The Head of Staff, a role that Magaw had toyed with in a distant life. The head of a staff? What a twisted fate it had been since deprivation of body and limb had featured in a more recent existence, of confinement and restriction. But the old skull was free! He had no qualms in adorning a tiefling’s walking aid. Why not preserve some energy, and at the same time give the pretty woman an extra air of “dont mess with me,” as though the horns and tail weren’t enough. It was the perfect disguise, and far better than loitering in a woman’s backpack. Magaw had had his fill of tight spaces, for obvious reasons.
The skull had to be careful though. He had no intention of getting his inquisitively attractive mount stoned or hanged. When in view of anyone other than their party, he’d need to be still, and quiet. Slowly and cautiously rotating upon the staff, like some head atop a child’s unfinished stick-figure, Magaw took it all in. Light. Morning. A sky of yellow hue, the sun above concealed behind a layer of dusty smog. Heat. It sure was warmer than he’d expected, and a scorcher of a day was definitely on the cards. Still, compared to a room intersected by seams of red-hot coals, it was pleasant enough in comparison.
They were all here, the ones theorised to end the corruption of The Sands, in one way or another. What an unlikely group of travel mates they must have seemed to passers by. But in diversity, came strength.
“I guess it is time then, I must say, Kalair hasn't changed at all.”
Magaw whispered. “Are we to take the beaten track, or an off-road path this day?”
A wander north through the outskirts, and then it would probably be forests for the next day or two.
Somewhere to the south Annit plunged her foot down upon a timber foothold, linked to an iron pivot. The contraption was old, but it still did it's job. A bit of pedal-power got the grindwheel spinning, and to it an arrow’s head was run left to right in thickly gloved hands. She hadn’t slept. Her mind begged for distraction, something repetitive and mundane to direct attention away from… other things.
She tossed it into a small wooden bucket to lie with some completed cousins. For a moment, her hand drifted to a bench where other unfinished work lay in waiting. Then, biting her lip, the rogue’s fingers retreated.
“Just a quick look.”
From a pocket she extracted a small clear stone. It was a secret she’d not even shared with her father, yet. Smooth and cold, she held it up and peered inside, wondering where it's twin might be. Probably concealed, if they were wise… but even seeing the darkened bowels of a backpack, or the dusty depths of a pocket, would be something of a reassurance. She missed them greatly, but her hands were tied, at least for now. Perhaps in a night or two she’d stop by at the dwarf’s place. A friendly drink, and also an opportunity to ensure that those little lips weren’t prone to any unwanted wagging.
<Just need to know what general formation you are travelling in, and if moving by road or roughing it. Feel free to head off a little way (an hour?) in your next post, and then I’ll set a scene for you
Make stealth / nature etc checks at your leisure, and if anything interesting pops up I’ll let you know. Has anyone’s AC increased due to new gear? I just need to update my reference sheet of stats.>