Fire and Food

Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor dark of night can prevent... individuals roving the wilderness. From the north, a bronze-clade, azure-scaled sith-makar walks, following what trails he can find towards... somewhere. While the chill and wet and dark don't seem to hinder his movement nor vision so much, being able to spot a trail does not tell one where said trail leads. The crystal-tipped spear in hand is used as a walking stave as he moves, hunched, along the path. Or what he believes is a path.

Slightly off the trail, imagined or not, a light flickers. Wafting on the wind is smoke, and the smell of meat cooking. A cough, and sniffling, is occasionally heard.

Coming from the same path along the wildness, the hollow sounding echoes of hoof muffles through the forest. A horse of pitch black and trails of shadow wafting from hooves slows its gallop to a trot. Atop it, a large sith-makari, holding a halberd in one hand, and reins in the other. "Tlanexhuani!" he calls out, approaching atop the eerie mare. "You should have company at thisss time of night!"

A pale-grey light, magical in nature, comes from the south instead. Though pale in nature, the light seems to constantly reflect and shimmer across red and orange, making it seem almost as if something 'burning' were approaching amidst the sleet and snow. As this presence gets closer to the bronze-clad Sith-Makar, the light lifts a bit.

There, a vision that the likes of Tlanexhuani may-or-may not be familiar with. The face of a Sith-makar that normally suggests that death has occured. The Death-Singer Harkashan, in his lava-like scales, and the ashen-grey armor with those many lava rocks. Molten eyes looking down at the old Azure Sith-Makar.

His light coming off of what looks like a Lavarock suspended between his horns, the crimson one bows his head slowly. "You seem lost. Do you require assistance?" Harkashan offers to the man with a voice attuned for softskin ears. Less hisses, and calming. The kind of voice expected from a Speaker. Yet, if Tlanex knows of this one - a Sith-makar who has buried so many people without stop since the stat of the Charneth invasion - he'd perhaps know him better as one of the Shaman castes.

Harkashan's head then suddenly tilts up, as he hears another hissing voice. Another mounted Sith-makar. Skielstregar might not be as aware of Harkashan's reputation due to being on the younger side of things - though perhaps those of his caste have spoken of a lava-scaled one in the past. Or perhaps had one of his eggmates or caste family buried by this one.

A deep rumble utters from the lit up one at the sight of Skielstregar; "I agree." Compared to the other two Makari, he's notable shorter by at least a good half a foot or more. His head then tilts up, a sniff. His tongue flicks out, tasting the air; "There is camp nearby. Perhaps we join them." He offers, turning his head to the origin of the campfire's light.

Tlanexhuani is aware of the nearing hoofbeats, though it is the call to him that causes him to pause upon his spear/stave and turn. "Ah. Yes, come! I could not get more lost without hel-" He stops at the quiet sound of cough and makes shushing gestures to Skielstregar with claws and clicks tongue. "Listen... " he inhales "You smell something...?" The old blue then spies a flicker of light off the trail ... just before the other light comes from the south and resolves into the black and red one. "Ah! Peace on your nest. A camp? It could be him!" While tall, he is currently hunched and thus more long than upright, tail and spear balancing or supporting his lean as he now begins to clank-shuffle towards the flickering light.

Jacob has arrived.

The light in the distance? A fire of some size, roaring in the night. A leanto makes up one end of the little camp, while a number of windbreaks keep the area warm. A large boar slowly rotates over the fire, the small form rotating the rotisserie covered in a dark cloak.

"I can hear ya out there.", calls a little voice, followed by a sniffle, and then a cough. "What ya want?"

Skielstregar dismounts his steed, the eerie mare standing stock still. He's about to voice more, but it catches in his throat at being hushed. He tilts his head. Sniffs. "Hrm... yesss... thisss one doesss."

The shiny scaled makari swivels around to see the lava-scale. There's no recognition, but he blinks. Then a tinge nervously scratches the side of his neck. If Harkashan had their hands busy with the Charneth invasion, then perhaps they could note a few oddities on the silver scale. Dead eyes. Fangs. Too long talons. He clears his throat. "Ah. Peasse on your nesst... Deathsssinger?" he rumbles. "Yesss, we should-"

He perks at the voice. "... Murder?" he calls out, stepping towards the camp. "Ahh, are you well? The weather isss frightful for sssoftskinss...!"

"Him?" Harkashan inquires with an inquisitive tone, uncertain of the 'him' that Tlanexhuani speaks of. After all, he lacks the context here. His tail slowly slithers along the back of the massive warhorse he rides. But rather than turning the way Tlanexhuani speaks of - the same way he'd pointed earlier - his gaze slips back towards Skielstregar.

Indeed, the dark eyes, the strange 'deadness' to that gaze, the fangs and talons... it would be easy to discount them as signs of an odd Awakening. Still, he seems to catch the nervousness to the shiny one. "Peace upon your nest, Silvren one." He answers, but there's this slight note of suspicion there.

He presses his clawed hands into the saddle of his steed, and slips down to the ground, his tail slithering after him, and grabs the horse by its bridle. He follows after the silver one in the direction of this 'Murder'. "Softskins have such... unusual names." Harkashans points out, clearly having at least picked up on the word being used being a name. Coming closer upon the Goblin, the little thing now is getting approached by three lizard 'giants'.

"Greetings." He offers up, touching a hand to his chest and making the smallest of inclines. "May we peruse your flame? In return, we offer company and protection." After which, he turns for a moment to Tlanexhuani.

"Do you require any care? Or is your step merely from the cold conditions?"

The Gobbo sneezes, and sniffles once more. "Oh, hey Skiel! Shiny even in the darkest, stormy night!" She peers as two more Sith also approach. Her eyes are cast mournfully at the boar roasting over the fire. Murder offers a broad toothy grin, "You may certainly share my fire, and there's uh hopefully enough boar to go 'round."

She gestures to logs placed around the fire, as she turns back to the rotisserie. Giving her cloak a shake, knocking slush and ice from it, it is apparent that she is completely covered in the fur of a wolf. She coughs and clears her throat.

"No, I'll be alright.", the Gobbo replies softly. Her giggle is quick. "I am happy for your company, but any approaching with ill intent would wish for your protection from me."

Tlanexhuani does not recognize the small voice, but he recognizes that Skielstregar may. When he sees the wrapped figure to match, he stops and crouches, putting more weight to his walking-spear, lowering himself nearer the other's level perhaps to appear more friendly. "This one ... sorry to bother. Thought could be another." It may also be to rest as he remains there a moment, leaving the silverscale to share words with the wee one. Tlanexhuani looks to the dubbed Death-Singer. "No, this one is well. Cold knees. Old knees." A brief hiss of humor.

Skielstregar murmurs something to his steed, him patting their side. Taking some sort of cue, the eerie, pitch black horse turns and trots back, leaving murky wisps in the mud. Turning back to the lava-scale, he bobs his head slowly. "Yesss, they do, but to them, we are the onesss with odd namess, no?" He bows. "Thisss one isss Ssskielstregar, Warrior Cassste."

Stepping closer to the camp, he gives a fanged grin. Terrifying for softskins, but it's well meaning. "Ah. Ssso it isss. Your kindnesss isss appreciated." There is a chuff as he walks over, taking a knee. "Yesss, Murder may be sssmall, but they hold their own jussst as well as thisss one!"

They look over to Tlanexhuani. "Ah. Well, look at it thisss way. At leassst we know they are not here?"

"You speak truth." The Death Singer answers Skielstregar on the matter of odd names, as he leads his horse to one of the nearby trees and binds it to a branch, before returning to the center of the small encampment.

"I thank you." Harkashan wishes upon the Gobbo as he moves to take a seat in a position that would serve as a wind-breaker for her. The red one's light flickers out from the lavarock suspended between his horns, and he instead moves to rely on the flame's light instead. "For both your offer of food, and protection then."

Once seated, he turns his tail towards his legs and the fire, not wishing to let it lay too far from him amidst the hail. Some of the sleet rather quick to melt against his body. His head then slowly turns away from the Gobbo, and lays his attention upon Tlanexhuani for a moment. "I understand. I fear I have little on me to soothe from the aches of age. Herbs have been short to come across during this rather pale time of year."

He then proceeds to introduce himself; "Harkashar. Death-Singer to the Shaman Caste, and Speaker for the Silver Empress." Another one of those touches to his chest, tapping his claw against the center a few times, before lowering his arm once more.

Tlanexhuani looses a light snort. "Aches are no ill worth herbs," he dismisses the concern. "This one is Tlanexhuani, Crafter case." Rather than touch claws to chest, he touches them to the hammer at his hip. His tail thumps with a clank along with before he looks to Skielstregar. "Ssa, where he is not. There are many places. I hope to learn where he IS before I explore all."

A horse's footfalls can be heard through the wilderness as another figure draws ever closer. He rides atop a warhorse of sorts, light on it's feet and not heavily armored. The figure atop it wears the garments of Serriel in addition to some armor on his person. At the horse's side is a lance and a lantern is held in the man's hand. Jacob Ben-Hassid had arrived. "Lo there!" He greets to those assembled. "May I come and join you all?"

Murder chuckles at SKiel, waving dismissively with her hand, the other still turning the boar. "Skiel, my enthusiasm matches yours, but you are far stronger, and will far exceed anythin' I could ever hope ta do. Don't sell yourself short." With a grunt, she pulls the stick used as a rotisserie from its place over the fire, sliding the meat down to a flat rock by the fire. Pulling a knife from her belt, she carves off a thick, meaty leg each for Tlan, Skiel and Hark.

At the sound of the voice coming from the darkness, the Gobbo pulls something from a pouch on her belt, and shoves it into her mouth. Moments later, fire trickles down the juice at the corner of her mouth. As the man steps into the light of the fire, she lets out a sigh. Turning back to the boar, she cuts free the last leg, and offers it up to the newcomer. "Come and sit, warm yourself and be welcome." Once freed of the meat, Murder moves to sit next to Harkashan.

Skielstregar's scaled brows raise. "Ssshaa. Thisss one iss pleased to meet you, Shaman Harkashar," the silverscale rumbles, taking a seat opposite of Murder. "Thisss one isss unfamiliar with you. Are you recent to thessse landsss? They hope you are taking the winter well, asss there isss none in Am'sshere." While sleet melts quick on the lava-scale, it gathers and forms ice on Skiel. He spends idle time brushing off icicles, unbothered by them.

"Thisss one hass been around the sssoftskin city and sssurrounding area for sssome time, they can help in your search," he rumbles to Tlanexhuani. "Worry not, we can easily-"

The sound of hoof falls makes Skiel twitch, him reaching a hand out to the side with a half formed motion. The halberd next to him shimmers brighter. He parses a moment. Lowers his shiny arm and the polearm dims. "Hello. Yesss, ssshare warmth. Woodsss are not sssafe at night in thisss seassson."

The silverscale scratches his neck from Murder's compliments. "Ah, well... thisss one thankss you- ooh! Thank you!" His enthusiasm brought back by a fantastic sneak: meat.

Harkashan lets out this low rumble. His voice constantly has this deep growl to it, even when he is merely breathing. Slow and measured. And in this cold, it means a constant huff of pale white air; like fumes from a dragon's maw. Though they are lessened by the heat of the nearby fire.

"Well met, Tlanexhuani. Murder. Skielstregar." He repeats their names, looking to them each. A clear sign that he is putting their names to memory. Taking in their scales, their form. But his attention keeps drifting back to the dead-eyed one. It doesn't look like there's much risk, if multiple people here know them and respect them. But that concern isn't leaving the Death Singer so easily.

Harkashan's head then tilts up, and he jokes to Murder that; "You may start to run out of boar soon." Only when Jacob speaks - not having heard him before. The howl of the wind and the constant rain of sleet is making it more difficult to pick things up. He doesn't speak to Jacob's welcome, as this is not his camp, but he at least inclines his head in welcome.

He accepts the offered sizable leg as Murder offers it, and he soon lays it into his maw while she siddles up to settle near him. His heat radiating over the wolfpelt-covered Gobbo. There's a look of note, having to tilt his head a bit, as fire trickles down the Gobbo's mouth. There's just this thoughtful 'hrrrrm', considering this gift of hers for a moment.

But instead of addressing her, he turns to answer Skielstregar. "I am... 'relatively' new to these lands." He answers - a term no doubt used due to his own age. Compared to the lifespan of a Sith-makar, it can be easy to lose one's touch with time the way that the shorter-living beings do. "The winter slows me down. But it seems the Flame Within holds it at bay well enough." He falls silent then for a moment, turning to thought instead.

A question burning at the edge of his tongue, but being fettered for now. Silently taking in more of the boar meat while his tail shifts a bit so the Gobbo can use it for a source of warmth. It seems the Softskins are rather weak to such cold temperatures.

Tlanexhuani may be the only one that does not appear wary, much less agitated, as another arrives and seeks fire. And food! "Ah! This one is thankful!" He takes the offered leg, chomps, chews. It's only then that he seems to notice the others' moments of concern. "What hunts in these lands that warriors and fire do not keep at bay? Are fires and food not shared?" As he points to the fire with what remains of his boar leg in point.

"Thank you for the warm welcome."

Jacob dismounts his horse, guiding it over to a place where he can hitch it. He reaches into his bag to pull out a sugar cube for the horse, smiling as he feeds the loyal beast a treat. "Thank you for bringing me this far, my friend. I hope for another adventure yet with you." The Phurai Dae always valued their mounts and Jacob was no exception.

He approaches, lowering the hood of his cloak to reveal sun-kissed skin, long black hair that comes just a bit past his shoulders, and the stubble of a beard. His eyes shine in the firelight, and he bows his head softly. "It's a pleasure to share this fire with you all. I apologize that I seemed to have alarmed some of you." he smiles at Skielstregar. "Indeed. It pleases me to be around such mighty company, by the looks of things." Everyone here looking well armed and forewarned.

He nods at Murder. "Thank you."

And he approaches the fire to sit cross-legged next to it, clasping and rubbing his hands together to create some friction heat to help him cool.

Murder looks between the three Sith, "Are you looking for someone?" As she opens her mouth to speak, a few flames lick out, and then she recalls. "Ahah, one moment. Be not worried." She stands, looking straight up, and belches forth a gout of flame into the sky three times. Settling back down next to Harkashan, she actually leans against his side, pretending nothing untoward had recently happened. "You are nice and warm.", she comments idly. "So uh, who are you looking for, and how may I help? Oh, I'm sorry, what is it... ah, peace on your nests! And nice to meet you, Tlanexhuani and Harkashan." Murder glances to Jacob, "And you as well."

While others seem to be well in Skielstregar's presence, it does the Deathsinger good to keep an eye on him. From the dead gaze, to the eerie steed he rode in on, there's clearly something off. "Ah. Thisss one undersstandsss, mossst kin don't deal with the cold well, but you have that handled. Mictlan isss near, to the north eassst. Many kin live there. Very welcoming, if you have not been there."

He chomps on his gifted leg of food for a beat before nodding to Tlanexhuani. "Many thingsss. Undead. Werewolvessss. Beastsss. Fire and food isss shared. Thisss one patrolsss the forestsss sssometimess to keep eyesss. Thankfully, the undead have abated that wasss.... a time."

Skiel hums. "No harm, it iss bessst to be ready isss all. But you are of the cloth from Alexandria, no? Thisss one holdsss much resspect for them."

It seems that Harkashan picks up on Tlanexhuani's attempt to draw their spirits up, followed by a small shake of the lava-colored one's head, and the slightest of quirks of his muzzle. That deep growl huffs out in bemusement. "Merely the ghosts that hunt the mind, Tlanexhuani. But this food does away with that." He admits, tearing another piece of meat away and devouring it.

"It seems another Traveler joins us." Referring to the sunkissed skin upon Jacob. After all, it means that he comes from more distant lands, if memory serves him...

Only to suddenly tilt a bit away from the sudden belting of flames. Three waves ascending into the skies above. There's a neutral expression at first... then a little break of a quirk...

Followed by a boisterous hissing laughter. That more draconic and recognizable 'hiss' the Sith-makar are known for coming out more easily. It's a hearty and warm, if rumbly laugh, followed by a few slaps of his tail's tip against the ground. "Ah, yes. Very warm." He then admits to Murder. "Though it seems you would be warm within yourself."

The sudden leaning against his side has him a bit surprised... but he lets it be. He doesn't particularly reciprocate in any way though. But it seems that he is familiar with the touch of another against him - seeking warmth. His tail remains nearby.

With more warmth than before, he nods to Skielstregar; "I shall have to visit Mictlan again. It has been too long." He notes. Upon hearing of the undead though, Skiel draws more attention than he perhaps wished to. "The undead plagued this region? Please, tell me more." Which is perhaps a line of question he's heard before.

Tlanexhuani lifts a claw to point to Murder following the spitting of flame. The leg is not used as he strips more meat from it before speaking to Jacob. "Is that one's fire. That one's food. That one is mighty. Breath as a dragon!" That mirth fades when beasts and things are spoken of. "This land... is cursed?" he wonders and asks, eyes -now- looking out into the dark with some concern that continues when he answers Murder, "This one seeks his kin. Is out here. Somewhere."

The first sign that Murder is no longer with the wakeful is a noisy, nasally sounding snoring sound. The Gobbo having tilted over onto her side, curling up against Harkashan's tail. There's a hiccup sound, a small shot of flame from one nostril, and then the snoring begins in earnest.

"I hail from the Great Plains, but Alexandria is as brilliant a place as any, if you were to ask me." Jacob remarks to Skielstregar with a smile. "My name is Jacob Ben-Hassid, loyal Cleric to the Maiden of Battles, Serriel. Forgive me for forgetting my manners, even if but briefly." Though he turns his attention to Harkashan with a kind smile. "Indeed. I've been through much of the land, but I have far yet to explore. But one who travels alone rarely survives as such." He then looks to the others notably to murder with a chuckle as he hears those soft snores. He looks then to Tlanexhuani.

"Breath as dragon?" He chuckles. "I see. A gift that not many possess. Do you need help, finding such kin?"

Skielstregar can't help but join in on the laughter from Murder's antics, him raising a hand to cover his maw. "Sssee? Thisss one sssaid Murder can hold their own..!"

The Deathsinger's question gives Skielstregar pause. A little sigh leaves him, and he holds a finger up to finish eating. Or gather his thoughts. Or calm his faint nerves. Finally down to the bone, he simply breaks it in half, and eats it with a >cronch<. "Heth," he starts, "The foul beast, dragon of undeath, had sssent ghoulsss to Alexandrosss. Usssing masssive wormsss to tunnel them into the area. Thisss one wasss with a team that found them, and had reported it to the city, as well asss went about fighting them. Thisss one... erm... isss rather good at fighting them. They have been held off and driven back."

He gestures to a medal on his armor. "They gave thisss one recognition. From their Warrior casstes." Shined and well taken care of, the medal has a ribbon of red and gold with a strip of white, clearly Alexandrian colors, as well as a small Vardaman symbol on it rests right under it. He looks to Tlanexhuani. "Ssssomewhat? Perhapsss not in a regular manner. Much goesss on here. Magic weird sssometimes. But worry not. Thisss one found their sssisster after many yearsss apart. Thisss one is confident we can find your kin!" he finishes with his tail thumping against the ground.

He turns to Jacob, a chuckle going through him. "Thisss one isss Skielstregar, Warrior Caste, if you did not catch that. "Thisss isss from Am'sshere,, but hass traveled around a decent bit. Serriel? Ah. That isss well. Thisss one isss of the Dragonfather. Or... Daeusss, in softskin wordsss." He rattles his holy symbol.

"Does the Kin have a name, Tlanexhuani?" Harkashan inquires with the Azure Sith-makar. He's about to ask for more, when he suddenly hears that hiccuping snore. Flame flickering along his scales - which his scales seem to easily ignore. Curled against his tail, the male looks at the others with a bit of a tilt of his head like: 'Is this normal?'. It gives Skielstregar time to finish his food.

When the conversation turns to Heth, the Sith-makar quiets. He has heard of Heth of course. How could he not. Recognition plays out across his expression. A heavy huff of pale 'smoke' coming from his nostrils.

His gaze shifts to the ribbon on the one before him. The Vardaman symbol recognized before the Alexandrian ones. Perhaps he hasn't so much to worry about. Yet, something just won't stop nagging at the back of his mind.

"Thank you for dealing with such a plague. I am glad such matters are done with for the time being." Worms to burrow in undead. He is glad the Charn have not taken to such tactics in Am'shere. At least, not that he is aware of.

"I hope to aid in such matters, if they crop up again in the future."

"Tlanexhuani, of Crafter caste," he offers to Jacob, while pulling the last of the meat from his bone. His talk thumps with a clank in echo of Skiel's. "Ssa, I will find him. He and his mother are why I am here." Then is Harkshan's question. It is a reasonable one, yet Tlanexhuani pauses. "This one told kin is called Maskurwarayuslih. This one... does not like this name." Given that the meaning in their tongue is effectively 'broken beyond repair,' and the connotation is negative, he has cause to dislike they very unusual name."

Skielstregar gives a sage nod towards Harkashan in regards to Murder. Yes. It was. He gets up, reaching over to pick up the gobbo gently and deliver them to their sleeping arrangements by the fire. "Murder isss an odd sssort, but they mean well."

A faint scent wafts from him in his absence from passing by the lava-scale. A familiar one. Dread. Death. But as quick as it came, its gone, pelted away by the sleet. "Of courssse. Thisss one wasss glad to sserve their dutiesss asss a Waarrior, Deathsssinger.

"Thisss one doess not like that name either," Skiel huffs, wiping off his legs of icicles. "And thisss one worriesss that it isss the nessst-mother that needsss help, not her hatchling."

The silverscale perks at something, him ceasing taking a seat once more. An echoing whinny, distant, comes through the sleet. "Ah. Thisss one thanksss you all for the company, but they mussst get going. More foressst to patrol." With that, he jogs off into the woods. His halberd left behind...-

The ominous polearm melts into a pool of murky ink without warning, then rushes off after the silverscale along the ground.

"You all have wonderful names." Jacob remarks to everyone who introduced themselves, a warmth and brilliance in his eyes. "Warrior caste." He repeats to Skielstregar. "I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with many of the Sith Makar practices, but I'm honored to learn of your name. He does nod a bit though as he leans back against a firm looking rock.

His eyes are heavy.

But he does listen to what Harkashan says. "It is indeed." That is, being normal. He answers the silent question out loud. Because he /can/.

Though as Skielstregar announces his leave, he smiles happily towards him. "Farewell, my friend. Take care and may Serriel protect you." He turns his eyes now toTlanexhuani. "Maskurwarayuslih." He repeats the name, most likely butchers pronunciation, but he clears his throat. "Understandable. Do you know where they were last seen, Tlanexhuani?"

Harkashan slowly furrows his 'brow', in as far as a Sith-makar can truly furrow. Skiel doesn't need to translate for him, after all. "I will keep an eye out for this one. What do they look like?" After all, going around asking Sith-makar if they are 'broken beyond repair' would be a rather crude and cruel way of approaching his fellow kin.

Speaching of approaches - Skielstregar gets closer in order to arrange the Gobbo for him. And indeed, that sense, that scent reaches him. Yet, it's no growl, no anger that finds Harkashan's eyes. Instead, it's recognition. As a Death-Singer, he has smelled death and dread many times in his life.

He does meet Skielstregar's gaze for a moment though. An unspoken way of letting him know that he senses this about him. His nictating membrane closing and opening for a moment.

"Be careful in your patrol, Warrior. I will keep watch over the small green one while you are away. Do see if you can come by in eight hours to pick her up however. I am looking to meet a friend of mine. And I fear how long the small one will sleep with that much alcohol in her system."

And with that, the silverscale is off.

And Harkashan goes quiet for now, saving his energy to instead be watchful of this winter night's dangers.

"No. His nest-mother knows that he is near, but not in Mictlan." The old blue shifts position to more comfortably sit, though still takes support from his spear. "When this one last saw, he was in shell." A light hissing in mirth. "Small. Not egg now." On the topic of small things, he looks to the snoring camp-mistress. "With many dangers at night, this one will search tomorrow. Share more words at light. For now, will rest. Tend fire. Wee ones not keep heat. Cold is very bad." With that, he reaches to add a bit of wood to the fire.