, so he doesn't hurt anyone.

While he was busy greeting Gretchin, another human woman in white nodded her head at him. He did the same as he was busy greeting Gretchin. Then one of the women from before quickly left the building and the wagon they were with was also leaving. It seemed like Ntaj just found them as they were leaving. Good: he didn't feel like resting anyways. Hopefully they wouldn't mind if he stayed with them. He wanted to travel in the company of others, both for entertainment and protection. Not that he couldn't take care of himself, but his chances were far better if he fought alongside others. So Ntaj left alongside everyone else, though he stayed with Gretchin since she was the first to formally introduce herself. "Where go? Ah... Where... Do you go?" At this point, Ntaj also took out his Animal Totem/Walking Stick/Club and used ti to help him maintain his footing on the road. It was still wet, so Ntaj made sure to have something help him get his foot out of the muck or at least poke for a dry spot.

Cyneburg

Location: The house by the road North of Salarn
Interacting with: Satilla, Ntaj

Cyne gave a long, slow sigh of relief as the irritation and pain of her torso cooled and faded away. Black and purple skin melted away to a slightly paler shade of brown than her face, arms and legs, but matched the rest of her torso. Cyne lowered her clothes, covering up skin that on second thought was probably too risque to show to a bunch on strangers. She did her best to smooth out the tunic before answering Satilla properly.

"I feel much better, thank you. I just hope that this won't end up weakening your ability to heal others later. Truth be told, I probably would have been able to whip up a salve to help with it, although I don't think it would be as scar free as your method." Her tunic wasn't cooperating much, probably because of how it bunched up, drying unevenly as she slept. Next time she had the chance, she needed to thoroughly wash all her clothes. Cyne made a mental note and attached it to the ends of the previous mental notes of "GET NEW MANTLE" and "ACQUIRE MORE VEILS."

The druid followed behind Satilla and Gretchin, stopping to greet the newcomer. Unlike either of the other women, she opted to speak in the tongue that he would probably be far more versed in, given his apparent difficulties with the common language.

"Sharulu rûmtalaan. Shara ghularg." Roughly translates to 'They're heading to the North, to a human settlement.' She smiled before formally introducing herself. "Cyneburg-izish. Tabub." 'I'm Cyneburg. Greetings.' He didn't seem very comfortable shaking hands, so she mimicked his bow before heading on her way. The stiffness of her bow and her accent was a pretty clear giveaway that she wasn't where he was from, but it was probably(?) more polite to use his customs. He might appreciate it.

---

---

Lerraina wasn’t as cultured as she would’ve liked to be, however it wasn’t quite her point to be so, at least not in this situation. Honesty rarely shows through a person, unless they are forced to be outside of their comfort zone, even then it may be hard to see, especially if they’re just that good at lying. She hadn’t meant the greeting to be a pleasant formality, or even an introduction of sorts. And through that greeting alone, she was able to gauge what sort of man this was, what sort of threat he posed, if he had known her or of her, and more importantly, if he had been sent to kill her. And he passed. He would live … for now. He had given her enough information to make that assessment at least. She was just as weary of orc folk as the rest of them had been, even the druid still rubbed her the wrong way. But there was no reason to get uppidy. As he took her hand, she dipped her head with a small smile.

The druid behind her spoke up, their conversation seemed to be in their native tongue. Orcish was a harsh language, one that she hadn’t studied in quite some time, so most of what they were saying was lost in translation. A small grin tugged at her lips, whether it was the satisfaction of her findings, or the realization that her character of Gretchin was made up of several things she didn’t like about the druid, ultimately leaving the two to clash on a daily basis. Regardless, she would leave the woman alone this day, for now anyway. A nod in Calanon’s direction signaled him to stand down, and a light jog caught her up with the others. It was her job to blend in, to make friends, to become trusted and part of their inner circle, if for no other reason than to just have friends, and be part of an inner circle, if either were even worth having.

The caravan had begun moving without them, though they weren’t too far ahead. She retook her spot towards the back of the wagon and slid her bow down her shoulder till it sat comfortably in her hand. Ever at the ready, she would be. The grin melted away, but there was a serene look about her. She had taken a small amount of time to wash away the disheveled girl from the night before. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, her face and hands were clean of any dirt and mud. Still plain as ever, save the pale blue eyes that glinted as the sun rose, but there was something that just seemed right about this picture. As much as she hated the outdoors, it was as much home to her as most other places had been of late. And this morning thus far was enough to keep her content as she braved through the brisk air that carried through their path.

Location:The burnt house, the road
Interacting with: Ntaj, himself, the forest

Calanon lowered his bow when Gretchin told him to, though in truth as soon as Ntaj had shown he was not hostile, Calanon had not been planning to shoot anyone. He had not been very exposed to Half Orcs like the rest of the group, and gave the newcomer a bow and an apology for aiming at him. Brogach got to his hooves slowly, and then clacked out of the burnt house and onto the road. Calanon gripped his reigns and flung himself up upon his friend's back as they went.

The caravan was now in a rough formation like before, but luckily it was a much brighter day this day and it seemed to have lifted their spirits. Or gave them one less thing to complain about. It had always puzzled him. Rainy days had their charm just as sunny days did. Kyra had disappeared ahead, and the Elf wondered if she needed help with scouting at all. He'd maybe mention it to her once she returned, but for now he was content with traveling along with the rest.

On a sudden urge, he let go of Brogach's reigns, and with an acrobatic balance, stood atop the Elk's back as casually (for him at least) as if he was standing upon solid ground. It let him smell the scents of the forest and feel the heat of the sun even more from
the height. Brogach was now striding alongside the wagon, and Calanon's eyes were closed as he stood calmly, letting the flow of nature overtake his senses and calm him even further.

Ntaj turned his head to the sound of orcish. To his surprise, there was another orcish woman in this party. She seemed half-orcish, as her features weren’t quite as notable as a full-blooded orc. With some makeup and a clever disguise she could possibly pass as human. She emulated his greeting, albeit in a stifled matter as if she was trying to emulate him. Ntaj was a bit disappointed that she wasn’t truly from the Sword Coast, but he was glad she was trying anyways. He returned the greeting and spoke eagerly to her, now that there was someone who could understand him. ”Nyob zoo, kuv lub npe yog Ntaj. Kuv thiaj zoo siab mus ntsib ib Tug Muam nyob ntawm no!”

Walking alongside Cyneburg, he started bombarding her with questions about what they have been doing. They seemed like an exciting group, so he hoped that he found a good adventuring party. ”Yuav ua li cas tau ntev koj mus? Los ntawm qhov twg puas tau koj mus los? Cov neeg no yog muaj zog. Yog koj mus ncig, zov? Koj tiv thaiv tej dab? Kuv muaj cov kwv tij los ntawm Tsaus Star, tab sis kuv tau pom tsis muaj cov yeeb ncuab. Yuav ua li cas ntawm cov orcs no? Lawv tiv thaiv koj?” As he spoke, Honey arrived from the bushes and crawled onto Ntaj, his mud-covered claws leaving stains on his skin and cloak. Ntaj adjusted his stride to accommodate his small and furious companion. The badger looked at Cyneburg with a mix of curiosity and hostility, as if she was a unknown but dangerous thing. Which she could be for all Honey and Ntaj knew, but Ntaj hoped for the best. ”Qhov no yog Honey. Nws tus phooj ywg. Hais nyob zoo!” The badger simply looked away and crawled into Ntaj’s bag. Hopefully he wouldn’t eat the rest of Ntaj’s rations.

Gods of Luck, Chance, and Probability.
May thy cosmic ears hear my single plea!
And the favour of the Gods be with me!
Let my fortune to thy glories be blest,
A prayer to reap in my sweet success,
A prayer to ward off my dire duress,
Favour me always, oh gods of the game,
Grant me good fortune: Remember my fame,
But when cometh the folly: forget my name,
Bless'd be the roll which favours my die,
Curse'd be the roll upon which I die.


Impossible. Well perhaps not quite impossible, however but highly unlikely. Improbably really. Of all things that could be, may be, perhaps even would be, that a farmboy-turned-mage survived? The metal man fell first of course as the party's designated tank. Yes, every team assembled had critical roles to fulfill, as any old adventurer could tell you in a myriad of ways. And yes, it was better to take advice from an old adventurer than a dead one, usually because the dead ones were the ones that did not survive. Unless of course the olds ones still living were the cause of their deaths, be it through betrayal, cowardice, or worse, refusing to do what their designated task was. However, usually it was blind, stupid luck that was the most common reason for death for adventuring types, usually.

As such what terribly bad luck was it that the armored holy-squire just happened to be the first man down? Stabbed by an arrow between the joints of his greaves, just above his shin guards but below his thigh, where the plating met to bend. And more, the arrow didn't just embed itself in the flesh, but also managed to puncture the popliteal artery. What bad luck was it then for the paladin-in-training to have attempted to lay-on-hands himself trying to cure light wounds? Well it would have worked, if he had hands. Yes those savages cut off his hands. Hewing his praying palms clean off with a battle axe before ending the man's misery. And while this is certainly no time to make jokes, the Bard has to make a quip about fallen Paladins.

And that was why the bard was next. It was either for that really bad joke, or perhaps for attempting to break the fourth wall, or worse playing really bad music. It appears the orcs did not appreciate the musicality of a Halfling bard. It was not everyday that one decides to use the power of music to manipulate one's enemies, but for the former minstrel, promises of large women, and larger stacks of coin were better than drunk tavern patrons. But these Orcs did not seem to apperciate his talent or jokes given that they had lopped his head off after deciding the noisy shortpint was next. Perhaps they prefer a half-elf, although certainly an full elf bard would be better. There's just not too much meat on a Halfling after all, being so puny and diminutive. Not that must orcs would even say diminutive, but for the sake of the story, go along with it and pretend these orcs are somewhat civilized. Civilized enough to say that the comic relief's punchline was just cut short.

Which left the duo of adventurers from the original four in frantic panick of what to do next? Several orcs remained, and unlike the heavily-armored knight-to-be or the chat-witty man-child, D'ritz did not care to meet the business end of a swung axe. The elven rogue planned to push the young spellcaster in their group into the angry tribe of orcs while he snuck away with the loot, hence through the death of three, the fourth would live. Never trust such a dark elf, especially those who dealt with thieving, lockpicking, and other underground activity. With a surprise, the sneaky cutthroat pushed their unarmored and unarmed mage into the fray of laughing orcs before turning around to dash out of the way. Into the night where the shadowy forest should hide his skin.

"Call!"
A cry of pain.
A body dropped.
How unlucky.

Cold and distant, yet unbearably hot and bright. The stars which tell the stories of eons past. Gaze up at the sky, can you not see them? Pinpricks of light against the brilliance of the ever burning sun, and glimmering candles to the lustrous moon. Yet they were still there, watching, waiting, far off in this realm held aloft on their own ethereal plane. Some scholars believe the cosmos was not truly there, and the lights we see were merely the escaped magnificence of the realm beyond the void. For the world some claim, was merely suspended in the aether, floating in a sea of infinite darkness, the gaps which was that which was not. And the celestial lights merely holes in the fabric of that blackness, punctured through into the world as they shine down upon us. Only the truly powerful know the truth. And the secrets of the astral sea would remain just that: secret.

Bear the pain, the sensation of your body freezing, your lungs gasping for air. And yet your boiling blood screams as you swell up until your body explodes. The light so blinding, and yet you are the light. How much longer would it be? How much more could your body take? For the human body could only withstand so much, the imperfect vessel for raw power. Skin already splitting, blood escaping, and with it the arcana. Fracturing the cracks of the porcelain doll, shattered as the spider-web cracks laced themselves from his arms and legs towards the core. Just a bit longer, push through the burning, the pain of existing here in this plane recalled by the stars which guide us. No, no more, any longer and the stars would reclaim their lost brother. End it now, return to the Earth.

The spell ended, and with it, the orcs were gone. Long gone in the distance, and D'ritz was a ghost in the wind. Or perhaps that back-stabbing backstabber was already hewn in half by the orcish raiders. Suppose it was only fitting that the universe reward such heinous actions of pushing the young Thomas into certain death, or worse capture. Even after managing to disappear without a trace, perhaps to the envy of the flabbergasted rogue who might as well be holding a neon sign of crosshairs, there was still a chance those orcs waited around for him to return. Although as fortune would have it, those dim-wits either lacked the patience to wait around for some wizard to come back, or were smart enough to assume that Thomas teleported himself to safety, far, far away and was probably enjoying a dry martini by now. Even if the slim boy looked rather young.

In as such regardless, there was probably something more concerning by now as Thomas screamed lying prone and aggregated. Who could blame him? For his body was wracked with pain, pain to the threshold of death, his experience in the safety of the Star was not without its price. Though his body was unmarred by the physical destruction he had still experienced every agonizing cut across his body. For if the mind perceives pain, then pain is felt, the illusionary becomes real. His skin paled as his form shifted, favouring the moon though he wore the robes of the sun. And his body hot to the touch, a fever set to further his misery. Why did they even accept to weed out those orcs in orc territory? That bard and his big small-Halfling mouth.

Not too far away from where the omniscience may know another adventuring party travelled with a caravan. And yet quite far away, well away for Thomas to be encountered by them as he shouted at the endless sky unable to move his extremities. He had to pick himself up, he had to, bandits and thieves and brigands would make swift work of him. Or more orcs, really it was a rather dense region of orcs. Some half-orcs too, they seemed to be plentiful around these parts. They would also probably like to either kill or kidnap him or whatever they decide was best to do with the young wizard.

Oh, and so would the dangerously-clad woman with hair a whiter than Thomas' skin. How she would react to a screaming boy suddenly appearing a dozen or so paces before her would be interesting. Especially as how after the spectacle of watching him cry out as if he was currently be burned alive or something despite nothing visibly there may make him look like a madman. That and how he suddenly stopped, passing out.

Is this the end for Thomas Richard Harrison?
Is there was such a thing as saving grace,
Or was his roll up and number done?
Should they suffice to save his face,
and the gods with hearts of ice,
they throw the colder dice.

---

---

Location: Storehouse, Road North of Salarn, Day Three

Interacting With: Sana, His Ow Thoughts

---

---

And with that, Cremwise's Merchant Extravaganza was back on its way north. Luckily, this was the direction that Keystone had wanted to go overall; it moved him a little closer to more familiar climates and methods of food preparation. The weather lightened up considerably, giving them less to worry about from above despite the continuing difficulty with mud from below. The group slogged along next to the creak and roll of the wagon, still laden with its mystery cargo. More than once, Keystone debated pulling back the canvas covering the wares within and finding out for himself what he and the others had shed blood to protect. Maybe tonight, if they were still on the road by then. Maybe never. To the massive brawler, it was even money either way.

While cautiously perusing his feelings on the subject, a question sounded from slightly above him. It was Sana, curious as to his egress from the realm where the two of them had first met. Thinking back on the loathsome circumstances of those few days; the egomaniacal people he'd met there, the flesh dissolving rain, terraforming blue sand (Blue Sodding Sand?!), and the myriad of dead things in an otherwise idyllic landscape. Story of his life - he seemed destined to continually fight the living dead, in its many, corpse-foul forms. The harder he attempted to circumvent this, the more certain it was to find him.

"Dunno how I got out, Miss Sana. P'raps the same way I got in. Still got them knives what I snatched up out that way. Meat, too. Some o' them 'ard sausages an' jerky we been eatin' - Hellhound. Acquired me a taste for the sulphury bugger; thinkin' on writin' recipes most infernal for it. Maybe somethin' with eggs."

He shrugged nonchalantly, continuing on his way.

Satilla Valen

Satilla was quietly following the wagon as the rest were doing their things. She noticed that Cyneburg decided to have a chat with the newly arrived half orc, but otherwise didn’t really want to pay them much attention. Still dressed in her cold weather clothes, she felt quite warm and it was going to take a little while for her normal casual clothing to dry up in her bag. She even had to make sure it wasn’t going to soak the herbs, but the good thing was that her bag was leather one so water and moist didn’t really soak too well.

As they walked, Satilla felt a movement on her shoulder, turned out that her cat Skittles had escaped the bag and using her cloak had pawed it’s way up to her shoulder where it was now nimbly and elegantly staying without falling. Most likely because his claws were strongly pierced into the heavy cloak. It then suddenly decided to relocate and jumped on her head, causing her to nearly lose balance.” Skittles! I told you to not do that!” She said in frustration, trying to take off the cat from her head.

The struggle was short and Satilla quickly managed to put the cat back in the bag. The little devil liked to stay on top of her head, but she didn’t really enjoy it. It put pressure on her neck and her neck muscles quickly would start to hurt soon after.

Fixing her hair in movement without stopping to walk, she hurried to catch up to the wagon again, trying to stay as close as possible to it. Just in case she needed the cover from let’s say… an arrow rain… or rocks…

---

---

"Sounds like you know about as much as I do about what the hell happened in that place," Sana said with a slight smirk on her lips. She was hoping that he would have known a little bit more than nothing but she couldn't exactly complain at the moment. She had no idea why she kept getting biped in and out of places, how it worked, or how to stop it. She wished she did and had hoped that maybe Keystone would have a little bit of insight but she couldn't badger the man for information he didn't have. Keystone didn't exactly strike her as the type of person that would lie to her about something like that since they both as been stuck there. He might be a bit, okay a lot, unrefined but he wasn't some common thief, right?

Sighing a bit she nodded. "Yeah, well at least that thing came in handy eventually for more than just a meal," she said referring to the cloak she had handed over to him the night before. "Kept your big ass from getting a lovely little kiss from all those flames," she said as they trudged along the muddy road. The rain had stopped but all that had fallen was not dry yet, the road was a mess and probably would continue to be for a few days and that was if the rain held off and the sun came out. If it didn't she had seen places like this turn into nothing but mud hole after mud hole for weeks or even months during certain times of the year.

"So what brings you out here? Kyra said something about helping the merchant across the area, didn't take you for a hired fist for something as mundane as this."

---

---

Luckily for Thomas, this wasn't the first crazed person that Kyra had come across in the last twenty-four hours. In fact it seemed to be the start of her days on this little adventure. At least this one didn't seem to be talking and replying to himself like the last mad person she had run into. Ash whined a bit as Krya stopped and stared at the man, shaking her head a bit. She wasn't even bothering drawing back on the string of her bow or raising it at this point.

"Might want to shut that trap of yours before you bring every orc within twenty miles down on you thinking you are ringing the dinner bell," she said with a rather bored look on her face. Things rarely rattled Kyra and right then she just wanted to get this job done so she could report back to the woodlands on what was and was not happening in these parts. As far as she could tell so far the biggest concern for her Elven family was that the crazies seemed to be more numerous than the Orcs right then; or at least a hell of a lot louder.

"So, let's get this over with. I am Kyra, this is Ash. I will gut you if you try anything without remorse. I'm just in that type of mood. So, who are you, why are you in this area right now, and where are you headed?" she asked rather matter-of-factly. She had a job to do and if this man was heading south towards where the caravan was coming from she would make sure to escort him passed the group before anything else happened. She wasn't about to let them get bombarded by yet another new comer out of no where right then. She felt them getting the wagon through this road was hassle enough at this point.

Granted, seeing the man pass out for whatever reason stopped the questions and she rolled her eyes a bit. "Great, just great," she said in a vexed voice as she stepped over to him slowly. If it was a trick she was going to pull a Sana and skull fuck his eye with an arrow. Pulling back slightly on the string of her bow she kicked at the bottom of his boot a bit.

"Hey, wake up dunerhead!" she quipped quickly as Ash padded around the two, circling the man a bit and ready to jump on him if he tried to hurt his alpha.

The Divination:
Uncooperatively,
Icosahedral.


There were a few things frowned upon by most civilized society. Mind you they had to be human civilized societies else some of the cultural taboos found in non-human cultures quite blatantly. Becoming a self-flagellate and finding a strange gravitas to feeling pain for example, would place one amongst the oddballs of society, alongside your counterparts the sadists. And of course there were those who were deviants of another nature, and preferred an animal magnetism so to speak. There's always that joke about the lack of women and plenty of sheep for a lonely shepherd, or even rumors about druids and rangers do in the woods. And of course there were those that even sickened the spurned. Those who, perhaps loved the dead, a bit too much no? As such it would seems Kyra was going to be the worst of these offenders and combine all three depravities into one. How dare she flog a dead horse?

"T-Thomas..." Her line of questioning merely returned some terror and one quip as a turn of the boy's head towards her showed her his bewildered eyes. raging with the brilliance of the cosmos before fading. Thomas glanced at her direction before going limp. Unconsciousness washed over him, enshrouding him in he warmth of his own fever. For the power to manipulate reality itself without study came at a price. Too much pain, the body could only handle so much before collapsing in on itself. Like a star imploding and vanishing in the void. That void where he had went now, but only in his mind. His mind exhausted from processing the sensations of agony, shutting down to recover what moments it can.

Perhaps she could see he was no threat? Or perhaps they were a threat to him. But a nineteen year old boy conscious or not should not really be any trouble. Not to experienced adventurers. His pack would probably be something nice to loot, if Kyra was the type of person to rob poor unfortunate souls like Thomas. A few things kept within the rucksack if either were curious enough to take a peek. A weird mecharcanical contraption known as a Chronastrodynamus, a spellbook with a few hastily written spellcraft notes with the name 'Thomas Richard Harrison' quilled inside, and a few more standard odds and ends a wizard may carry. What was he doing alone in this part of the world? Infested with madmen and orcs? The signet ring he wore around his right ring finger perhaps may have been a clue. If anyone was familiar with the seals of magi.

Cyneburg

Location: The Caravan
Interacting with: Ntaj

While it was a good thing that Ntaj was happy that he found somebody who could speak the same language as he (probably for the first time in months if Cyne's experiences travelling were anything to go by), he seemed kind of clingy and Cyne wasn't so sure she appreciated him calling her a "sister." Of course all things are connected in nature, and he meant sister as a term of one of the same heritage, beyond their race they probably didn't share too much in common. Cyne personally would only consider calling one of her blood-siblings or a fellow druid "brother" or "sister," but, she wouldn't bring it up or hold it against Ntaj. Probably.

But then there was the problem of trying to figure out everything he was asking. His dialect was a lot more verbose than what she was used to, and he was speaking really quickly.

"Um... rûm-izg ranu krugalrut kurnu, naan rûm-sha shara-hai aarshu krul. Ozghuz aarshlût brunaz. Gundulu mupshu, hlamturn-hai nagaz. Erm, maukuz staazu. Uruk-hai nûrz. Maukuzut aarshlût-aaraarsh." Um... I've been traveling for about 26 moons, but I've only been traveling with these humans for a couple days. However, most of these people have only met yesterday. Some of them are guards, and others are adventurers. Erm, I have fought monsters before. And the orcs here are hostile, they fought us yesterday morning.

Cyne would have normally asked if he had anymore questions but that would only encourage another flood. She had had to rack her brain for some words here or there, but overall managed to get out the answers to his questions quickly enough. However she was unwilling to bet that she would continue to be able to remember everything necessary. What she didn't need to think about beforehand was her reaction to Honey. She almost squealed at the sight of the mammal. Badgers were some of her favorite mammals as a child. They were adorable, but ferocious, which just made them cuter. But it retreated back into the back rather quickly. Oh well, maybe she would be able to talk to it later.

Location:The burnt The road
Interacting with: Gretchin

After many minutes, Calanon felt very relaxed and content with the day. The young Elf let out a small breath, and opened his keen eyes to view his group. Seems everything was about the same from he could see. The two Half Orcs were enjoying one another's company, or at least conversing. Brogach glanced up at Calanon still standing atop his back. "Let's move up, friend." he said softly, and the Elk padded a bit faster until Calanon put some pressure atop the Elk's back to signify slowing down. They had ended up by Gretchin.

"Well met." he said to her, stepping off Brogach and landing lightly upon the road. He tilted his head and asked a question he'd been meaning to for awhile now. "Where did you learn to shoot the bow?" It had always come naturally to Calanon, but it had still taken some hard work along with some trial and error to get to his skill level now. He wondered how humans did it.

---

---

Lerraina's gaze lied upon the road ahead, her eyes darting off, scanning their surroundings from time to time. But it was the sight of an elf standing atop his horse that distracted her sight seeing. She couldn't tell if what she was seeing was sheer stupidity or a grown man peacocking. Then again, you never knew with elves, just how old they really were. It must have been a nice view though, for his sense of serenity seemed to match hers. She began to wonder if it were the nature of these woods to have such an effect on those who wandered within its solace, or if it was the company kept along the road.

The questions though, ripped through her tranquility, like a small cat tearing through sheer curtains. She shrugged softly at his question. "Here and there I suppose.” The smallest of micro expressions might have given away her discomfort as she delivered her answer. A muscle twitch of her jawline was all it was, but to anyone that knew enough to recognize it, it painted a picture of an awkward woman behind the veil of confidence. "I'd spent many years training in the shadows of some of the greatest archers on the isles. And you?". Years of training had also taught her that most men like to talk about themselves, especially when it comes to things they are good at. "I imagine it is something that comes naturally for your kind." Her cultural insensitivity struck again, though her comment was made with no malice intent or tone of insult. A genuine curiosity sparked within her words. It had taken her so long to achieve all she had, and yet, there were still many that excelled her level.

"Ah, kuv saib." Ntaj said simply in responds to Cyneburg's answers. He could tell this group would be interesting. They've barely traveled a few days and already they were attacked by orcs. Ntaj has no hesitation cutting down fellow orckin's; anyone who raises a weapon against him is his enemy, be they friend or family. Cyneburg also seemed quite interesting as an adventurer as well, though Ntaj had a bit of difficulty trying to pin down what type of fighter she is. She had an axe, but it wasn't a big battle axe you'd expect most orcs to carry. Hers was more humble, something you'd see from a human or elf forester. She wore hides but they were not padded and stitched like his own armor or that of the human fighter, serving more as clothing than armor. If she ahd fought monsters before, then she must have some combat training. Or perhaps magical talents?

"Koj yog ib tug txiv neeb?" Ntaj asked abruptly. While Totem Warriors had their magics, Ntaj would hardly call himself a mage by any extension of the word. They had their mysticism and magic was involved in their training, but ultimately Ntaj was merely a warrior with an understanding of the natural world. He wasn't any more a mage or wizard than a well-traveled merc with magic weapons and equipment. So seeing someone like Cyneburg so lightly armed and armored, Ntaj wanted to know what sort of tricks she knew to fight off men and monsters.

At the same time Honey had fallen asleep. Unbeknownst to Ntaj, Honey had actually just gotten into a fight with a small poisonous snake. In his savagery, the badger had gotten bit by the snake's venom. But like any good badger, Honey didn't care and proceeded to tear the snake's throat out, eat it, and then returned to Ntaj so he could be carried while he slept. The bite was small and the poison would pass eventually. The stillness of the badger may have been a bit unnerving, but Honey did trust Ntaj not to drop the bag somewhere that would hurt Honey.

Cyneburg

Location: The Caravan
Interacting with: Ntaj

Well that wasn't a question she had been expecting. Well, it was semi-common that she was asked if she was some kind of witch or similar thing after they witnessed a bit of Natural magic, but after meeting a guy five minutes ago? That caught her off guard.

"Niib nar. Zuthûl-laga-ob. Um. Erg, Druid-izg." I'm not a shaman, I'm a Nature-magic-y person. Ish. Erg, I'm a druid. Trying to explain what she was in Orcish with a single term was a problem, because as far as she knew, there actually wasn't a corresponding word for the term in any language. The elves might. They seemed like the kind of people that would have one. Not the case with orcs. Mentally, Cyne started to form an answer to possible questions of "what is a druid and what makes them different to a shaman."

On second thought, Cyne could see how he could think she was a shaman. From what she heard about them, they also tended to wear animal garments (but a lot less of them) and were frail, cast from a distance types. But didn't they deal with spirits as a main source of their magical capabilities? That always seemed like a dumb way of conducting business. Why not just roll a pair of dice and on snake eyes you end up burning everything within a fifty-yard radius to a pile of ash?

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"Bloody hell..." Kyra mumbled under her breath as she stood there and the man would not wake and now she was faced with one of those age old dilemma's; leave his ass there to rot and perhaps end up being dinner for a band of roaming orcs, or to stay and watch over him. For some people this wasn't a tough choice. Many would just walk away, because you know what? Fuck them. It was an orc eat orc world. You looked out for number one and then perhaps number two; other than that you kept walking in hopes of living another day. It didn't bother people to leave others left for dead. And honestly after everything Kyra was really close to that point.

But then underneath all the bitchness she just wasn't like that. She had put enough distance between herself and the caravan. It would take them a while to catch up and by the time they did she would need switch out her scouting with Sana so she and Keystone could talk about everything that had been going on. They hadn't really had a chance to catch up on what either had seen or dealt with the night before.

Ash whined at her a bit and she nodded. She understood the feeling. Being out in the middle of the road and exposed was not her idea of a good time. She gestured with her head towards the tree line as she kept an eye out, it could still be a trap. Ash bit the mans clothing between his teeth and began to drag Thomas out of the road and into the grass before letting it go right there on the side of the road.

Kyra followed and made her way quickly up into a tree above him as Ash circled around the area, smelling out things for her as she took watch. This was about as best of a compromise as she could come to her in her mind. He was out of immediate danger, she was out of straight fire if it was a trap. Now to wait for the rest of the group to catch up. She might have worried about what the rest of the group would think about with another new comer coming into the group but she wasn't too worried. It seemed to becoming a common thing with people just falling out of the sky.

Satilla Valen

Currently the witch felt like an outsider to the party, even more so than she usually felt around groups of people at least. All of them had found a partner to at least talk and kill the time, while she simply followed the wagon in silence.

She bit her lover lip while pondering the current situation she was in. She wanted to talk to people, but couldn’t really bring herself to walk up to someone and just start chatting. That was not how someone like her, who was afraid of strangers, worked. All the party around were pretty much strangers to her, strangers whom she just met 2 nights ago. She shook her head suddenly, trying to focus on something else. She was going to get to know these people, but she guessed that until then, she was just going to be mostly quiet. For now though, she decided to use the time walking through the forest with the wagon around, to observe the surroundings for herbs. There were many herbs that grew around the bases of trees. It at least kept her mind occupied.

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Location: Road North of Salarn, Day Three

Interacting With: Sana

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"Pulled this hide offa the Hellhound, eh?" inquired Keystone, a skeptical tone to his voice. "Wouldn'ta figured there was enough o' the manky bastard left to make a tea cozy. Did a right proper job on 'im, we did."

Keystone thought for a moment, flexing his right hand. "Thinkin' on it, he did a fair job on me, too."

He remained quiet for a time, scanning the road and the trees. His mind flashed with incomplete scenes of the time he and Sana spent adventuring together. Some things didn't seem to sync up in a linear sense, others were completely missing from his memory. Times past, he had difficulties with his recollection of a very similar nature. One day it just cleared up, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and well-being. This coming back was a cause of some concern. Strangely, Keystone hadn't even thought about it until he saw Sana again; her presence stirred up the partial memory of his time away.

It was a thing he needed to discuss with her, away from the sensitive ears of their colleagues.

Keystone did take the time to address her lighter questioning, concerning his presence. "Nah, Sana. This 'ere's a Bread & Butter run. Used'ta be a proper Caravan Guard, 'mongst other things, as need called for it. Point of fact, it's what I was doing before we first met, it was. No sense in the world walking from one place to another for free, not when some pincher's willing to pay you for it."

He gave a shrug, "'Course, does mean you gotta get yer 'ands dirty sometimes. Never been an issue for me, though. But what're you doin' round this part of the world?"

"... And that's how I lost three of our group members in defeating the demiliche Arsercrak. But you see Thomas, the thing about adventuring parties, is that they hardly ever end." The old mage puffed a noxious white smoke from the end of his smoldering pipe. His knotted beard long and wrinkled brow high, crown capped with a floppy nightcap. A wizard in a bathrobe and fuzzy slipper-sandals sitting in a lounge chair amidst shelves of books. It seemed natural that an magister as old as Master Wolfgang became a recluse in his tomes, countless of hours poured over the books read over and over in a lifetime, or perhaps merely props that were unread for a spellcaster tired of putting up with would be knowledge seekers asking him for answers to their problems. Yes let the younger ones spend their time looking for answers in the books, the masters had little time left on this world and to spend retirement answering stupid questions or casting teleportation spells for incompetent witless posers? And yet it was all wrong. For the room was not right, nor right-side up. Gravity twisted, warped itself such that the pipesmoke went down to Thomas' face, while Master Wolfgang talked from the ceiling-floor above. And the walls swirled with prismatic colours, creating an almost psychedelic effect, as the rainbow of pulsating lights travelled in random directions. "You just move from one party to the next."

Wait, what? No this couldn't be real. This was just a figment of his imagination right?
"Actually I am more of a Fragment rather than a figment."
Was there a difference?
"Of course there's a difference, I thought I taught you better than that.
What do you mean?
"Well, Figments are fictitious fabrications of an idle mind, Fragments are the fractal forces of a thinking mind."
Wait, so you are Master Wolfgang?
"No boy, I just told you I am you,"
Wha-?
"Or at least a part of you personified as someone you know with qualities that align with the predominant nature of said part of you. Now pay attention."
Am I dead?
"No, well maybe. My grasp of knowledge is limited by your own. And since neither of us have experienced death, it makes no difference does it?"
Then if you are me, and all you know is what I know, then why am I listening to you?
"what do you mean?"
Well, stemming from the logic, should I not already know everything you are going to tell me since the breadth of your knowledge is the same as mine?
"Exactly, so get up boy, I have taught you everything you need to know, get up and go see the world!"

What sort of extend delusion was that? Stirring awake as Thomas shook his head. A hand lifted to his heated brow. This fever would last far too long for the benefits of the spell. And he had shifted forms: moon form. It was going to take two hours to change back, that or he could decide to stay in this form and just change robes. Not that he needed to but it felt rather odd unless the clothes fit the occasion. But the sunlight was still quite bright, brighter still if it were not for the trees. The canopy offered a lovely shade, and helped with the photosensitivity. Still had to work out the kinks in those spells. But it was better than not being able to have any form of control right? Wait, Trees?

"Err, I suppose I have to thank you for not killing me Miss?" Looking up at the woman in the tree, well not look directly up, but covering his brow with a hand and squinting to avoid the light shining into his eyes. She looked dangerous, although with her up there and the light making it difficult to see as it was, it was rather unclear to Thomas if it was actually a man or a woman. Something in his mind told him it was a woman, probably a memory of seeing her before his rather awkward conversation with his subconscious. Or whatever it was he had just gone through. "Unless you're planning on killing me later, at which I'd beg you to please reconsider... I really don't want to die..."

"I'm Thomas, Thomas Richard Harrison, Apprentice of Wizard Wolfgang, I bear his signet ring to prove it, if you send him a letter I'm sure he'll explain, possibly even reward you for um, my safety? Could you come down from there? The light is a tad bright for my eyes..." Did you just pass a basic diplomacy check Thomas?

Location:The burnt The road
Interacting with: Gretchin

He watched her answer with a curiosity, his keen elven eyes seeing there was something else at work within her. He might have only imagined it, and decided it wasn't his business either. She then mentioned the Isles, and he wasn't too familiar with them either. The High Forest was so big, it was multiple nations unto itself. Brogach turned his great head her way and tilted his head as she asked her question. The Elf took no offense to it, however. Calanon even smiled at that.

"From what I'm told, I've got a bit of human in me." he said, then grabbed his Elk's reins and walked alongside Brogach with Gretchin. "I hear Elves are naturally good with a bow, but archery was a learned skill with me. Perhaps I learned it quicker than a man would, but I wouldn't exactly know." he said, gazing into the forest as he spoke. "The men I fought alongside did it in a different fashion. Their eyes moved differently when they try to aim." he shook his head, not being able to explain it. The intricacies of Elven vision were hard to verbalize.

Calanon had never been one for judgements or competition, and in the forest such things were trivial when trying to survive against Orcs and the like. Still, he felt a bit of silent weight as he traveled with this caravan. Things hidden, half whispered through body language. It was odd, but he was going to ignore it for now. He merely wanted to make friends. Brogach could use the company as well, and the thought of such a thing made him smile to himself.

"Why do you travel with us?" he asked, his tone light and not harsh nor an implied accusation. He'd always been blunt, never understanding why such questions were wrong. He'd answer in heartbeats to most anything. But he'd spent enough time around others to know such things might be seen as rude. "Forgive me if I pry. You don't need to answer."