Role-Play Forum: By the Fire Side

[Jolly]

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The fire crackles and rises as another handful of kindling is added, its glow and warmth much welcomed. Though the snows of winter vanished a week ago, the cold has been far more stubborn. The night is still and quiet- neither bird nor cricket has yet to return-and a solemn mood hangs over the camp.

The wagon had gotten stuck again today. Twice. The second time had been deliberate, a cleverly disguised trap in the road. Before arms could even be taken up the bandits had struck, hurling stones and wielding spears and axes. You were able to drive off those you didn't kill, but not without cost. Three wounded, one dead. Ser Rodrik Cassell rests still in the back of the wagon, the canvas taken off to provide him with a crude burial shroud. The extra weight was considerable, but Jory had refused to leave his father behind in such a state. Another branch is tossed on the fire.

"I still say we needn't a fire," pipes in Deedrik, patting the pommel of his mace. "We're less than a day from the caves. This light gives away out position."

Old Quorhin only chuckles and pulls his cloak around himself a bit more. "Afraid of some owls or shadowcats, eh merchant?"

"I'm not talking about owls or shadowcats, old man. They say-"

"What 'they' say is what I've told 'em. I was espying the Caves of Chaos while you were still suckling your mother. These hills get cold at night, colder than you ever felt. Them silks you brought aren't about to keep out the chill. The fire stays, or you'll be half dead by morning. And come nightfall again, you'll be just like 'im."

Quorhin points with his thumb over to the wagon. He looks up from the heart of the flame to scan the faces of those he's been escourting. Strong looking lot, this one. For the most part anyways.

"Tomorrow about midday we'll reach the old stone bridge. That's where we'll be partin' ways. Tell me now, since you all seem so ready to die, what takes you to such a place as them caves?"

The night is still, and the only noise for miles is the sound of your crackling fire...

[Red Ninja]

"Shut yer mouth old man." Ferric grumbled from the patch of ground he laid on. Sleeping with one eye open was hard enough without the pesky whispers of those around the fire. "Yer only thought should be gettin me to them caves. Everything else dont matter."

[Ranma]

"Now now my good man. That's no way to treat our companion's kindness in allowing us the safety and comfort of numbers and the warmth of his fire."

The elf grinned, pulling his cloak around himself and hunching over by the fire.

"I have business there. Rare artefacts to be found and all that. I've heard of the dangers, but perhaps you could enlighten me a bit more as to what exactly might be found there? 'A danger prepared for is no danger at all.'"

[synapse8193]

Barathron Grimaxe sneered at the old man from across the lurid light of the fire. He took a deep drink of anybody's guess what threw his head back, shouting curses at the cold air in thick, heavy, slurred Dwarven. Looking back down, his eyes settled on the old man once again, then to the elf as he responded, then back to the old man. He ignored the elf as he began to speak to Quorhin in the kind of voice drunks think is a soft one.

Money, old man. Money and a name. That's all you get out of me. Now stop your damn grandstanding. His hand drifted to his side. His axe wasn't with him, presumably with his pack, but his hammer did not leave his side. Ever. His hand touched the handle and he continued. No one cares for your endless wit. Or your advanced age. And least of all your cowardice. Or yours! His eyes shot to Deedrik before he disappeared back into his rant at Quorhin. Only take us to the stone bridge. HA! Take us where we need to go. And if you won't take us that far, take us to where we don't need your haughty lecturing and doom-saying to find it. All we want from you is that. And all we want to hear from you is 'We're here.' His eyes turned to the elf as if he had just now processed that he had said something. Just like an elf to mock a man under the guise of patronage.

Another deep swig of whatever it was. Beads of liquid caught in his beard, prematurely grey, with two streaks running at angles away from each other from his bottom lip halfway down his long thick beard. And you, he directed at the dwarf attempting to sleep on the ground. You. Sleep is for the weak. Sleep is for halflings and men. A dwarf drinks. A dwarf whores. A dwarf, another drink, a dwarf does not need sleep. He paused a moment, staring straight ahead. But! he continued, lifting his right finger in an accompanying gesture. Since we are almost out of ale...and rum...and even that shitty elven wine the wizard brought, he lifted his arms in a grandiose gesture toward the whole camp, and this is clearly not a brothel, sleep will have to do. He laid down on the ground, taking very little time to find a position that he deemed comfortable enough. In short, all of you, shut the fuck up. And with that he closed his eyes.

[Jolly]

Quorhin takes a small pince of sourleaf from his breast pocket and starts to chew.

"Bold words, loud words, dwarf. But I've heard 'em before. The last bunch who went up there said much the same when I left 'em. And here it is, five moons later, and not a one has come back to Redstone Keep. Tracked an owlbear up that way a few months back. Can't say if it went into the canyon or not- blasted kobolds drove me back about a half mile from the caves. Still, its tough to say what's up there these days. Goblins, kobolds, and worse have all been there before. Some get killed off by bigger things before they get a foothold, others over run the whole place in a night. There used to be a tribe o' orcs up that way- might be they're still around."

Quorhin's lips begin to turn red from his chew, and spits a small glob of crimson saliva into the flames, his eyes directly on Ferrik. Deedrik glares at the intoxicated dwarf, then leans in close to the fire and stares the wizard in the eyes.

"I've heard that there are monsters, true monsters, that live in some of those caves. Gnolls and ogres, and packs of hunting spiders, big as hounds!"

"And snarks and boggles too, merchant? Are those the stories your wetnurse told you about 'em caves? Ain't seen no ogres or giant spiders, boy, only men and things which look like 'em. And die like 'em."

Quorhin spits out another glob of sticky red saliva into the fire.

[Red Ninja]

I dont care about monsters. I dont care about yer opinions. Just get me to them caves and let me and me axe loose. Ferric rolled over away from the others cutting off any futher attempts at communication.

[Valishn]

Dimitrius sits in silence and observes all that happens from his place not far from the fire. His features inscrutable, his eyes fall to the face of each individual as they speak their piece. He leans back with one arm folded over his stomach and the other fingering the holy symbol around his neck, closing his eyes as the red-bearded dwarf rolls over. He continues to listen while humming a quiet melody.

[synapse8193]

Dwarves are loud. We're not built for stealth. We're built for the hammer and the axe. Dwarves are built for war. Bold words? Dwarves are a bold race, old man. Don't you forget it. We take orcs and kobolds before elves take their tea. He chuckled. Don't mock the coward, old man. Boggles are mean, Barathron joked through closed eyes. He grumbled and rolled over, a bit unsteady as he sat up. The dwarf was taken aback by the gaze of the cleric. You know, gnolls killed my father. I don't fear gnolls. I don't fear orcs or goblins. My people have been fighting them for an age. But you, Cleric. I'm not sure whether you amuse me or creep me the fuck out.

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