A Tenuous Peace - IC

[Comissar]

A new day dawns over the village of Herendor. Each of you have been contracted at some point or another to guard the Caravan of Renest Gol, a human merchant. Whilst you travel with the Caravan your food is provided for you and you are given a place to sleep. The Caravan itself arrived in Herendor just the previous night, Renest intends to restock whilst here and possibly trade a few minor things. There are still several days journey planned across the savannah before reaching the town of Fayrn. Whilst no attacks are anticipated, it's prudent for mercenaries to be employed on such long journey's.

There are still a few hours before the Caravan is scheduled to move out, aside from a warning that any damages will be docked from their pay, the mercenary guards have been dismissed until Renest is ready to move. The villagers here play host to Renest semi-regularly and are used to some of his more unusual choices of guards.

Note to all:
Ok, this note is to let you know about how spoilers work, what kind of stuff should be in spoilers and not in spoilers and what kind of stuff goes here or in the other thread. Creating a spoiler is pretty easy, you just type [ spoiler ] Message here [ / spoiler ] without the spaces
Like so

Typically you'd use spoilers for something that's game related but is more suited to posting here rather than in the out of character thread. Any rolls you make, for example, should be posted here in spoilers. Spells you're choosing to prepare or actions you want to take are another good example. So:Today I prepare 2x Cure Light wounds, 1x Inflict Light wounds, 1x Purify Food/Water etc.

I move to attack the nearest Goblin with my scimitar

Roll to hit - [roll0]

Roll to confirm Crit (if appropriate) - [roll1]

Roll for damage - [roll2]

Remember that roll's cannot be previewed before posting (doing so ruins the code and prevents the roll from taking place) and cannot be edited into a post (again, doing so will ruin the code and prevents the roll from occuring). In the case of a miscoded roll, you will get [ rollx ] (without the spaces). If this occurs, make a new post with the rolls spoilered. If you can't remember how to make a roll, I described the process in detail in the other thread.

Try to keep posts in this thread as game related posts, be it in character or out of character rolls/actions. One thing I personally tend to do is make any important rolls before posting the roleplay action, then edit in an appropriate response to that roll. So, if a Goblin swung his sword at Mol and scored a natural 20, I would then edit in a description along the lines of "Through either skill or luck, the Goblin manages to deftly strike at Mol, bypassing his formidable armour". Conversely, if I'd scored a natural 1 I would edit in "The Goblin takes a clumsy swing at Mol, his blade glancing harmlessly off of Mol's armour". Remember that you can edit text into or out of a post without disrupting rolls which already exist in a post.

Link to the Out of Character thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=247843)

[Molosse]

Ciaran stood motionless in the shadows of a caravan, watching intently as the sun creeped blood red over the horizon.

He had never seen the sun till several seasons ago. He still dosn't like it. His people had always dwelt in the darkness and learned to adapt to it. There was no all-encompassing light to scare away the nightmares. In the Teyrn every day and every step was accompanied by a new nightmare, you made do or you died.

He'd gotten very good at surviving.

It was time to look around, he pulled the stiff leather hood of his armour up to cover his features and checking that his tools were secured firmly to his side he set off to explore the village.

I prepare: Orison- Bleed, Detect Magic, Guidance and Stabilize. Level 1- Bane, Entropic Shield and Magic weapon. Domain- Cause Fear.

[Xevind]

Morthiel stirred from his sleep. He was surprised how heavily he had slumbered, clearly not used to riding in the wagons that seemed to seek out each and every stone and rut along the roads. Morthiel would grin and bear the discomfort for now. Renest Gol's caravan work was simply a means to an end, after all. Morthiel checked his equipment, donned his armor, a smart looking breastplate that absorbed the sunlight in it's boot-black color, sharpens his longsword --Ezra's Tear-- with a few licks of his whetstone, slips his flail into his belt, and walks into the morning sun.

Judging by coloring of the sky it was still fairly early. Herendor was beginning to come to life. The familiar sounds of the Fiefdoms brought a smile to Morthiel's face as he thought of home. The thought of why he had to leave hardened him once again. Morthiel heard muttering in the draconic tongue. He turned to see it was the Trog, Ciaran if he recalled correctly. Morthiel didn't know him well, but had heard tales of Troglodyte brutality throughout the country. Perhaps he would save his judgements for later. Morthiel, of all people, knew that it was foolish to make undue assumptions about anyone.

There were two others Morthiel would be working with; a Tiefling and a Tengu. Morthiel couldn't see them yet, but he knew Renest Gol would come searching for them soon enough with some task or another. Best be ready to move when the time came.

[Valvaryess]

"Filth!"

Prevemi rolled his customary coin-sized ball of fire tight into his left hand, as his right right wiped the spittle from his face. He kept on smiling as the oafish human glowered at him.

"We'll not suffer as hideous an omen as you in our company!" sneered the rotund and dirty spearman, "A fiend dressed in finery offers to protect Master Gol? A rotten joke to choke our sleep at night, more like!" he added, readying a second gob of phlegm.
Prevemi considered; the human was alone of his race amidst the the small group of outlandish mercenaries hired by the trader Renest Gol as his escort. The man carried some local reputation with a spear, a reputation Prevemi was sure had clearly grown fat on a diet of beaten stablehands and scarred tavern wenches. The man was overall, ordinary, and as such, was useless. Not to mention that he had clearly been set at Prevemi's heels ever since the tiefling's offer of service.

Prevemi mustered his naturally cheerily smile in his defence, but as he balanced which of his words he would aim, he glanced at the caravan and his thoughts drifted off-purpose for a moment. He could see the others cloaked in the distance around the trains, and it didn't take a devil's blood to know there was something like purpose at work here. A hundred shadowy tendrils of ambition began jabbing at the corners of Prevemi's mind, but still, he could almost have grimaced. They were already rag-tag and unimposing, and, aobve all, so very uncertain, and soon they would all of them form a sore blight on a barren landscape. Certainly, keeping company with a train of mercenary rejects - the most cankerous of social detritus - should have been something Prevemi was used to by now, but vain pride had claimed him long before attempts at good sense could be properly beaten in afterwards. The tiefling suspected that his own destiny would lie in the escalating arms-race between his self-destructive temper and his natural talents, and he mused momentarily as to which paths in his fanged heart this caravan journey might lead him down.

Prevemi put aside both disgust and rumination and continued looking sheepish and friendly in the textbook manner. This sort of situation with the human was a very literal child's play to a scion of his House, and even if it was some form of test construed by the caravaneer, any loss overall was not, in Prevemi's estimation, going to outweigh the momentary amusement.

"Friend, good warrior, you have the right of it, I am oft told these mangy horns betray the prettines of my little dress, but your master has bought use of both, and I dare not say which will prove the more useful to him, in a pinch."

The portly human waved his spear scornfully at the tiefling.

"Hah, it's the likes of you the master would best fear, ye damned elf-bidden monster. He'd be all safer with me gutting you now and the other animals back there saying a prayer over yer black insides, whiles we still all have throats to say 'em."

"Your words have the best of me, but please allow a humble wretch, forsaken by all, to do some good, work some coin, maybe show you that a man's what he does..." - Prevemi caught his own urge to gag, clenching his little comfort ball - "... not how the gods painted him. Maybe I could even stand in the way of a bandit's sword for you, if your master's had done with me? What say?"

The tiefling flashed a great smile, and raised some silver from his hidden purse.

"One on me? And perhaps I should show you where it's easiest to stab my poor belly in the night if you need to?"

Prevemi bowed in exaggerated humility, twirled his coin purse and gently patted the guard on the shoulder of his stinking cloak. He ushered him back back towards the town, confident of how a brute usually enjoyed his last half hour of freedom. He waved off the spear guard a moment later, already forgetting his face. Approaching the other mercenary guards, Prevemi's false smile turned into a smirk as he couldn't help feeling disproportionately pleased with himself for such a trifle. His little fire orb need not ignite until just before they had to leave; but which would be the greater pleasure? Humiliation? Would he set the fat wretch ablaze in ten minutes and imagine him, screaming and half-naked, in a brothel? Or would he wait a little while longer and grill every nerve in his armour?

If Prevemi of the Fanged Heart was to endure this life in the gutter, then Prevemi of the Fanged Heart was going to find ways to enjoy it.

[Molosse]

The half-breed's were moving. Good. He wanted to talk to them.

Ciaran strode through the make-shift camp, noting the hidden glances and worried looks of the scurrying caravaneers. He knows his people are almost unknown among the world at large, especially such a large specimen like himself.

Where was the Tengu anyway? He usually disapears by the morning, always searching for more of the shiny baubles he finds so endearing. It was just another aspect of an alien perspective that Ciaran one day hoped to identify.

His mind continued to roil underneath his granite expression, the frantic activites of the waking camp nothing more than a background to his musings. Every day was a new experience, neither good nor bad. Just new. Every day he takes away more information, more wisdom, more knowledge. His god is proud, his people will be proud.

With the smallest of shakes he cleared his mind of the turmoil and attempted to locate one of the half-breeds he noted earlier. He spots him glancing across in his direction. A reason to commune. An excuse to gain experience. With the long-limbed strides so common among the Troglodytes he makes his way to the cautious warrior. He pauses, tasting the unfamiliar words.

"...Cenadwri Half-Breed, a question anwsered if you will? Who is your God?"

[Xevind]

Half-breed.

Is that all anybody ever saw of him? Granted the broad generalization the Trog used was a much kinder term than Morthiel was used to. It rankled him, but he pushed the words aside and focused on the question. The lizard man wore some dubious looking leather cowl that gave him the appearance of a pilgrim of some sort. What other reason would he ask about gods? Morthiel knew little about the religious practices of the Troglodytes, but if their gods were anything like their worhipers, he expected them to be cruel and monstrous.

Morthiel didn't believe in the gods. Rather, he believed that the gods existed to some extent or another, but highly doubted that such lofty beings would trouble themselves with the day-to-day drudgeries of mortal life.What sort of god would care for a half-breed when his own father wanted no part of his life? What god would let his mother be cast out and allowed to waste away to nothing? Morthiel learned at an early age that the only one you could truly rely on was yourself. Perhaps if a god bothered to get off of their holy arses to rescue him when the villagers decided to make sport out of trying to make the elf's bastard cry, maybe things would be different. Only his wits, feet and, at times, his fists, saved him. No. No gods would be receiving Morthiel's reverence. There were more than enough fools in cloth within the Fiefdoms and Republic to slake any gods thirst for praise.

I serve no gods. No gods have ever served me. It seems a fair enough relationship to me.

Morthiel shrugs.

I'd ask you who your god is, but I doubt I'd know who it was anyway. Around here, folk usually greet people they don't know by introducing themselves. My name is Morthiel. Son of none. Looks like we'll be working together.

Morthiel extends a hand to the troglodyte, as was custom in the place that served as both home and bondage for him. May as well play nice for now. Get a feel for his brothers-in-arms.

[Molosse]

Ciaran subtly cocked his head to the side, digesting the words and noting the extended arm.
He was supposed to grasp it at that wrist was he not? The Tengu had taught him that. He'd taught him many things, some of it usefull, most of it not.
In any case the Half-Breed was looking anxious.
Extending his arm slowly, he carefully grasped the Half-Breeds wrist, taking care not to exert pressure or dig into flesh with his claws.

"...Again, cenadwri Morthiel, my name is Ciaran in the common tongue. Excuse my lack of... expertise in this custom, normally my companion is the one to make any such pleasantries"

Ciaran paused, was he meant to let go of the Half-Breeds arm yet? He supposed yes, as he did so he continued to talk.

"In my...culture, you may call it? We learn all of...This, by scent and markings... It is still strange for me to have to engage in introductions. I am never quite certain what to say."

Another pause, this was the longest he'd spoke to anyone other than the Tengu in a long while, it was good. He hadn't had a chance to practice his grasp of the language with others for a long while.

"Another question anwsered if you will... Since we shall be... Working(?) together, you say you serve no god and that none serve you.We serve the gods willingly or not, every action we take will benefit a god to the detriment of other, so why would you not take the... abilties a god will grant you if your actions make little difference whatever they maybe?"

Again he paused. This language was so... Drawn out, what would take seconds among his race took minute's to communicate accurately in the common tongue. The Half-Breed looked like he understood the comments either way.

[Xevind]

The trog was persistant, but Morthiel figured the most amiable thing to do was accept his comrade's viewpoint. There were few things that Morthiel truly feared, but among the things he knew better than to test were the lengths a person would go to for their faith. Perhaps he should steer the conversation elsewhere before the troglodyte attempted to convert him.

I think what you say has some merit, friend Ciaran. But if this is the case, and the gods work is accomplished whether we choose or not, then is our best course of action to simply do what we will? I take care in trifling with powers I don't understand, and put more stock in my own tangible abilities than the powers of others. I'll use the tools I was given, as I'm sure you will, and pray they are enough to see us through to our goals.

Where was Renest Gol? Morthiel was expecting some sort of job from his employer by now. Knowing him he was probably haggling with some shopkeep over the price of a slice of bread, clinging his coppers as if they were the only thing of value in the world. Morthiel couldn't help but think that to some men, perhaps they were.

Should he be getting worried by this point? Morthiel looked about the camp and saw some commotion beyond the tents. A tiefling by the looks of it got himself involved with one of the local spearman. The coin the tiefling tossed to the fat and balding man seemed to placate him as he began walking toward Morthiel and the troglodyte. This must be Prevemi. Morthiel knew almost nothing about him, other than the fact he would also be working with him.

Things are so much simpler when you're on your own. In the woods, you can't deny there's some unseen power at work, but it never asks you to bow down to it or ask you why you don't serve it. Necessity makes for some certainly strange bed-fellows. Morthiel couldn't help but muse to himself.

Anyway. Perhaps we should find this companion of yours and locate our master. Mayhaps we should even invite our tiefling friend. He looks like the godly sort. You two just might hit it off.

[Oneiros]

Oh what a Pretty Boy I am! Oh yes, to be sure, what a charming fine figure of a fellow I cut, ooh, how shiny was that nice bauble the freak slipped to the fat man? Quite shiny quite shiny quite shiny indeed. The fat man looks expendable, mm, yes, no need to worry if any slipups happen, not that they will, what a Pretty Pretty Boy I am

Kruik tossed aside the sliver of glass he had been admiring himself in, ceased murmuring in Gnomish, and sneaked upon the spearman who had received the trinket from the longhaired horned freak, got right behind him and reached up towards the pocket that the coin had disappeared into. Seemingly noticing something, the spearman started to turn. Kruik silently withdrew his talon and hopped to the side, staying always low and behind him.

Deciding that the stealthy tack was too slow, Kruik decided to back up a ways, proceed as normal, and then bump into the spearman, screeching and cursing profusely in Tengu as soon as he did.

He took advantage of the bump to swipe the coin, and apologized as eloquently as he could to the pile of flesh standing in front of him, saying he was simply not looking where he was going and that he'd now be on his way. His talons hovered over his rapier throughout the brief discussion.

Having acquired the shiny, Kruik moved quickly away, thinking to reduce the risk of immediate backlash. Once he ran his eyes over it, he was struck by the desire to flaunt his newly thieved wealth to his companion. Thus, Kruik set off, talons rubbing over the coin, towards his Friend the LizardFreak, dropping into the conversation out of nowhere and blatantly interrupting it with a speech all ears but the most arcane found foreign.

Friend Lizard, Pretty Kruik found a shinyshine on the fat man over there, please to examine it and tell me how pretty it is.



[roll0]

also I think I'm going to use different colors as different languages, so blue is Gnomish here and Grey is Draconic

[Comissar]

A loud whistle echoes across the courtyard the caravan sits in. The whistler is Renest himself. He stands a little shorter than most humans and appears to be fairly wirey. He wears a leather jerkin with several knives strapped to it.

Walking forwards so as to be sure he's the centre of attention, he shouts out "Listen up! We'll be moving out in ten minutes time, any who aren't with us then will be left behind and will not be paid! I do not want to see in fighting amongst you when we're on the move, I'm looking at you Fernsten!" That last part appears to be directed at the portly spearman, "We're looking at about four more days of travel. You know the rules, keep weapons ready at all times on the march, check the rota for your night watches. That's all!"

A bustle of activity breaks out as everybody makes their final preparations. Merchants check their products and wagons whilst mercenaries check their weapons and gear. Before long, almost everybody is ready to move out.

Kruik manages to pilfer 1 silver piece from Fernsten's pockets.

[Molosse]

Ciaran bared his teeth at the Half-Breed before turning his head towards his erstwhile companion.

"Kruik...You do understand my meaning when I request not to be interupted yes? I was conversing with the Half-Breed... Morthiel, he shall be travelling with us and it would be... Good, to learn more about hisself..."

Shaking his heavy head abruptly Ciaran swung back to face the Half-Breed.

"Morthiel"

A slight pause, the sylllable's of the name was... strange, lilting even, a soft cadence that became more pronounced as he thought about it, it was almost similar in cant to his clan-name, a good sign.

"This is my... Travelling companion, Kruik, I advise you now to keep a sharp eye on your... Effects while we travel, he has a way of aquiring items without their owners knowledge"

Turning bodily towards the crouched Tengu, Ciaran reached out, his scaled hand inches away from the liberated silver piece, after another covetuous look the Tengu placed the coin within his grasp. Bringing it in front of his eye Ciaran twirled the coin around his claws before, again, baring his teeth and passing the coin back to an anxious Kruik.

"Yes Chyfaill, it is very pretty... But come, the pair of you, the master awaits and we should prepare to leave... It was good talking to you Morthiel... I thank you for your time"

With a firm hand on the back of the Tengu, he lead them both back towards thier assigned placement, musing as he did so about the state of the caravan, the state of his new fellow travellers and the state of his own mind among these strange new people in thier land of light.

[Xevind]

The Tengu appeared seemingly out of nowhere and injected himself between Morthiel and the trog. Judging from Ciaran's expression, though it was a bit difficult to see the shock and unease ont he reptilian face, it was plain the lizard knew the bird. The tengu spoke quickly in the draconic tongue, but Morthiel kept his face passive with a slight hint of confusion. He didn't want the others to know that he understood the words they spoke. Morthiel found people to be more honest when they spoke in a tongue they didn't know you understood.

Ciaran confirmed Morthiel's suspicions however. Kruik was a theif, and a rather skilled one at that. Or so it seemed at least. Morthiel inteded to keep a tight watch on his equipment from here on out. It was true Kruik and the others were on the same side, but he didn't truly trust the others not to serve their own purposes when the event called for it. Everyone has a role to play here, even thieves.

So Morthiel nodded and bowed his head toward the one called Kruik, and also to Ciaran. At least I have an idea what to expect from these two now. What of the tiefling then? Morthiel had best keep on his toes. He'd do his part for the good of the caravan, as it was expected of him.

Renest was calling to them all to make their final preparations and Ciaran bid Morthiel farewell. All well and good. Hunger was starting to make itself known with a low grumbling that demanded attention. A meal to break his fast and then to the rota to see if he was selected for any special tasks.

At last, Morthiel thought to himself, the real hunt is about to begin. Morthiel dodged the other caravan workers and made his way to his supplies. He intended to be ready for anything today.

[Oneiros]

Kruik began to berate his companion as soon as they were out of earshot of the hideous freak they had been altogether too close to. His talons itched to move, but he didn't wish to speak too loudly or otherwise noticeably give away his distress to any thing that might be watching them still.

Friend ScaleFace, why were you associating with the Part-Elf? We do not like them, you must remember. They are not to be trusted or kept any more than their True-Elf kin; there is not an ounce of beauty in the nature of Elves. Only hatred and the urge to dominate.

Now, the Whistle-Man said something about a rota. Where do you suppose we find out about this thing?



Silver is Draconian