The Raven Marches

The wizard stretches his back for a moment when the halt is finally called, but immediately reverts back to his slouch. "Hmf, first or last is the shift my useless studies require. The middle of the night watch would leave me even more pathetic than usual." He plops down onto the ground without any fanfair to await the decision of the commander.

On the walk:

Smiling back at Derek, K'inta looks around a few seconds. "Not the best of examples this, but... Do you see that small stand of trees over there? That is as close to her domain you will come out here. The forsts, on the other hand... walking in a lush forest, in that plenthora of life, that is walking in Ehlonnas shelterd hand. The wildlife is her belowed children, the flora and the fauna her creations..."

She smiles a bit more sadly. "I miss them. While she will always be in my heart, and always hear my prayers, no matter where I go, I always feel closer to her, when I am.. well, home."



In camp:

"I am fine with any of those. I wouldn't mind taking the second or third watch though, as my need for sleep is not as dire.."

"Call me by my first name, I would not take offense . . . though I do not mind if you want to call me Glaive either. It speaks of an implicit trust in my prowess with the weapon. I shall take first watch, as it suits me . . . though I am actually not as keen-eyed as elves are supposed to be I am still probably better than the average human."

Blithely ignoring the possible insult he may have offered to his human commanding officer, he goes on. "Permission to speak freely, sir? That strange goblin trick is but an oddity to most, but to my trained ear it suggests a magic user. We may wish to be wary of shamans or whatever they have that passes for mages. I have some salient knowledge of a few spells that meet that description, though they are regrettably all beyond my training. In my studies I reached the conclusion that the spells of that type were all imperfect, though - either they do not work well in combat, or the control is flawed. They also only seem to be rather target specific - a version that targets thinking persons such as elves or humans will not do for animals."

Spellcraft to identify general enchantment school traits (4 int 4 skill 2 feat) (1d20 10=17)

OOC: I'm assuming Ainel knows about Charm Person and Charm Animal, and can make these general statements about low-level charm spells. I hope this assumption is okay given his check result.

The dwarf spits on the ground. "I'll take wha'ver watch ya gimme," Dowkan says. "Just tell me who be wakin' me, and who I be wakin' and where they lie is all."

Derek

Rayex said:

On the walk:

Smiling back at Derek, K'inta looks around a few seconds. "Not the best of examples this, but... Do you see that small stand of trees over there? That is as close to her domain you will come out here. The forsts, on the other hand... walking in a lush forest, in that plenthora of life, that is walking in Ehlonnas shelterd hand. The wildlife is her belowed children, the flora and the fauna her creations..."

She smiles a bit more sadly. "I miss them. While she will always be in my heart, and always hear my prayers, no matter where I go, I always feel closer to her, when I am.. well, home."

Click to expand...

"Than Ehlonna is a nature goddess of all that is pure good and wild in natue? That sounds beautiful. When I here you speak, I'm a bit sorry that I spend my life urban or underground sofar..."

In the camp:
"I can take any watch you want. I'm keen eyed, for a mere human." (he looks at Glaive)

Walking Dad said:

In the camp:
"I can take any watch you want. I'm keen eyed, for a mere human." (he looks at Glaive)

Click to expand...

It finally dawns upon Glaive, several moments after it might dawn upon a more socially astute person, that he has perhaps insulted all humans. "Oh! I did not mean . . . that is, strictly speaking, as a matter of military effectiveness . . . it is generally assumed that elves are better at spotting and ranged combat but humans and dwarves are stronger and superior in melee. I was merely referring to that and meant no offense," he finishes lamely.

For an untrained lot this new platoon seemed to fall in alright. They weren't marching in neat crisp lines but neither were they scattered randomly as they shuffled in pace with their commanding officer. A bit of a soft touch at heart but Dargo could tell Bremen was a true soldier. True enough to have a chance at keeping scrubs alive if they came to it. At least, as long as the scrubs followed orders.

Dargo hated following orders. Of course, by his estimation he wasn't a scrub. Not compared to most of his 'unit' anyway. Dargo had been through real training and he had spilled blood. On occasion he could still swear he smelled it clinging to his blades. He doubted many here could say the same but a few of the others seemed to have a bit more about them than the average farmer.

Ainel for one did not march like a farmer. He was an elf as sure as Dargo was a shifter yet he wasn't like any elf Dargo had seen. Not saying much as there were precious few elves where he came from but it was worth taking note of. Unlike most of the others the glaive in his hands seemed to have weight to it as he walked. Whether he'd seen any real fighting Dargo couldn't say but he definitely had training.

Dowkan stepped lively and in pace, never missing a step and always mindful of his fellows around him. When some one slipped back in formation a bit he quickly stepped in to fill the gap. Dowkan was no stranger to military service. Each of his weapons looked heavy as stone on his person and yet moved with him as light as a feather, an extension of his form. If he had to choose, Dowkan is probably the one Dargo would want at his back given the worst.

Gillian also seemed to stand out a bit. She was lively enough and moved with a light step. Perhaps a bit too energetic. Judging her against the halflings back home Dargo guessed her sling was a good bit faster than her pace. He certainly didn't want to challenge her to a test of slings. Not anymore. Something about her seemed to almost drag a grin out of Dargo. Maybe it was just the fact that she had a whole sentence to compensate for every word Dargo didn't say. That or her admirable refusal to take anything too seriously. He hoped Gillian could put that aside if any real threats emerged.

A lean days travel passes as the sun stretches across the sky. It took a sharp eye to notice they'd moved at all with the rolling landscape. Traveling the plains could be a bit deceptive if you weren't familiar with the road you took. One patch of snow looks like another as one copse of trees seemed like one you might have passed an hour before. Bremen seemed familiar enough and Dargo was fairly sure they had kept almost perfectly on course.

When Bremen called for camp everyone went about their business well. Dargo didn't pay much attention to the others at that point. He had his own work to do.

His own bedroll and pack was laid out with with careful speed. One it was ready for him to bed down he began retrieving his tools. On the trail he had to eat his rations plain. Here he had a little time to add some flair to it.

Carefully he set about patrolling the perimeter of the camp. Every few paces he'd bend down carefully and pick up a sprig or a few leaves. One by one he examined the flora surrounding their camp, bringing each piece up to be inhaled by his nostrils and tested with his tongue. Pickings were slim given the region and the climate but there were a few prizes to be had.

Making his way back to his own bedroll he ignored the few strange glances his activities elicited from the others. Sitting down he poured the remainder of his days rations into a modest bowl. Pulling out his mortar and pestle he places the few scraps of flora and the three berries he recovered into it and began grinding them together. Even, smooth circular strokes shredded the materials together with carefully moderated force. Once ground properly he draws a small vial of aged olive oil from his bag. A few careful drops and he replaces the vial and resumes grinding his ingredients together. Once he's done he brings it to his nose and takes a long luxurious smell at his concoction. It wasn't his best but it was as good as possible working with a cold camp and only a fraction of his ingredients. Spooning the seasoned oil into the bowl with the rations he pours a little bit of water in to help blend everything together. A few brisk stirs and it's ready. The flavor danced across his sense of smell and onto his tongue. It was a zesty sweet recipe that complimented rations very well. Not quite gourmet but certainly a much tastier meal than anyone else was enjoying.

Shortly after concluding his meal, the only real indulgence Dargo had taken, Bremen called for watches. Thankfully there were enough of them to fill out a competent watch all night. Most people hesitated but some volunteered.

"Third watch," Dargo said plainly for Bremen to hear, edging close to Ainel while watching his exchange with Derek. He leans even closer and whispers to the flustered Ainel, "Wouldn't worry. We wouldn't want ta eat elf without some Terba roots and rosemary."

Dargo flashes a brief but deep wolfish grin with his sharp canines, bowl with his carefully prepared dinner in hand. The grin stays just long enough till Dargo turns to walk back to his bedroll, letting out a quiet chuckle at the elf's paling complexion. If nothing else at least there were ways to stay entertained with this group.

Gillian drops her pack on the ground as she BUMP's into Dargo "OH.. sorry, big guy, didn't see ya up there." She grinned up at him.

OOC: Grrrr! Sorry folks I just finished an exhaustive post and the page changed for some reason.

None of you are on fourth watch, but those who would be awake, whether by virtue of being elves or praying for spells, studying, etc., may make spot checks - listen checks are not possible due to a howling wind.

My apologies and an IC post will follow tonight.

[Sblock=Spot DC 10]Reveals a haggered man staggering towards the camp through the early morning mist. He is enveloped in a long dirty cloak, and looks to have fallen in mud. He does not seem to be aware of the camp yet. He is approximately 30ft. to the south his approach having been shrouded by the mists.[/Sblock]

Sgt. Bremen is visible on the other side of the camp berating a young greasy haired lad for falling asleep on watch - clearly he has not noticed the stranger.

Enjoying the silence in the night, K'inta is suddenly brought back from her mind-wandering to the presence, upon seeing a figure closing in on the camp. Standing up and hurrying over to Sgt. Bremen, she whispers "There's someone coming from the South." she points, and hope the Sgt. also is able to see him.

[sblock=ooc]

Spot check =18 [/sblock]