Sworded Tales

Cheskith came through the battle unscathed, and the walking and adrenaline have limbered him up to the point that he was no longer in danger of toppling; having a fire drive back the chill didn’t hurt either, though the conversation that went back and forth caused him to reassess the purpose of it.

Since the others were engaged in mending one another or sorting through the leavings, Cheskith chose to place himself as sentry, adopting a northeasterly spot from the fire that allowed him a vantage over Haron and the horses as well as a reasonable view of the other approaches; however welcome it might have been in some regards, fire was likely to attract attention, and it might not be entirely friendly attention.

Kurn noted the box’s fall and traded a fancy-that glance with Rôhn, but continued his present task.  The box could wait the few moments until Kurn was certain no larvae were getting rambunctious.

“None,” he reported a few moments later, his inspection of the ground the bodies had rested on revealing no sign any Ankheg had hatched.  He sheathed his sword and returned to the box, which he crouched down next to.  He reached forward and lifted the box by its edges with his fingers, turning it over and looking for a latch and hinges.

As Marcus approaches with offer of aid, Kurn nodded and stood, but first pointed towards the flat box, where it still laid. “Was on one of the bodies.”

Rôhn, standing by Kurn’s side since he retrieved the box, examined it with the eye of a builder, attempting to discern the nature of its contents by its size and shape, but said nothing as the group turned down the trail, all, including its wielder, seemingly disregarding the box for the moment.

A muted orange glow in the distance signified all that remained of the Ankheg nesting site as the company settled in at the newest campsite no small distance from the scene of the carnage.

The pyre had been erected hastily at the base of the tree which had already been severely scorched by Marcus’ arcane flames and proceeded to quickly catch fire thanks to the liberal application of oil from one of the pack horses.  The drenched conditions did little to stem the artificially fueled blaze other than to thicken the smoke by several degrees, but the group concurred that once the oil had burned away, the rains would prevent the blaze from spreading to any nearby foliage.  At least, that was the hastily voiced consensus once the larvae began sizzling, writhing and popping from the fleshy sacs within which they had been gestating.  The group moved rapidly down the trail as soon as the conflagration achieved an appropriate size.  Zulian lead the way having shown little stomach for the dispatching of the insectoid young.

Now settled in for the night amidst a dense grove of trees and an outcropping of rock, the members of the group settled in around a small fire to regroup and recuperate from a dismal day of travel.  As the evening meal was cooked and after the watch schedule had been managed, a degree of quiet settled over the group as those with the healing arts attended to those that required their attention.

“The Purification will likely follow us,” Zulian said without prompting, and the reaction from Erellia was one that all can read.  The Elven patron’s head turned a little too quickly toward Zulian, and her gaze registered agitation, although the signs were there for only a moment before the calm mask descended again over Erellia’s face.

“Indeed,” Erellia replied after a few moments of calculated silence, watching Zulian intently.  There was just enough lilt in her voice to make it unclear if the uttered word was a statement or a question.

“They should be made aware of the possibility,” Zulian said, standing her ground.

Erellia watched Zulian for a few heartbeats, measuring her, before replying, “Then perhaps you would tell them?”

Zulian’s stony visage gazed at Erellia’s for another uncomfortable span of seconds.  The half-Elf then stood fluidly and turned with obvious displeasure, saying, “I’m going to check on the horses.”

“But I just–” Haron started to say before a dark look from Zulian caused him to lapse into immediate silence, and as she exited the dim circle of light cast by the fire, a silence once again descended over the group as Erellia returned to inspecting the dressing on Borlak’s arm.

Borlak’s gaze fell fully on Erellia as she was tending to his dressings.  After a moment’s intense scrutiniy he said, “I do not think now is the time for secrets.  If there is something that affects this group, telling it would be best.”

The barbarian glanced around at the group and continued, “We are none of us very familiar with one another and building trust on hidden information is hard to do.”

Rôhn, seemingly oblivious — or perhaps overly accustomed — to the tension between Erellia and Zulian, momentarily glanced up for the first time upon Borlak’s astute observation as the smoke from his pipe encircled the Dwarf’s broad countenance, but returned his attention to the box Kurn still held in his palm.  Rôhn’s stare became distant, as if looking through the box rather than at it, and he stroked the plaits of his red beard absently.

Kurn assessed the structure of the narrow box and found the finely wrought clasp on the front to be undamaged.   No visible signs of hinges could be seen from the exterior, but from the light heft of the wood and the ornamental nature of the latch, he gathered the box served a less than utilitarian purpose.  Popping the catch open with one finger, the damaged lid opened easily on well made hinges to reveal a variety of items within, although exposure to the elements through the smashed corner left the entire interior covered in a fine slick of mildew.

Kurn’s eyes were immediately drawn to a piece of elliptical jade set into a finely worked necklace of gold which is arranged pleasantly against the cloth lining.  The jade, though sizable, showed a crack down the outer facing.  One small vial remained intact near the damaged corner where three originally rested.  Broken pieces of the other two vials rested in the hollows molded for them, having long ago spilled their contents.  A set of twenty platinum pieces were recessed snugly in a semicircular groove along one side of the interior, their bright worth shining through the thin layer of grime.  Lastly, a piece of folded parchment was tucked into the top cloth of the box, though the seal was popped open and broken beyond recognition and the paper itself was stained badly with hues of blue, green and yellow.

The lack of familiarity seemed to be bothering Cheskith less than most, or perhaps it was simply that he was keeping busier than many.  The number of those who were either giving or receiving medical attention had left precious few to handle other tasks, and thus the responsibility for preparing dinner had fallen to him.

Though the lack of ready quantities of mushrooms remained one of his chief quibbles with the typical surface-world diet, the rest of the provisions were well-enough suited to the production of one of those most typical of trail-meals, a hearty stew to which a bit of everything had been added. Fortunately, that took little effort to cook once everything was in the pot; the occasional stir kept it going.

Thus, Cheskith had turned his attention to the accompanying element.  The hard bread which was to accompany it.  Bread certainly wasn’t among the Lizardman’s favored provisions; far too dry and tasteless for his palate.  Fortunately, it needed not remain that way, as his time on the surface had taught him ways to liven it up.  Thus, as the stew cooked, he sliced the loaves into halves and sets them flat-side up on a skillet, sprinkled them lightly with wine, and then topped them sparingly with butter and fine-chopped bits of onion and cheese.  A short span over the fire was enough to let the wine work its way in and melt the cheese atop them.

It was in the midst of so preparing a loaf that the exchange occurred between Erellia and Zulian.  Cheskith’s gaze shifted to the two just long enough to confirm that the tension in their voices was matched by their bodies, then returned to his task.  His attention remained somewhat divided though, and with Borlak’s statement the reptilian ventured a guess of his own.

“This Purification is what brought the raiders to the town, or was that merely to the convenience of such as you have yet explained?” he spoke, his tone seemingly casual, particularly when compared to the gloomy mood which seemed to hang over the gathering.  “But the Sunari is correct.  This silence, all of it, is not good for mind or spirit.”

Kurn shook his head, “We’ve fought alongside, for agreed purposes.  Details can be helpful, but there is no tension.”  Perhaps he spoke for himself, perhaps he spoke it as a suggestion for everyone to keep perspective and purpose.

As if to redirect the discussion, Kurn rotated the box recovered from the body in his palms until the contents were visible.  He held it so long enough for all to view and understand the contents, then offered the box — still opened — to Erellia as he stood.

Between Erellia and Zulian, if a threat was present and relevant information was due, he would prefer to hear it from a fighter that could give the terse and necessary details, not in an undertone-laden discussion of niceties.

Without excuse or explanation Kurn walked away from the fire and towards the horses, leaving the opened box behind in Erellia’s hands.