Sworded Tales

Borlak replied to the man, “Well met, I am sure.  But as for the invitation, I must decline.”  The barbarian looked around at the muddy field, and the camp, taking in the would-be adventurers before continuing on, “I cannot speak for the others, but I have signed on with this group.”

Rôhn finished wrapping proper dressing around his battle wounds and looked up when he heard Thorum’s greeting.  He hastily moved out from under the tarp, leaving his weapons and armor there, and approached the circle of conversation, taking up position next to Borlak, as if by his very proximity, he registered his accordance with Borlak’s declination.

“How fares the bridge?” the Dwarf interrupted with some urgency, wiping blood — precisely whose was undetermined — from his hands to his shirt.  He tucked his thumbs in his broad leather girdle as his eyes darted to the hillock, which obscured the bridge from view, and, gritting his teeth, mentally warded off any ill news in Thorum’s response.

“Well, can’t say as the bridge ‘as suffered any trouble,” Thorum replied.

Rôhn nodded and, either rudely or seemingly oblivious to common civility, turned and walked away as Thorum was answering his question.

“It’s those workin’ on it that have been vexed mostly,” Thorum continued, “Can’t say as why them brigands are so intent on working these simple folk over.  It seems clear they want to delay the construction, but who’d have a care about that?”

Kat flashed Thorum a smile and nodded her head at Borlak and Rôhn, “Sorry, but I’m with them, the group that is.”

Kurn caught the sweeping glance of Thorum as members of the party began replying to his offer.  Once Thorum looked his way Kurn preceded his answer with a single acknowledging nod for appreciation of the offer from the veteran, then distinctly shook his head no, making clear he was not willing to accept.

The attempt at conversing with Daroun was, at least for the time being, put on hold whilst the stranger’s request was being made and considered…and, it seemed, rejected by one after another, each speaking in turn.

“I am told that I am needed among these others, and so I too must decline, I think,” Cheskith spoke in turn.  Perhaps a bit of a tentative response, but then again, given his rather rude reception thus far, he was wondering whether Erellia hadn’t made a mistake in making the request.

Marcus waited his turn then answered, “You are welcome for the help, but unfortunately, I must decline.  I have reason to be with this group.” Marcus was about to turn away when his eyes landed on Haron. Looking at Kurn and shrugging, Marcus caught Thorum’s eye. “You could do me a favor though. I assume you are stripping the raiders of weapons and armor. This lad has decided to travel with us a bit further and I would feel better if he had an axe, armor and shield. Would you mind if he picked some he could use out of the scavenging?”

Looking back to Haron, Kurn ticked his head towards Marcus and nodded.  “He’s got a point; help yourself as you will.”

“I always have a point, that’s why people keep me around”, Marcus muttered with a smile in his voice.

“Not at all.  Not at all.  Help yourself lad,” Thorum said, “It’s the least those of us here can do to offer our thanks.”

Haron paused for only a second before taking a tack toward the villagers in charge of gathering the spoils of the battle.

“Talk to Deoden, lad.  He’s the one who makes record of those goods,” Thorum shouted as an afterthought, then turned back to the party.

“I figured as much,” Thorum said, “Most companies that come through are pretty tightly knit.  Ah well, it never hurts to ask.  I’m sure Anthal will watch over us all the same.”

“Well. I won’t be keeping you folks any longer, this weather and all. Mind if I ask where you’re headed in case we’ve got merchants looking for escort? And does your company have a name? We like to keep on friendly terms with tho–”

From the area of the funeral pyre, a tremendous sucking of air and an explosion of flame engulfed the pile of bodies in a small inferno, casting a mute orange glow over all those nearby.

As eyes turned toward the conflagration, Erellia’s lone form could be seen standing silhouetted against the hungry flame.

“By Cyclea’s teeth!” Thorum shouted.

The explosion and flash of flame drew Rôhn’s attention again from his task as he looked up, bushy red eyebrows raised high on his furrowed brow. The glance was only momentary, however.  He resumed his task the moment he saw Erellia as the source of the flames.

The closest expression to anything other than detachment crossed Kurn’s face as he saw Erellia standing intent in its wake, apparently in no danger and likely the cause.  Kurn actually…chuckled.  Once.  Tersely.  But amusement had momentarily quirked the corner of his mouth.  “Go, Erellia,” he muttered.

Marcus spun when the fire leapt up, but then relaxed and grinned as he saw it was on purpose.  “I’m beginning to believe that woman has a flare for the dramatic,” Marcus stated.

Kurn swept his eyes across the party in the wake of the distraction to make certain all were present and well.  In so doing he caught Zulian’s scrutiny as she exchanged words with some of the party.  He saw she was without injury at present.  With hand still resting upon the hilt at his side, he nodded a silent, respectful greeting of equals across the short distance.

The dark skinned half-Elf walked toward Kurn with only the slightest of limps to hint at her injury.  The furrow of her brow and the set of her jaw indicated anything but good will to share with the seasoned warrior.  For an instant, Kurn actually thought that Zulian might strike him, but she drew herself up a few feet shy of his position.

“Kurn is it?” she asked with obvious ire.  One wrist cocked on the head of her scimitar and the other dangling at her side.  Kurn noted the tip of a small curved blade peeking out on the hip opposite her sword.  Zulian stood nearly a foot shorter than the Human fighter, though at this close range, Kurn could see the lean, wiry strength and signs of weathered experience that would go unnoticed under casual scrutiny.  Clearly uninterested in his reply, Zulian forged ahead.

“Do you make it common practice to hurl yourself into the path of charging steeds?  If so, shall we just bury you here and now to save time?  I would hate to lose any more horses along the way.”