"Oh yes, oh my yes" Shel said sighing happily.

The cart had stopped, and as much as he enjoyed his time traveling he enjoyed this most of all. A tired party coming to rest after a long day. It pleased every last bit of Halfling in him. A journey, a meal, the communion of tired travelers, and the creation of a home. A life traveling meant every day was built upon those pillars.

The half-elf and the human, Numzom and Tori, had been fairly quiet thus far but now perhaps they might come out of their shells. Shel had always found that sometimes the quiet ones in time had the most to say and it tended to pay dividends to listen when they spoke. All communities grew slowly, but once that growth started it tended to blossom rather quickly.

The Mithra, who was for all intents and purposes their de facto leader, set about creating a lighted perimeter around them then sat down aside one of the posts and began to play a flute. A beautiful tune really, though not particularly to Shel's liking. It was melancholic, sad, longing. Beautiful.

Shel threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder, then as Esalia played he dragged the firewood away from the wagon wheel and toward the center of camp to build a small fire. First a circle of stones, then the biggest pieces forming a square within that circle, then smaller and smaller pieces built up atop, finally from his bag an assortment of dried leaves, twigs, and thatch for kindling.

Striking flint against stone and blowing gently the kindling is quickly aflame and the fire begins to spread to the larger pieces below. As the fire comes to life Shel quickly produces from his bag three metal rods, each with a small hook about two thirds of the way up, and assembles them to form a tripod over the growing flame. He aligns the pot so that each rod will slide into the three small rings along the pots perimeter. Time to cook.

Immersed in his work and pleasantly accompanied by the song he pulls vegetables, meat, and spices from his bag, artfully arranging them before pouring water from his deer-skin bota into the pot. The meat will soon be edible though it will be some time before the stew is ready, and ideally it would cook for many hours more, but it will nourish their bodies just the same.

Venturing away from the pot, but keeping a keen eye on it, he toddles over to the Mithra.

Not wishing to intrude he sits a respectful distance away and listens to her play. He tends to prefer happier jaunty tunes, something a Halfling can dance to, but her playing is exquisite. As much as he loves the life he has now it makes him think back longingly on life among his kind. His Ma and Fa. There are no words to this song, but it speaks quite clearly of loss.

Leaning back until he can lay flat on his back Shel looks up at the stars as the Mithra plays on.

@Nagariin@Esailia
Tori nodded at Esailia and then waved Numzom, " Just some ham i cooked it before we left, also It's nice to meet you I'm Tori" she said, a slight smile on her face. She handed her offering of food to Numzom. Tori was happy to share.

He would not lead them instead followed, taking the quiet change in pace to slowly bend one of the chain links back and forth. It did not take him long until he heard a metallic snap as the weak link he was working snapped in half, “finally” Argor whispered. He was still wearing the iron cuffs but no longer worried about having to have his arms chained together. The changeling was still following him, occasionally in front or behind or at his side. Slowly learning how to mimic his movements was odd for him at first but slowly turned to annoyance, yet somehow he seemed a bit proud that she was mimicking him or at the very least happy to have an admirer.

“So you gonna let me out then?” Victor's voice sounded tired or annoyed Argor couldn't tell, “No its getting dark and unlike you I can see in the dark remember. Besides our deal stands, you sleep while I'm up through the night so I can sleep through the day.” A silent huff was all he got before Victors voice trailed off, “don't kill anyone please.” the demon laughed, “Why would I? I'm free now, free to make my own choices and demands.”

He sighed as they finally reached the grass less hill the girl who had a problem with him was still glaring at him but seemed to have regained her composure. She was setting up a lighted perimeter that messed with his eyes ever so slightly, just enough to be bothersome. At first, he seemed to not know what to do simply standing around and watching the going on of the others. However, after the carriage had stopped he found himself wondering, “did they pack it I wounder?” his curiosity growing he set to work sifting through the belongings in the cart, being careful to avoid the horse as it eyed him warily. Horses never liked him even trained ones would try to get away.

Soon with his sifting and rummaging through personal belongings he began to find carpenter supplies, he was getting close. ”Where are you dear friend? It has been some time since we last met.” the demon spoke into the pile until he finally stopped pulling out a three-foot wooden crate, “I found you old friend!” a wicked smile crossed his face as he greedily pulled the crate apart. Slowly and gently he retrieved an ax from the broken crate. The bearded lumber ax was about three feet long and glimmered even with the low light. The wooden curved handle was splattered in red that faded to a dark red towards the head of the ax. With careful inspection one would still find small hairs around the ax head. Securing the ax to his hip he slid out of the cart and out to the edge of the camp.

He stayed out of the light on the opposite side of the camp from the flute playing girl. Argor had many things to figure out, first off was what he truly wanted he was free now after all. He could sense the changeling nearby, she was at least within ear shot of him. “I'm sure you have plenty of questions girl. For now the boy slumbers so this conversation will be private” sitting with his legs crossed in front of him. He sat near the edge of the grass one blade of grass seemed separated from the rest. With curious intent the man takes out his ax and carefully cuts his pinky finger ever so carefully to allow a single drop of blood to fall on the blade of grass. Still, the man stared off into the darkness watching the black and white landscape roll on out to the horizon. “At least its peaceful here... for now.”



@Yuuta@Regitnui

Wearing one shape for so long was starting to feel confining, but Rhen doubted any of her companions would be willing to let her strip down and stretch. Whenever she had to hold a form for more than a few hours, she started wondering how the other races did so. Her shoulders ached, her chin felt too narrow and she could swear her vision was going blue from holding one colour for too long.

Perhaps most annoying was that little pit of fear in the bottom of her stomach that came from staying around any group too long. That fear they'd know she was a changeling and chase her away. But that was ridiculous, irrational, since she'd openly presented herself as a changeling. Still... She looked over at the man at the edge of the camp. Demon, human, famous persona, she still wanted to know him.

She stopped a pace away from him and forced herself to think of an appropriately formal greeting, but in the end only managed, "Ibic solus tionir ara'novor?" She wasn't used to speaking like a child. Her infernal needed serious work. "Great and powerful Argor," she added.

@ReusableSword

Shel sees what Victor/Argor is up to and is reminded of their situation. No life in the skies, no life in the grass, no life under the rocks, and the grass undergoing some sort of change. A bit of blood, fresh blood, is a good idea but Shel has something better.

Though she has played beautifully Shel trots away from the Mithra, eager to help test the grass. He stops at his bag and retrieves a piece of waxy paper with a bit of leftover meat and as he approaches the changeling and the demon/murderer/stowaway he squeezes the package repeatedly to get the fluids moving.

"That's a good idea," he says to Victor/Argor, "Might need more than blood though."

He unfolds the wax paper and pulls the now mashed and sopping meat, stretching it out to make it seem larger. "Here goes nothing," he says throwing it out a ways into the curious grass.

Things have gone quiet, eerily so. No crickets, no bullfrogs, no owls - nothing. You don't realize what a role they play in making the night until they're missing from it.

Rintor sits on a small, rocky promontory. Above is a blanket of stars in constellations that he does not know. In the near distance is a flickering bonfire with a group of people gathered around it. The sounds of soft music and of their conversation drift up towards him, but he is not much concerned with that. There are good people here, and others who care only for themselves, who will poison this bold experiment more surely than hemlock. Of that he is certain. Of the fact that he will not leave this world, he is equally certain.

Rintor begins walking. The threads are harder to find by night, but it is so much easier to massage them into the shapes that he needs. The travelers and all of their tumult fade away with the passing of each step. Rintor Otorik grabs a hold of the light and disappears.