Palisade in the Mists
Log Info
- Title: Palisade in the Mists
- Place: The Wilderness
- Summary: Failing to find Werewolves in an attempt to help Telamon, Harkashan sits down at Murder's camp and talks about Werewolves, friends, and Am'shere.
Another grey, misty day has faded into a dark, misty evening. The paths and trails have started drying out, though the mud is still thick in the more travelled places.
To one side of the trail, a diffuse light can be seen, flickering a short distance into the forest. A small form can be seen moving around, and the sounds of their activity can be heard.
Ever since Harkashan learned of the issues with Telamon, and the Werewolves further at fault for making someone so dear to Rune suffer, he's dedicated some portion of his time increasing the patrols in the area.
His heavy footsteps tear through some of the wood of the wilderness trails, keeping his head down. The misty day has made it very difficult to patrol, and now that the dark is settling in, it's only gotten harder.
Luckily, the flame nearby is one he has gotten familiar with. And it is not long before Harkashan joins into the small one's camp, and rumbles; "Peace upon your Nest, Murder." With that deep crackling voice of his.
Even in the mist, the light manages to catch those glowing lava scales, making him stand out.
It appears that Murder aware of the werewolf issue, as her camp has been transformed.
Instead of simple firebreaks marking the perimeter, the entire camp has been walled in by a palisade. A GOblin-sized palisade, with sharpened sticks pointed outwards, with a single gate. A partial roof has been constructed over the central fire. The leanto has a stick awning that can be pulled down to close off the leanto.
The Gobbo herself is currently sat before her fire, sipping at a mug with a hot, brown liquid in it, and smoking at a small cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.
At the sound of Hark's approach, she squints out into the darkness, slowly moving to the 'palisade' and climbing up to peer over it. "Harkashan?", she wonders.
"It is I." Harkashan is surprised to see such defenses in the forest. Certainly, they are rather short and would no doubt do very little to halt a proper werewolf assault. But the attempt is at least kind of... delightful?
The man pokes one of the pointy ends of the wood with his scaly finger, looking at them amidst the mists, and then turns to the palisade-climbing Murder.
"May I rest at your camp for the evening?" He asks. "I have brought herbs in payment."
The gate is opened fairly quickly, "You are most welcome to rest here. Just watch your horns on the spears and such. And you don't have to pay me. I'll happily take the herbs, though. I have some pheasant, if you're hungry?"
She gestures to a large tree trunk, one that someone has gone through a lot of effort to level and smooth out, making for a comfortable seat for one who is much larger than a Goblin. "What brings you here? Oh, are you aware that some werewolves have been rampaging through the wilderness?"
"I would like some phaesant." He answers as he enters the small gate, and sidles a bit to more easily get in. Taking the steps it takes to get to the tree trunk, he ducks his head so that he doesn't ruin the lower roof.
"I am. That's why I am here. I've been trying to seek them out in order to assist Telamon - who was struck by some kind of blight they put upon him." The Sith-makar answers.
He then reaches into his satchel, and as promised, offers a few herbs. Some of the healing kind, but many are meant to flavor foods.
"Are you not worried the Werewolves might attack during your sleep?"
"Oh, Telamon has been hurt? I pity the werewolves then, Ravenstongue is no slouch. Hells hath no fury like a woman pissed off, as they say." The herbs are sniffed at, the Goblin making a funny face at the smell of the healing ones, which get stored in a pouch affixed to her backpack, hanging nearby. The edible herbs are stashed in a container which is stored in the ground under a flat rock near the fire.
Murder nods, "I am concerned, yes. I intend to have a few noise-making traps scattered around. I've also made it so I can secure the leanto. They'll have to break it to get to me, and hopefully between those things, I'll wake up and come out fighting."
The wee woman sets about cooking, pulling a number of dressed pheasant's from a different hole in the ground, each one wrapped carefully in cheesecloth and wax paper. Soon they are hanging over the fire, roasting away.
"Is that how that saying goes?" Harkashan asks. He usually has trouble with sayings, so he tries to remember it the way Murder has proposed it.
"Still, pissed off as she may be, anger may not help him. So, even if futile, I seek a way to help." He bids.
Listening to her speak of noise-makers and securing the leanto, he bids; "If you would like, I can ask Rune to do a check up on your security when you are done. She's good at getting into places she should not be able to get into. So she might be able to give pointers." He offers to the little murder-gobbo.
He then leans in, sniffing at the roast. "Hmm, that smells good." He croons.
The smells become spicy as the Goblin uses a spoon to smear a paste over the pheasants. "I have a little recipe for a spicy-tangy paste. I use oranges from Am'shere, and peppers that I grow myself."
Murder giggles lightly, "Yes, she will need more than anger to help Telamon, but it will keep her motivated, and woe to any werewolves that show themselves." she shrugs at the suggestion of having someone test her defenses. "I mean, I don't mind, but she doesn't need to go out of her way, you know? Who is Rune? I do not recall having met her."
"I think she would enjoy the opportunity." He answers Murder when she suggests Rune shouldn't go out of her way. As for the question of who she is; "A dear traveling companion of mine." Is his unerring answer, a slight 'smile' showing in those draconic eyes of his. He doesn't add 'recently back from the dead' or anything like that. It's not his story to tell.
He then sniffs at the spicy smells, and croons; "Ah, yes, I am familiar with this scent. I thought it was familiar." He remarks. "Do you travel to Am'shere a lot? Or is this something you pick up from the merchants?"
The Goblin grins toothily at the Sith. "Oh, a girlfriend?", she wonders quietly. "Well, if she wants to try, that's fine by me. I suspect she may be successful. I do not expect that these werewolves will be as diligent, skilled or patient as she may be. I mean, they are killing wild game just to kill it. They are certainly insane."
Murder's expression takes on a shy quality, and she shrugs. "I've visited Am'shere before, a few times. But I buy from the merchants... those willing to trade right at the portal. I'd rather not risk upsetting some tribe because I was picking fruit from their trees, you know?"
There's a 'hmm' there from the Sith. Not an acknowledgement, but neither is it a rejection. No doubt, there is no such word associated with what they have. Even if they both care for one-another.
"They must indeed have gone mad. I thought that Werewolves in tales of old still formed proper society. Something like that merely serves to kill the land."
He huffs, a bit of fumes coming up from his nostrils. Like a dragon's smoking breath.
"As long as you eat the fruit yourself, and do your seek to steal it in great quantity, a fruit or two will not be something one of our tribes would quible over." He pauses for a moment. "Though I suppose there are some tribes who listen to 'The Teacher', who might think otherwise... simply because you are a softskin." Huff.
Murder smiles faintly at his non-denial/non-affirmation, and shrugs her shoulders.
"I don't know anything about werewolf society, I am only repeating what I have been told. To kill the land is madness. It forces people to kill them."
The lava-theme Sith is presented with the roasted pheasant, each on its own stick, ready for snacking upon. The smell is thick and fragrant, a heady mix of hot spices and citrus. She reserves one stick for herself, which she quickly bites into.
"Yeah, I've heard of the teacher.", she says, between bites. "Svarshan told me of him, he opposes the silver Empress and her teachings."
Harkashan nods his head in regards to the matter of madness, and accepts the roasted pheasant.
He has no issues with it just coming off the spit. The heat doesn't bother him or harm him, it'd seem. He just bites into it with a bit large bite. Which makes rather short work of the pheasant.
The sith-makar are not known for dainty bites.
"Hrrm, this is very good." He points out, before the topic turns to the teacher once more.
"I am not familiar with this one, I believe." Svarshan. "But you are correct. I myself am a Speaker for the Silver Empress, so it is of importance to me that such word doesn't reach further."
Murder leans up against Harkashan, attempting to make up for having a smaller bite by taking many smaller bites instead. As such, some bites don't get the amount of chewing they should, the Gobbo just wolfing it down. "How about I go with you on the rest of your patrol? Maybe we can spot some trouble and flush it out?"
She offers a deep bow. "Thank you for the compliment. I am glad you enjoy it."
Harkashan shakes his head. "The mist has gotten too thick, and it's dark. I'd rather stay here and camp for the night, and resume in the morning if that's alright with you." He bids to Murder.
"There's too much risk now of something ambushing us. And while I am certain we could take care of such matters when together, I rather not laugh in the face of the fateful dragons."
"Sometimes that's what you gotta do, though. T'make something happen. But, you are speaking to my inner laziness. If you don't mind me snuggling up to your tail?" The Gobbo laughs. "You're an amazing blanket, not to mention friend. And well coloured and pleasing to look at."
The male motions his hand. "Go ahead. I have warmed many a being in the past." The Sith-makar notes, though no doubt there has been a lot more request for it on this side of the jungle during the winter months. He shifts his tail and lets Murder sidle up and use him as a blanket.