To Hunt A Dragon

[Black_Out]

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It was a day that promised warmth, despite starting out cold. The sun would rise, casting away the chill of nights moonlit shadows. Dawn would come and with it a mellow rise in the temperature would permeate throughout the venerable depths of the Stag Woods. It was a sacred stretch of trees that lay amidst the foothills of the Iron Crag Mountains. Revered not only for the ancient oaks that claimed dominion over the lush lands, but for a single great beast that walked amongst its winding overgrown trails. The forest was aptly named, after that magnificent beast that few could ever say they had seen.

A great white stag, its coat as pure as freshly fallen snow that legends said stood as tall as two fully grown men stacked on top of each other. To see it was to be blessed, to hunt it was folly, although many tried. The prize was simply to possess a tuft of its glowing white coat, plucked by skill of hand and swiftness of foot along with the nimbleness to not find oneself trampled or gored for their efforts. The tales of such courageous efforts that actually succeeded were understandably beyond rare. The last known to have accomplished such a feat was that of Sigric, he who united the tribes and here in the very depths of the Stag Woods was were that union was celebrated with a yearly moot.

Upon Sigric's passing those yearly gatherings diminished in scope before fading into history. There were still modest affairs that were attended by the more peaceful tribes of the South that had remained loosely aligned in the wake of Sigric's death. But they rarely amounted to much, nor yielded prosperous fruit towards the future. These days most of the tribes were more concerned with their own individual needs, few found themselves willing to extend a hand to lessen another's burden. But this year under the canopy of blossoming spring, things were different.

The smell of succulent boar filled the air while it was roasting away over a fire pit where several woman from a variety of tribes were dutifully attending that mass of meal. There was beer, ale, and kegs of hardy mead brought on the back of donkey or small wagons that had been sent along with a small contingent of dwarves from the Longstone Clan; a first in the history of the moot, for dwarves rarely left the security of their mountain home. There was even wine that had arrived, reluctantly to be shared by a handful of elves that had come from the distant west. The tribes of course made up the vast majority of this surprisingly crowded gathering. It harkened back to those years when Sigric would lord over the moot, where song, tale, and good food and drink we're shared in abundance.

Despite the joyous mood, the laughter that erupted at the end of an amusing joke, or the playful scrambling of children that darted between pine and oak as they played, there was a somber undertone, a business like demeanor that was most evident upon the elders in attendance. For as welcome a change as this sight was to behold, it was all because of the fear of a dragon that had levelled a rising city and had come to roost upon those remains to the north, upon the fringes of so many borders. Behind the closed drapes of a grand tent the wisest of the tribes met in private to discuss this most concerning matter for if that dragon of ebon scales was allowed to rest and prosper in its new home there would be no way of knowing how grave a threat it might present to the vast lands that fell beneath the shadows of its wings. Warriors, champions we're needed and as such it was agreed upon in that privacy of that counsel that the best man or woman available would be assembled in an effort to slay the young dragon, Mordacious, spawn of Ra'Sheel, the Ebon Queen of the Black Thorn Swamps, before it could gather forces and strengthen its hold within the sunken remains of Running Water.

It would be later that night, when the warmth of the day had begun to fade once again, amidst the flickering dance of bonfire shadows that illuminated the sacred grounds where knotted oaks, twisted locusts, and venerable pines framed the joyous gathering that word would be spread. The tribes had made their selections, and one by one the most promising of warriors in attendance we're found by their tribal elders. Whether they were in good standing or not, outcast, or firmly entrenched within the society of their individual tribes they were informed of their fate. Glory would await those who returned triumphant, while those who made the greatest of sacrifices would be honored in legend.

@Shiva the Cat
A tap of a worn hand that settled with familiar warmth fell upon the shoulder of Eyota. The wrinkled visage of Shaman Na'took was there to greet her with all of the warmth and kindness that it had always possessed. There, upon the fringes of the gathering where she lingered with the great lynx that was never found to be far from her side he informed her of the Toko Tribe's choice. "You have been chosen, Eyota, the old man who speaks to stone, shares wisdom with the trees, and runs with the wolves has convinced the Elders of our tribe to grant you the honor of representing our people. You have been chosen, Eyota, to join with other warriors to slay the dragon who sits upon Running Waters remains." He smiled kindly upon the young woman who he had not seen in years until this moment. "Return, and you will be welcome back amongst the Toko, both of you." His gaze shifted down towards Alo, who was nestled at her side.

@BennyQ
"Voran!" The bellowing voice of Tur'nook rose above the chorus of song and dance as the over weight barbarian maneuvered his way through the festive surrounds towards the young warrior who bore that name. "Voran! It is I Tur'nook!" The man who had taken a much more youthful Voran under his wings proclaimed. It had been nearly ten years since the pair had seen eachother and it was plainly obvious that Tur'nook, while still an imposing presence, had lost a step. Leaning his weight upon a stout walking stick, he limped on a leg that had gone bad towards the young man who he had shared the secrets of the spear with. "Just look at you! You have grown boy!" His hand slapped down across the sculpted shoulder as he grinned towards the slayer of the mountain lion. "It is good to see you! I had heard you we're here. The old man of the forest spoke highly of you. Are you up for slaying a dragon my old friend?"

@TheCorsair
It was a strangely welcoming affair with a stranger that drew Gall the Far-Seeing to the moot beneath the limbs of the Stag Woods. In his wanderings he had stumbled upon an older man who bore the years of his father. There upon a winding trail that curled through a forest laden valley between the receding slopes and cliffs of the Iron Crag Mountains they spoke at a pleasant length. The old man who simply introduced himself as Knotty, kindly offered to show Gall to the sight of the rumored moot that his boundless curiosity had been drawing him to seek out. With ease, he escorted Gall through the brambles and foliage of the dense forest floor until his ears were embraced with the sound of laughter, celebration, and song. By the time he would turn around to thank the man who had led him to fringes of the bonfires light, he was gone. It was only hours later, after Gall had ample time to stuff his belly and quench both his thirst for drink and knowledge that a grizzled face fully framed by a bushy beard of deep grey tinted brown that his personal endeavors would be interrupted with the briefest of statements. "You are Gall the Far-Seeing, you are here to slay a dragon, yes?"

It wasn't long after that those who had been chosen were led away from the festivities of the night. The din of the moot was a muffled and distant buzz by the time they arrived in a small moon lit clearing where the tent where the elders convened had been erected. Fallen logs and suitable rocks waited in offering of seating beneath the dim blue light of the moon. Several were already claimed by elders from the various tribes both large and small that were in attendance. Others who bore the appearance of youthful warriors waited within the clearing. Their voices murmuring amongst themselves, only pausing to regard every new entrant that was led into the small opening of the grove. Separated, but not by much a trio of dwarves hung clustered together before a folded up blanket of leather that bulged from the contents hidden beneath that canvas. In the shadows that circled the fringes, lingering amidst the fence line of the trees the lithe and svelte figures of three elves remained as separated from the core of it all as possible, while still making it clearly obvious that they were indeed present.

@BlooBlanket
There was a subtle look given from elf to dwarf that ceded the floor to those mountain dwellers and the thick beards that rolled down their barrel sized chests. Gorth, third eldest of the Long Stone family stepped forward, his bulk leaning forward as rough fingers that were creased with age swept the blanket open. "We bring these gifts from the depths of our mountains, forged by our own hands." The moon shone down upon metal most rare in the form of blades, spear, axe, and razor sharp arrows by the dozen. "Our lord and king, my eldest brother, has deemed this a cause worthy of our concern and with these weapons we bring our own champion to join the effort." Gorth stepped back and turned to glance over his shoulder towards a fresher faced dwarf who was for his size, imposing in stature. "Gostîm Shieldbearer, a famed warrior amongst our people. His hammer and shield shall be by your side." A round of subdued grunts sounded in approval as eyes were drawn towards the promise of the steel that gleamed beneath the glow of the moon.

@LeaT
Lythandriel of the elves stepped forward from hiding as Gorth receded. There was an air of pompous self importance in the tone of his voice as the slender figure that was clad in sleek leathers that were stained in a myriad of green hues folded his arms across his chest. "We have traveled far from our homes to be here this night. A gift given to the lord of Falling Water upon his wedding day lies in the thieving clutches of Mordacious." He pivoted, posture shifting like a curtain to reveal the slender and exquisite form of an elven maiden who lurked in the shadows. "Our finest scout, Iseldra, has been tasked with reclaiming that which has been stolen as well as lending her aid for if left unperturbed such a beast could cast its shadow far and wide over these lands and reach even our own in time." Gracefully, Lythandriel bowed back into the fringes of the grove from whence he came, allowing Iseldra the opportunity to present herself is she so desired.

All told, after the introductions had been made of those who had been chosen to represent this newly forged pact of man, dwarf, and elf a total of six men and women stood under the traces of moonlight that bathed across their figures. The only one to have not been introduced as of yet went by the name of Mo'toya. She was a young woman that had risen to prominence amongst her people as the youngest of shamans in the history of the Moko. Bones and pelts were littered across her pale flesh, while a pair of eyes that contrasted blue versus green stared out from beneath a head piece of horns and feathers. She remained quiet through the whole affair, sipping from a mug of clay whose contents left her lips stained a dull shade of blue from the potent leaves of the Sannish plant that steeped within the heated waters of her tea.

 

[LeaT]

Isledra stepped out of the shadows after a moment's hesitation, her eyes seeking out each of her fellow elves as if drawing strength and confidence from them. She moved with the usual grace of elves, though much of her confidence seemed to melt away as she felt the eyes of the non-elves upon her and stood alone, apart from her brethren. Of all the elves present, she was most familiar with the lands of men and even the borders of the dwarven realm for she had travelled extensively. But she knew not the people, always avoiding them or at best watching them from afar. This was the closest she had ever come to human or dwarf and she struggled with her instinct to slip back into the shadows. But one by one, her eyes met with each of her soon to be companions. "As Lythandriel said, I am Iseldra, daughter of Rosaryn." Her voice wavered a little as she spoke, continuing to make eye contact, but finding no strength from them as she did her own kind. "We elves have long lives and long memories, we know well the danger of such a creature and those that may hold court with it." Whatever she might think of humans and dwarves, her disdain for the dragon and the opportunistic races that might follow in its shadow was as plain as the nearly white hair on her head. "If you shall have me, I shall do my best to guide you and help us bypass what dangers can be avoided. But know well that in the end we must face the greatest danger of all and may we find the courage to face it." She didn't feel that courage at the moment, but she did stand her ground in the middle of the gathering, waiting for those selected to speak their oath if they chose and to join in the quest if they dared.

 

[Black_Out]

Mo'Toya sat unflinching upon the stump of a log as Iseldra stepped forward into the center of the gathering. The witches dual colored eyes of green and blue gazed up from the steaming contents of the mug that was cradled within her hands. A murmur that had risen after the elven maiden had made her address began to die down, and that was when the quiet woman chose to speak. With a raspy tinge to her voice, Mo'Toya turned her dilated, fuzzy eyes to each individual who had been chosen to stand against the rising threat of Mordacious. "The elven woman is right, Mordacious, if given time, shall draw other foul denizens to the live amidst the lands it has laid claim to." Her blue tinted lips pursed into a small oval that blew a cooling breath of air across the contents of the misty vapors that rose up from the mug that was settled beneath her face. "In my walks with the spirits, I have seen many things that may come to pass, but most concerning of all, Mordacious seeks a mate."

The pelt adorned shaman lowered her lips to take a sip from her hallucinatory cocktail, her voice less raspy, smoothed over by the medicinal concoction now. "If such were to come to pass, the threat that Mordacious presents would rise tenfold across our lands." With a pass of her tongue that licked the remnants of her beverage away from her azure stained lips, Mo'Toya looked towards Iseldra and gave the elf a faint inclination of her head. "My courage will join with yours, Iseldra, daughter of Rosaryn." She fell back into silence then, yielding the floor to whomever might take it next.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Why was it always that whenever Na'took the Shaman smiled upon someone, they felt the inevitable urge to punch the wrinkled old charlatan in their oversized nose? By some fortitude of her character, Eyota resisted the temptation, though the sharp-eyed companion at her side dared go so far as to arch his white back and hiss at the messenger. I don't blame you one bit the huntress smiled in the direction of the lynx, who did seem to calm a little at the gesture, but Eyota's dark eyes were still wary as she nodded in assent to the shaman. "It is a relief to know the Toko have not utterly forgotten Eyota and Alo, though we have been long away. For the sake of my father and my chief, I shall do as you ask." That would have to be reason enough, for now. The huntress knew better than to believe the old man who claimed to speak to stone, and trees, and who knew what else, wouldn't simply find a new reason to continue her exile once the dragon had been slain.

"The spirits" were such temperamental things, after all.

As the woman and lynx joined the rest of the chosen, Eyota looked upon the young shaman of the group with no less coldness than she had for the old one, though the tall blonde beside her did give the huntress pause. She'd heard of elves only in stories for children, and among her tribe it was generally accepted that the people were extinct, if they had ever truly existed at all. Then again, the same could be said about dragons, and clearly the truth of those creatures was enough to pose a serious threat to all the tribes.

Bowing her head to the elf momentarily, and utterly ignoring the shaman with a skeptic's dignity, Eyota rested on hand on the back of Alo's neck as she addressed the group. "I am only a common hunter," she began slowly, "but my partner and I have slain many creatures, without the help of any tribe behind us, and I fear no beast in the wilds. Not even a dragon." Straightening her back, the huntress let her hand drop as the lynx moved in front of her. "I am Eyota, and this is my brother, Alo. Lead us to your foes, and we shall do all we can to destroy them."

 

[TheCorsair]

"You are Gall the Far-Seeing," stated an elderly Melkan, probably far older than Gall suspected. For all their softness, the Melkan saw many more summers than the Aruch, if they survived childhood. And this man, lean and grey and wolfish, with a leather band covering one eye, had clearly long since survived childhood. "You are here to slay a dragon, yes?"

"I am," Gall replied, meeting frankness with frankness. He had not been invited specifically, but word of this gathering had traveled far among the Melkan and Aruch, and among the stranger folk of the hills and mountains, the Gentle Folk of whom he had been warned as a child. He honestly hadn't believed them to be real, but he had seen a few on the edges of the Melkan camp. "And I have slain the mammoths of the hills, and the great bears of the caves of the Iron Horn mountains." His hand stroked the heavy, shaggy cloak he wore. "And now I will slay a dragon, or die in the attempt. I have spoken."

"It is well," the elderly Melkan said solemnly, nodding his head. "It is well." He refilled Gall's horn with amber mead, carefully squeezing the skin that held it to prevent it from speaking. "Had I seen even a single span of summers less, I would join you." Capping the skin, he touched his right eye. "The others may see only an Ork, but with my eye I see a mighty man of valor, a hero of renown like many others who have come to this gathering of the tribes." He raised his own horn. "Biodh do mhic mòran agus grànda, agus do nigheanan brèagha."

"You speak the tongue of the Aruch?" Gall asked, intrigued. So many Melkan felt it was necessary for others to learn their language, as if they were the masters of the world. "I..."

"I speak many languages," the old man replied, staring over Gall's shoulder. "And I know many things. For instance, I know they are gathering the heroes now. Agus bidh feum aca air gaisgich."

Gall turned to look, and found a stocky man in leather breeches approaching. "Come, Or... Gall." It clearly took the man an effort to not dismissively address him as 'ork'. "It is time to gather to the council fire."

Nodding, Gall turned back to the old Melkan. "Be well..." he began, the stopped. The old man was gone, leaving only the stump upon which he had been sitting. With a shrug, he rose to his feet and turned to face the stocky man who was making such an effort to not be rude. "Then let us gather," he answered. "Let us gather, and let us hear of the woes of your people, and then let the assembled heroes of the land speak of how we will slay the wyrm that plagues us all."

Bold words, but the sight of the gathered heroes gave him pause. A Melkan woman who sat with the same predatory ease as the lynx that crouched at her side. A Melkan man with the gaze of eagles who wore the pelts of wolves and great cats. Another Melkan woman, draped in bones that rattled as she breathed and surrounded by the spirits bound to her fetishes. But there were two more figures who sent a shudder through him. A blonde female, graceful beyond anything dreamed of by Aruch or Melkan, whose every movement inspired lust and fear in equal measure. And a shape that he first took for a moving boulder, until he realized that it was actually dressed in clothes made from the indestructible greystone that the Aruch prized even above the copper and bronze they traded for or stole from the Melkan. Two of the Gentle Folk out of dark tales told about the cookfires.

Deliberately, he took a seat between the three Melkan and the two uncanny beings. Gall the Far-Seeing had been called many things, but coward was not and never would be one of them.

 

[Strange Days]

Gostîm Shieldbearer stood behind Lord Gorth as he spoke, promising weapons worthy of slaying a beast such as the despicable Mordacious. Unused to such ceremonial entrances, he saw it fit to simply stand among the other men until his time came, and he could walk forward with a dull clanging given by the armor, as well as weaponry, he wore.
To those unfamiliar with Dwarves, his stocky appearance would be essentially matching what one could have heard in any tavern of the Lands, the styled reddish beard included, as well as a pair of small, dark eyes hidden under the helmet's frontal guard. He could see Humans, as well as Elves, though he was certainly more familiar with the former.

"Indeed, I am at your service. I hope our quest will be a succesful one, and that our gifts will prove to be suited to the task they were forged for. I would, however, urge the other Champions to take their pick as they see fit, based on which weapon fits their combat prowess best. Wouldn't want anyone to find themselves unfit as to what they are wielding to get rid of a threat." His eyes would go over the other creatures surrounding him, especially on Eyota and her feline companion, as well as the mysterious, bone-covered figure sitting on the stump.
As for the Elf, she was as graceful as one would expect, though he did wonder if her nimbleness would have sufficed.

Perhaps the one who seemed the closest to him in sheer power was a man who had sat not too far from where he would find himself after taking a polite leave and going to mingle with the ones that would have become his companions for the duration of the quest. The weapons contained in the drape which had been used to carry them only gave off a sharp gleam, and reflected the moon's glow and the fire's flames off of their perfectly symmetrical structure.

"This is a promising start to our journey, don't you think so too, friend?" Gall felt the Dwarf's deep voice circling around him, its' pitch a clear reminder of the depths his kind usually inhabited. "Friend" was definitely an odd way to describe someone he had never met, but Gostîm had always taken great pride in how open he could be when it came to interacting with others, no matter their standing or how they first posed themselves to him. As long as he could count on their respect, private matters -and how they felt- were much of a much secondary importance to the warrior.

His attention would then turn to Iseldra as she spoke. Though he wasn't used to her kind's subtle hints of displease and their fleeting mood, he could tell she wasn't as open as one may have wanted to think. Perhaps it came from the close tie to her kin, or perhaps her distaste with other Races that dwelled within the continent was a direct cause of elven ideology. Either way, he would have acted amiably towards her should the occasion have arisen.

As for Mo'Toya, she was a particularly hard one to read. Where one couldn't dispute the knowledge those dual-colored eyes brought with them, at the same time, he felt as if she was oddly distant, her mind's reaches perhaps too deeply-linked with the Spirits who roamed the mystical plane her consciousness was connected to to bother appearing as anything else than absent. Though he didn't worship any particular deity (preferring to direct his faith towards the sparks and fling one could find in Dwarven workshops, and the molten steel they would produce as a result) he could at the very least respect the Tribes offering them one of their acolytes to assist them in slaying the Dragon, or provide comfort to the soul.

The last words that came out of his mouth were directed towards Eyota and her animal companion, Alo. "I imagine we can trust your knowledge of the soil and nature itself to guide our perilous voyage, then. Your friend there seems to be worthy of all of our collaboration, too. Your bow will be a great aid to the cause, so I pray your arrow pierces the scale of the beast, and ensure a safe return to our homes for all of us. That is what I hope."

 

[BennyQ]

Voran of the Saragos Tribe stifled yet another yawn with his fist before his mouth as he trod through the hollowed grounds of the festivity. These things started too early in the morning and yet lasted well into the night, the mirth and feasting leaving one little time for rest or slumber, especially with the coupling and mingling of sexes that generally followed. Voran was no stranger to the proclivities of such a ceremony, though such merriment seemed to deeply belie the reason why any of them were there. Indeed, it was the reason he was there, and the sole issue why he wasn’t fully partaking in the so-called cultural exchanges like he usually did. They were there to kill a dragon.

In all his travels he had fought and slain many beasts and creatures, now one of his sole motivators in life to find a challenging query that he had not yet faced. What more than a dragon? The pelt of the mountain lion that had been his greatest kill thus far was wrapped about his waist, a stark color of orange with stripes of black and brown across its flanks, in deeper contrast to the usual hues of green vegetation, the brown earth and mud, the grey metals and sharp edges. He had to be selected on that chosen band of slayers. This was what he felt his whole life was leading up to. Even without the lack of any present danger at moment, his grip was knuckle white on his spear shaft, using it as a walking stick at present, already swept up with determination and focus. Would it be enough?

He passed between the circles of tribesmen and guests of many races aimlessly. The circles of those cooking and singing were pleasant and the circles of those drinking and laughing were inviting, but he never stayed overlong at any. He simply could not with the thudding excitement and trepidation. But when a loud, booming voice called his name, he seemed to snap from this dreamy reprieve as if he had just walked into a tree.

“It is you.” He commented with a chuckle when the owner of the voice introduced themselves. Tur’nook, a presence he had not seen or heard since the splintering of his old tribal confederation. A man who taught him much. He tried not to think of Tur’nook’s leg though. The fate of every warrior. If one didn’t die in battle, they fell to such attrition of limb and body instead. He shrugged to the comment of having grown. “In body perhaps, not so much in mind.” He joked at his own expense, clapping the warrior on his shoulder even as the same was done to him. “And which old man of the woods is that? There are so many these days. They even call me that in some parts. I might even referred to you as that occasionally in my mind.” Voran grinned. “Up indeed, though unfortunately not high enough to meet the dragon in the air. If only we could make it fair for the poor beast.” He laughed nervously.

“And you? Will you be joining up as well? A man with your wisdom and experience would be worth ten spears on a field of battle, against any foe.” Voran inquired back of the man. Not everyone needed to fight. That was the problem with some chiefs. They tried to make warriors out of everyone. Sometimes a tribe needed a healer, or a scout, or a loremaster, to truly rise up the ranks in the wild world.

Standing aside to Tur’nook, Voran took a sweeping glance around the forested grounds. “In any case, what do you reckon of all this? Elves, dwarves, orks, men, some others I’ve never seen or heard about. The dragon must be a formidable foe indeed to bring so many under one leafy ceiling.” Voran said more seriously, as clearly this wasn’t just a single tribe’s problem, but seemingly all peoples were gathered here. Deep down, for all his bravado, he knew this dragon was a serious and dangerous threat, one that could lay waste to entire nations if the fearmongers were to be believed.

“I’ve not seen many others that I’ve known in my youth, however.” He sighed with a tinge of nostalgia. No, the tribal warriors of his age and generation were either dead in the ground, or staying far away because of their blood feuds.

 

[Black_Out]

Tur'Nook would not be joining, as much as the man might of wanted to, he knew such days were far behind him. Limping along with Voran at his side, the grizzled veteran of a man who had seen much more than his younger counterpart couldn't help but agree that this moot had brought a rare mix of folk to gather beneath the old oaks. "Dragons are a formidable foe no matter how large or small one might be, or so I have heard. Many are concerned, rightfully so." He led the young warrior who he had personally helped to train so many years ago away from the cluster that congregated around the bonfire, leading Voran down a path lined with thickets of weeds and brambles.

"Gorhan still holds much sway in the lands to the west, and the dragon is far from his lands. As such most of your, or our brethren declined to come for fear of crossing him." With a push of his weathered hand, Tur'Nook pushed a branch aside to reveal another gathering taking place. A much smaller affair in a much tighter opening where the other chosen warriors that were to face Mordacious we're already making introductions or looking over the weapons and shields of steel that were laid out upon the canvas before a trio of dwarven folk. Tur'Nook paused, stepping aside to allow Voran to pass by him into the small open glade where the moonlight from above offered a softer illumination that complimented a handful of torches and a small, modest fire.

"It seems we are a little late, my legs do not move as swiftly as they once had." There was a rueful smile upon the stout mans face as he addressed the gathering before them. "This is Voran, I Tur'Nook of the Saragos vouch for his tenacity and skill." He stepped back further, ceding the way for Voran to make his entrance.

From her place upon the stump of a log, Mo'Toya raised her cryptic blood shot and wild eyes of blue and green upon the newest arrival. Her voice was a low drawling slur as she cupped her potent beverage to her belly. "Welcome Voran, I am Mo'Toya of the Moko." Her glazed over eyes swept about to the others, taking it upon herself to make further introductions with just a delicate gesture of fingertips that pointed to individuals as they were named. "That is Gostim of the Dwarves, Iseldra of the Elves, Eyota and Alo, and Gall the Far-Seeing." She slid back into the comfort of her drink and let her thoughts wander.

Gorth stood up as tall as a dwarf might be able, one hand stroking his long beard of grey and silver braided hair before his cavernous voice rose. "Come, Voran, all of you, come and let us find you a weapon crafted of steel by our finest smiths that might see a dragon slain." His gaze swept over the spears in Voran and Galls possession before he plucked one up off the canvas and marched his way across the grasses towards where Voran was. "This is Thunderstrike." He held the spear out before himself, carefully tracing the shape of the weapons immaculately crafted shaft with his thumbs. "Take it, it is yours now. May it serve you well."

 

[LeaT]

@Shiva the Cat

Iseldra walked slowly and cautiously among the assembled warriors and other champions of the collected tribes and races. Her bow still unstrung behind her next to her quiver, her knives sheathed behind her. She walked towards the young huntress who was also carrying a bow, with practiced ease she reached over one shoulder and in a fluid motion withdrew a solitary arrow from her quiver. It was one of a score of nearly identical arrows, with what may have been another wrapped in a fine soft cloth. She held the arrow with both hands so that it was parallel to the ground and oriented from side to side in the least threatening of manners. She bowed to Eyota in greeting then turning slightly did the same to the lynx beside her. It was clear, at least to Iseldra that this was no trained pet. She did not understand the bond between woman and feline, but she respected just the same.

She extended her hands towards Eyota, presenting her arrow. As each had been introduced by name she didn't see the need to introduce herself. "Would you do me the honor of exchanging an arrow? Temporarily of course, I have found an arrow says much about the archer that made it and intends to use it." Her voice was light with a musical tone to it, her words precise yet flowing easily from her lips. "I have made arrows since before I was strong enough to bend a bow, but still I learn from each one I see." Though she looked roughly the same age as the huntress, Iseldra had been making arrows since before Eyota's grandmother was born, but her interest was sincere and a sign of respect.

"I know the dwarves can work wonders with iron and steel, though I see so few dwarven archers I am skeptical of their talent with arrows." She spoke as she felt the balance and sighted the straightness of Etoya's arrow assuming she offered one in return. "But my curiosity is aflame and given the difficulty of our hunt, I fear it unwise to not at least consider them. Would you care to join me?" She asked, not wanting to seem as if she would seek to hoard the dwarven generosity, but content to share with the others according to their needs and talents. Assuming they found that the dwarves could indeed make a fine arrow, which remained to be seen.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

It was curious how, between Eyota and Alo, the lynx seemed much more at ease in the company of strangers than the woman (especially considering it was due to the former's unfortunate behavior around other people that the pair found themselves exiled in the first place). After the huntress had made her introduction, her figure seemed to diminish as she retreated to the edge of the circle, hunching into her furs as her eyes shifted across each of the five faces before her. Meanwhile, the lynx began to slowly pace before the warriors, pausing in front of each one as if to gauge their measure. The stumpy, metal-clad figure and the man with the scarred face seemed to hold the least amount of interest for the great cat, though he did pause and lock his bright eyes with the shaman for several moments, making Eyota wonder if he might be attempting to communicate with Mo'Toya in that odd, wordless way he sometimes spoke to her.

The only one he showed any hostility towards was the silent man who had been introduced as Voran. Eyota suspected it may have been the lion pelt the dark-haired stranger wore around his waist, or perhaps it was the uncanny way he moved, almost as though he were an animal himself. Whatever the reason might have been it was enough to evoke a scratching growl from the lynx's throat as he arched his back in warning for Voran to keep his distance. But in any case Alo soon moved on, returning to his partner's side, but not before pausing to brush lightly against the elf's bare legs, his manner utterly relaxed now and even affectionate as he settled down at Eyota's feet.

The huntress stared in awe at this bizarre display, and at first didn't realize what exactly it was Iseldra wanted as she drew an arrow from her quiver. The shot was as graceful and beautiful as its owner, and Eyota suddenly felt shy at the idea of taking it in exchange for one of her own crude arrows. Yet, how could she deny the gentle expression in the elf's eyes, or the enchanting melody of her voice? With a clumsy nod, the huntress reached into her own quiver, drawing out a shorter, sturdier shaft tipped with a hand-cut jasper head and fletched with the red and gray feathers of a gorehawk.

"I prefer these for larger beasts," Eyota explained as she exchanged her arrow for Iseldra's. "I have lighter ones for birds, but they don't always pierce the hides of things like wild oxen and yaks. For a dragon, I think impact should outweigh range, should it not?" she asked, genuinely curious about the elf's professional opinion. If the stories she'd heard about the fair folk were true, it was wholly possible the other archer had a century or more experience on the younger woman.

A curious expression crossed her face as the subject turned to dwarves, and the huntress looked at Gostîm with new interest. She'd had little direct interaction with dwarves in the past, but in the years since her exile she'd developed a fondness for their metal contraptions, and had traded several creatures' worth of pelts to obtain her iron knife, cooking gear, and a strange metal disk with a hole in it that was perfect for straightening her arrow shafts. "I've heard much about dwarven ingenuity," she continued, loud enough for Gostîm to hear. "And I have never been disappointed before. An iron arrow shaft would likely be too heavy to fly, but perhaps if only the head were made of metal..."

She took a cautious step towards the dwarf. "Is that something your people could achieve, Gostîm?"

 

[LeaT]

Isledra exchanged a soft stroke behind the ear for Alo's brush along her bare leg as he returned to Eyota's feet, which seemed his usual position. "A loyal companion, he carries himself well." The elf spoke admiringly of the cat even as she took the human girl's arrow. The craft of the two archer's was quite different but it was clear Isledra was impressed with the practicality of Eyota's decisions on her arrow of choice for this hunt. "A reasonable consideration, I defer to your judgement on such things as I rarely hunt, at least not for food." She somewhat unconsciously looked to the half-orc in their midst, betraying the only race she had ever slayed with arrow or knife. "Life is so often about trade offs, what to keep and what to let go." She mused as she continued to inspect the arrow in minute detail and talking even as she focused on her craft.

"I value accuracy over all, and make them as long as I can easily handle. Even the heaviest of arrows will bounce off the dragon's scales, for that matter even the heaviest of spears." She did pull her eyes from the arrow as she saw the spear being gifted to the one named Voran. "But being able to hit a weak point, between scales or even down the gullet." She looked to Eyota once more. "That was the advice given me by one of our elders, for I have never seen a dragon, let alone hunted one. But I might be grateful for as much range as I can manage once we find the creature." She smiled, glad to have broken the ice with at least one of her compatriots.

As their attention shifted to the dwarf Gostîm, Iseldra picked up two of the arrows, handing one to Eyota. After several moments of inspection she leaned close and whispered. "Do you think they would be offended if we just took the points?" She felt as if she could practically work the tip off with her fingers. The points were finally made of steel, but the rest looked as if it were crafted by someone who may have seen an arrow once, but certainly never lofted one towards an enemy or their dinner. In the end she opted to take what arrows were allotted to her, opting to remove the tips later when it would be less likely to cause offense.

The collection of arrows brought them closer to Voran, though Iseldra only nodded in his direction. She had noted Alo's animosity and decided not to be too closely associated with the cat wearing warrior just yet. She kept a wary eye on the half-orc but otherwise was beginning to relax a little among these unusual peoples that she had only viewed from afar before this night.

 

[BennyQ]

“Yeah, I know.” Voran relented in a quieter, more wise voice about the danger of dragons, despite his earlier bravado. This wasn’t a vacation hiking party up a mountain side, this might as well be an invasion of a hellish realm if the tales be true about dragons, wreaking fire and destruction. Gorhan thinks he has sway over his piece of land, but all land was under the dominion of the sky, and dragons ruled that domain. Gorhan might think he could hide, but he couldn’t. Not really. Voran preferred to fight on his legs, even his knees, then stick his head under the dirt and hope someone else will blow away the storm.

He followed Tur’Nook to where the other chosen few were gathered, Voran taking them in one after the other. A dwarf, armored like a fortress. A half-orc, tall as pines. An elf, willowy and slender. And a young woman, with a very angry looking cat beside her. He barely had time to register or introduce himself. “Worry not, your mind makes up for your legs with its speed.” Voran assured the man, before looking to those gathered and nodding his head as Tur’Nook made his cause to them. An older woman with eyes of sky and leaf regarded him coolly, to which Voran quirked his eyebrows under her scrutinize gaze. He knew wisdom and age when he saw it and showed deference out of respect for that.

“Well met, Mo’Toya of the Moko.” He greeted back, before being introduced to those same figures. “Fellows.” He greeted them with a warm smile. A hardy bunch. If only they all had wings, but what they lacked in flight they would have to make up for in tenacity.

He was handed a weapon. Thunderstrike. How very apt. “You honor me. I have never held anything remotely near in quality or craftsmanship.” Voran said with some amazement to the weapon, taking it in his hands, twirling it between his hands, and then tossing it back and forth, testing its weight, its balance, feeling it as light as a feather yet swift as any eagle’s claws. “I shall bring honor to its crafter.” He swore with pride, setting the butt upon the ground and grasping it. He immediately felt uplifted by the gifted weapon, to add alongside his throwing javelins.

He looked to the others. He noted the cat companion of the human woman, called Alo, was regarding him fiercely. No doubt because of the hide of its older cousin that he wore as a trophy around his waist. Voran made eye contact with Alo, then mimicked its growl with one of his own, teeth bared for a playful heartbeat. Gostim, Iseldra and Eyota seemed to be in discussion about their own armaments and he was heartened to see their expertise with ranged weapons. Then there was Gall the Far-Seeing. A strange title to have. If there was one thing Voran enjoyed, it was a good tale, and if the half-orc was addressed as such by even these elderly, learned individuals, it must be significant indeed.

He didn’t feel right interrupting the trio’s discussion yet, especially with the angry lynx who probably was not ready to see the hide of a kindred beast around the waist of a warrior, so he turned to the half-orc instead. Half-man? Voran didn’t know what to think of that, but he didn’t care either way the circumstances of his birth. If he was chosen by this council too that was good enough for him.

“They called you the Far-Seeing.” He addressed to the warrior directly. “Everyone else here was called by where they are from or what tribe or race they belong to you. But not you.” Voran wagged his finger with a grin. “You get the title of a good ballad to go with your name. Why is that? Will we get to know or is that more guarded than the lost gold of a Crescent King?”

 

[TheCorsair]

The full clanking of greystone on greystone was a harbinger of the approach of one of the Good Neighbors. The small, broad-built Boulder that walked like a man. “This is a promising start to our journey,” it said, proving itself capable of speaking like a man as well, “don't you think so too, friend?”

Friend. He would not have expected to be addressed in such a way by one of the Fair Folk. They were cunning and dangerous, in the tales of the Aruch. But they also never spoke a lie - although, in their mouths, the truth could become a lie. “This is a gathering of heroes, and the spirits love courage and mighty deeds. It cannot help but be promising.”

Turning slightly, he met the gaze of the walking boulder. Shockingly, up close, it appeared to be more like a man dressed in skins made of greystone. What a terrible place the Otherworld must be, he decided, if the beasts there had such hides. “And I shall be honored to know you as a friend, and to return the friendship you show me. I am Gall.”

“They called you the Far-Seeing.” One of the Melken had moved to join them, the man with the gaze of eagles. “Everyone else here was called by where they are from or what tribe or race they belong to you. But not you.” The man wagged his finger with a grin. “You get the title of a good ballad to go with your name. Why is that? Will we get to know or is that more guarded than the lost gold of a Crescent King?”

Gall laughed at that, a booming sound that filled the clearing. “There is no secret,” he assured the man. “All among the clan of the Black Elk receive a gift-name, describing a quality of reknown. My mother was the Beautiful. My grandmother the Swift-Runner, my uncle the Tusk-Breaker. But it was difficult when the clan came to determine my gift name, for they are not needlessly cruel.”

Grnning, he made a gesture encompassing himself. “They could have called me the Ugly One, for my pallid complexion. Or the Weak, for I am slight of build. Instead, they cast the bones and consulted the spirits, and watched me. And they called me Far-Seeing, for I considered things they did not: how could we better preserve food against the season of cold, or the need to observe the expansion of the Melken settlements, or the way the patterns of the fires of night moved in a great wheel over the seasons.”

His smile grew whistful. “It was the Black Elk way of recognizing that all may contribute, even a sickly weakling. But how are you known, and what story lies behind it?”

 

[Black_Out]

Lythandriel and Fyraa, of the elves remained clustered about the shadows within the fringes of the flickering lights from the small camp fire that was nestled in the center of the gathering. Lythandriel, who was perhaps one of the elven lands more esteemed representatives saw little point in remaining as the group of chosen heroes began to mingle. Iseldra, he noted, at least seemed to be making a gesture of friendship, or at least comradery, and to his amusement it seemed to have been accepted. So he waited until their eyes would meet and with practiced ease his hand flowed into a pattern of symbols and gestures that the elves frequently used to communicate amongst themselves when silence seemed appropriate. Fair winds and safe travels to you Iseldra. Before the crystal clear melody of his voice would rise and catch the attention of all. "Go with grace and may a star shine upon you all in your time of need." They bowed their heads and although their faces were hidden by shadow it was clear that they left with same sternness and solemn countenance that they had arrived with.

The tribal escorts who remained took a moment to watch the elves vanish silently into the tangled depths of the forest before they moved from where they sat, leaned, or stood. One by one they made their way around the gathering of heroes, wishing them well on their journey and dispensing with parting words of wisdom. Most of it was your typical, standard forms of farewell, but some of what was spoken perhaps had value to those who received the messages.

@TheCorsair "I have heard that Mordacious can spit a stream of acid twice as far as a man can throw a spear." The dire warning came from the lips of a middle aged barbarian with a thick tangle of deep red hair named Dokoto. He settled his hand over Galls shoulder before glancing back ot the open canvas where the dwarven forged steel was on display. "Make sure to take a shield. It might save your life."

@LeaT The other dwarf that had remained largely silent moved his stunted barrel shaped body towards Iseldra and craned his neck to look up to her with a skeptical smile. "Never met an elf before but my father did. Name's Keld, second son of Furd. He traveled with an elf many years ago who bravely met his end in the mountains north of our home." Keld paused as he plucked his hand into a pocket and pulled out a small well polished coin purse that was tightly tied shut by a length of twine. "He wanted you to have these, they belonged to him, to Morien a pair of adamantium arrowheads that my father said would pierce even a dragons hide."

@BennyQ "There is a small clan of trolls that roam the lands to the north of the dragons realm." The words were spoken from a lean and wiry man who was twice the age of Voran. "I would not be surprised if the dragon has managed to force one or two of them to serve under the shadows of its wings." He stopped and leaned over to gather up a netted bundle of hollowed out gourds that had been sealed with wax. "They say fire or acid is needed to truly kill a troll. There are half a dozen vials of swamp fire. Once the liquid touches the air it will be set ablaze and burn furiously for a short time before it goes out. It is tacky enough that it can even be put upon a weapon so long as it can handle the heat." His eyes drifted over towards the metal point of his spear.

@Shiva the Cat Few if any seemed to stay long when they came upon Etoya and Alo to say their farewells. But nestled in the midst of the quick smiles and well wishes was good old Shaman Na'Took. He had leaned over to once more put a hand upon her shoulder, doing his best to ignore any unsettling noises Alo might make as he shared a quiet word. "I have heard in the past from souls that have long since went to rest that a dragon has a second stomach." His eyes looked over to the blanket. "They say that sometimes, they store some of their treasure within it. You'll most likely need a sharp and reliable set of knives to get to it though."

@BlooBlanket An older woman who had remained like the elves, hidden in the shadows came to hobble her wrinkled and aged form out towards Gostim. She was decorated in bones, much as Mo'toya was and used a gnarled length of wood to help her make her way towards the dwarf. "Mordacious lives in the water, he rules the water, he will make you fight him, in the water. You will sink, like a stone, in your hide of metal." She tapped the tip of her finger against the weight of his breast plate. "But take this, eat of it before you face him. At least you will not drown, but you will still sink." The old hag of a shaman who didn't offer her name carefully swung a tattered leather bag about to her front and started to sift through the tufts of fur, polished pieces of bone and stones, and other assorted oddities before she finally pulled out a bundle and unwrapped it to show Gostim a collection of green fibrous plant pods before she carefully repacked it and handed it to him. "There are six, and each will last for the length of an hour as the sands have foretold."

Mo'Toya kept herself largely silent, ignoring, or just simply blissfully unaware of any that made an effort to bid her luck on the journey. A few nods were given in return as subtle gestures of recognition, but for the most part her attentions were consumed by either the dancing light of the fire or dwindling contents of the beverage she was idly sipping away at. As the numbers began to thin out, and all that remained behind were the pair of dwarves who had withdrawn to leave the chosen band of heroes to converse, Mo'Toya finally rose up and ambled her way over to the edges of the small glade. With a glazed over look in her eyes she worked her hands delicately through the foliage, pushing plants aside until she discovered a small batch of bright red berries that grew hidden upon the forest floor. She continued to keep to herself as she gently plucked them from their hiding place and kept them cradled in the palm of her other hand.

 

[Strange Days]

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Gall the Far-Seeing. I believe your namesake to be a very intriguing one, and your tribe must have picked a promising warrior to boot." The Dwarf would prove to be oblivious to the Half-Orc's considerations about his getup, having bore its' weight for more years than he had cared to count. It has saved his life multiple times, as well, though that would be eventually demonstrated during the group's adventures as well, without the shadow of a doubt. Gostîm of the Dwarves had, however, other matters to tend to, first and foremost a keen observation of the lynx which paraded around him, but didn't show itself as intimidated by his appearance as many wild animals would, instead.

It was a fearsome beast, making it so that one could only wonder whether or not it belonged to an equally beastly owner. Yet, Eyota, as she had introduced herself, was not unlike the other tribe members which celebrated around the bonfires. She heard the pelt-toting woman raising her voice and referring to the skill which his people demonstrated in crafting weapons, and armor, out of the ore veins their ancestors had made possible to excavate through their advanced methods. He would get closer to the woman, as well as the Elf, giving her a most curious glance, the small, narrow eyelids below that wide forehead of his blinking in Iseldra's direction.

To her question, a small rumble would rise from deep within his chest, until said low growl would morph into coarse words. It wasn't out of spite that he spoke in such a manner, rather, it was due to the heavy inflection in his voice. Even the roughest of clansmen around could tell his Common wasn't as refined in its' pronunciation for more complex terms. "It definitely is possible, though we would need to gather the steel that is needed for that purpose. However, a heavier shaft for a thin projectile such as this would simply slow it down and cause it to plummet to the ground before it even reached its' target. Thus, I would suggest only fashioning a tip out of the ore we would leave at your disposal, as you have said."

Now, Dwarves were well-known for their sincerity. Unlike the Fae Folk, they didn't twist their words around most of the time, though their whims were well-known across the Lands and their tempers feared. Yet, his voice was quite calm as he questioned the Elf about the glances she had given him. There was no malice in his voice, of course. "I am sorry, Iseldra, but I couldn't help but become aware of the way you were looking at me. Do tell me, is there anything off about my appearance? Was it something I did which upset you? Were my people's gifts not enough to earn your favor? If so, I sincerely apologize for my actions and any offense we may have caused you. Relationships between our Races aren't in the best state, I will be honest, but I'd rather enjoy a collaboration than experience hostility. Perhaps you will be able to understand this."

With that explanation out of the way, he would bow his head at both women, and head towards Voran and Gorth instead, taking the older Dwarf to the side and whispering something in his ear, no doubt related to the request Eyota had for them. Voran himself was left awaiting further elaboration on the weapon's qualities should he have wished to learn more about it, at least until Gostîm was satisfied, and turned to face him. "Voran, does the weapon feel right in your hands? Perfectly balanced as it should be, not too heavy...but not too light as to escape your grasp in the heat of battle?" With an inquisitive look and a shift in the thick beard indicating a faint smile, he would await a response from the Human.

@Black_Out Gostîm would remain still as the woman approached. Covered in fur and bones as she was, she had a certain savage air about them, but at the same time, her gaze told him that her advice would have been of great use to him in his quest. Her logic made sense, after all, his armor had been built with the goal of offering superb protection, but its' weight made sure it was only ever useful on land, and even then, few could even wear it without great fatigue. He clutched the bundle in his calloused hands, then offered the woman another smile in return. "Thank you kindly, ma'am. May I know my generous donor's name, so that I may dedicate our victory to such a wondrous plant? It would be quite disrespectful not to do so."

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Eyota couldn't hide the frown on her face as Iseldra passed her one of the arrows. As she had suspected, the metal shaft would be far too heavy to get any real distance when fired. Not from her bow anyway, which was designed to be light and easy to carry on her long journeys. Still, the tip was sharp, and the arrow was sturdy overall. A little smile crooked across her face as she closed her fist around the shaft, imagining it could possibly be used as some kind of miniature handheld spear and jabbed into an opponent at close quarters. It might not pierce a dragon's hide of course, but an eyeball perhaps...

Ah, but best leave the jabbing to someone better suited for it. The wild man, Voran, certainly seemed comfortable enough with a spear in hand. Tucking the arrow into her quiver, Eyota looked a little more seriously at him, curious about his origin and his tribe. The name 'Saragos' seemed to chime a note of familiarity in the back of her mind, but it had been so long since she'd attended a gathering like this (and the others had been when she was a child, or barely more than one) that she couldn't say for certain whether or not she'd ever encountered anyone else from that group. But his accent wasn't dissimilar from her own (aside from the antagonizing growl he'd made towards Alo), and she suspected his training with the spear might have been very much like what the hunters of her own tribe were taught.

For a moment, she was even a little jealous of the spear he'd been given, even though Eyota knew she hadn't the strength to wield such a weapon efficiently. No, she'd be best off sticking with her bow and arrows, and rely on Alo for the rest. Possibly the rest of the party as well, though she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about learning to hunt in a pack again.

The conversations surrounding the party began to rise, only worsening her anxiety and driving Eyota to instinctively fell back again, reaching her fingers into Alo's thick fur. I want to go home she suddenly thought, though home wasn't so much a fixed location as...well, any place away from all these people, and all this noise. It was loud enough to even mask the approach of Na'Took, and if Alo hadn't suddenly arched his back with a hiss, the old shaman might have taken the huntress utterly by surprise.

As it was, she still had her knife in hand as she whirled around to face the 'threat,' but Na'Took was utterly unfazed at the blade only inches from his face. Indeed, there was almost a look of disdain in those rheumy eyes, and the comment about needing sharp and reliable knives evoked a little burn of rage on the huntress' cheeks. "Hmph," she grunted, stowing her crude (but still sharp) weapon back in its sheath. "And what use do I have for treasures? Decorate my cave with them? Wear something pretty to win me a mate?" Scoffing, she turned her back on the shaman. "Meats and hides are more useful for trade. I'll stick with taking what the beast's corpse can give, that's all I want. Perhaps if I make an offering of a dragon's heart to the spirits, they'll be a little more kind to me."

Much as she hated to admit it though, Na'Took did have a point about getting some better knives. Compared to what other members of the Toko typically used, her iron knife was a marvel, but looking now at what the others had...well, she could certainly see a few faults in her own weaponry.

Without a second glance at the shaman, she instead looked in the direction he'd indicated, where a few more dwarves were brooding over a shocking number of weapons laid neatly out on a leather blanket. Straightening her back and signalling for Alo to follow her, Eyota approached the trio with her head held high and a cool expression in her eyes as she glanced over the wares, trying not to linger too long near a set of beautifully crafted knives. She wasn't totally inexperienced with commerce among her own kind, but dealing with dwarves as an utterly new adventure.

"Evening," she greeted with the slightest incline of her head. "I don't suppose any of you would be interested in any trading? I have a supply of pelts here..." As she spoke, she removed her pack and let it fall heavily to the dirt. Suddenly it seemed the huntress had lost half her width and a quarter of her height, now that the thigh-high bag was resting on the ground beside her. Article by article, she began to pull out her own merchandise. "Got some bones and claws as well. A few antlers, some shells, a bit of ochre..." Indeed, it seemed Eyota had no limit to her own supply of 'treasure,' which among her own people was a small fortune in its own right.

Among dwarves, however, would quite likely be a different story.

 

[BennyQ]

The Far-Seeing one was more than content to share his tale with Voran, who listened to the policies and conventions of another tribe with curious awe. What he wouldn’t give to be apart of such a confederation again. His eyebrows did quirk when Gall revealed that his own chosen title was not defined by a physical characteristic, as it might have been like his forebears, but something more aligned with his thought and experience. He shared the man’s grin at the self-admitted depreciation of his humor. A man who did not take himself too seriously. That was good company to have. And as if his earlier remarks to Tur’Nook was answered, some much needed wisdom to go with all the brawn they currently had. They would need some well thought out schemes if they were ever to combat a dragon.

How was he known? Interesting question, one he never actually pondered himself. “I am called Voran, as you might have heard from others. How I came by this name, or what it may mean, those answers are lost with the passing of my parents, who gave it to me. But I did not grow old enough to be able to comprehend its meaning before they passed from this life. I like it, though. It is mine and there is none other like me that I have met.” He shrugged with his shoulders, not thinking too deeply into the significance. If it mattered more than being the simple sound to attract his attention, he was sure the fates would unveil to him in time.

They were soon approached by the Dwarf, Gostîm, and Voran was pleased to see one of the stout folk among them. They were used to the heat of forges and foundries, he had heard, so surely they must have some experience if they ever came head on against dragon fire. Though, Voran was unaware of what he might do. Run real fast, I suppose. At the Dwarf’s question, Voran stared on for a heartbeat, wondering if he was speaking to the craftsman directly, before pulling the spear out of the earth where he had struck it down in the meanwhile and twirling it into an upright position. “It’s well enough, friend. Not too heavy, yes. But I don’t mind it being too light. Sometimes I do wish it to escape my grasp, if but to reach the enemy’s heart a few moments ahead of my own body.” He pointed out with a smirk. “Was this your creation? It is quite a marvel. I feel like I’m a whole world behind with the ashen tipped spears I was using before.”

There was a brief flourish and gesture of attention from the gathered elders, who declared this assembly complete and ready to depart. One by one they came forward to bid each of them fortune and success, and though Voran was courteous in reply to each, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Something…lacking in tune with the way they spoke to them. As if they might be already dead, trying to fight a dragon? Some at least were helpful, as one elder addressed Voran directly with a warning of dangers he knew too well. “Vultures to prey on left over carrion, they’ll scatter without their master.” Voran said about the possibility of trolls being under the sway of the dragon. He was presented with a bundle therefore, of vials containing a delicate mixture. To this, his eyes widened in amazement at such trickery and power, taking the items with a deference. “I shall put them to good use, whether by mine or any of my companions.” He assured the elder, raising one of the vials to examine more closely with his eye.

It seems all were given a gift alongside some parting words and once the elders had cleared, Voran glanced about with curiosity at what the others had received. He wondered what the elf and the huntress were given, though regardless he guessed his gift might be best shared with them in plenty, while he might take one or two of the vials for his own. For once he got close to a troll or any other beast, he wasn’t going to miss his stroke. He couldn’t afford to, with that sort of proximity. The huntress soon approached however, with her companion in tow. To signal Voran meant no threat, he did take a step back, though he flashed a grin at the lynx. Don’t take this as concession, I know we have business.

The girl looked familiar to him. Perhaps he had visited her tribe in the past. Though he was sure he would remember the angry cat. He remembered every angry cat. Most tried to kill him. He nodded to her greeting, spoken to all, though he had no interest in pelts, having his own lion’s skin around his waist still. The huntress did seem to possess a lot, certainly more than the total sum value of everything Voran owned, which he bore on his back or person. “Bones?” He exclaimed into her list. “Of what animal? Harvested when? …some make for good soup is all.” He shrugged with an apologetic smile. He had nothing to trade anyways so his interest was merely academically.

His eyes flickered to where one of the female elders had gone, before looking back at the group. “I suppose it’s just us from here on out. You all reckon on starting now under moon and star or beginning by daylight? Does anyone know if dragons can see in the dark? Or are we not safe traveling by light or dark either way?” Voran asked the group at large, letting his eyes sweep around before landing on the elf last, whom he had not the privileged of addressing or speak yet. She would be the best accustomed to the wilds, being more long lived, and experienced. He wondered how old and felt a tinge of envy at the time allotted to her, while he knew his years were fleeting in both youth and more so in age.

 

[LeaT]

"I am sorry, Iseldra, but I couldn't help but become aware of the way you were looking at me. Do tell me, is there anything off about my appearance? Was it something I did which upset you? Were my people's gifts not enough to earn your favor? If so, I sincerely apologize for my actions and any offense we may have caused you. Relationships between our Races aren't in the best state, I will be honest, but I'd rather enjoy a collaboration than experience hostility. Perhaps you will be able to understand this."

The normally graceful elf stiffened as the dwarf spoke, if it was true that the words of a dwarf were sincere, the same could not necessarily be said for their insight or accuracy. "I was unaware I looked at you in any way that should draw offense." She retrieved his 'gift' from her quiver as she spoke, she made no comment on either the fine quality of the steel nor the poor bindings to the shaft but thrust them towards him in her hand. They clattered against the plate of his armor and she released them whether he had gripped them or not. "If such gifts are to buy 'favor' beyond my help in hunting the devil Mordacious, than I would sooner do without." Her eyes shifted across the room, she felt awkward and embarrassed to be singled out in this way, she knew she could sometimes wear a scowl of general disapproval among strangers but it was more nerves than anything else. "Perhaps relations between our peoples would be better served by not attempting to read the minds of strangers."

With that she turned towards what she had hoped would be the more friendly company of Eyota but she was already admiring the 'gift' to the male hunter name Voran and she decided to find a less charged conversation. She had barely begun to move from one group to find another when she was approached by another dwarf. Or she assumed it was another, they all looked somewhat alike to her, but the shade and braid of the beard was different and his smell was perhaps a bit less offensive. She had a rather enhanced sense of smell which was often a bonus in the wild, but often a curse among the other races.

"Never met an elf before but my father did. Name's Keld, second son of Furd. He traveled with an elf many years ago who bravely met his end in the mountains north of our home."

Ideldra sighed with momentary frustration but listened as this dwarf made a much better introduction than the last. She offered him a small bow, "well met Keld son of Furd, I am Iseldra, daughter of Rosaryn." She stood again to her full height, towering above the dwarf but her facial features softening ever so slightly. "I am pleased to hear precedent of elves and dwarves traveling together." She left off any commentary of the 'bravely met his end' part of his tale.

"He wanted you to have these, they belonged to him, to Morien a pair of adamantium arrowheads that my father said would pierce even a dragons hide."

Her pale soft hand reached out to accept the offered pouch as she gave an expression of grateful wonder. She crouched down to speak to the dwarf face to face. "These are a rare treasure and may well make the difference in our quest. I am forever grateful Master Keld." She leaned in and gently kissed his cheek, one of the few parts of his face not covered with hair of some sort.

As she departed with gratitude she found herself left with the choice of the half ork or the seer that remained unmet of their party. Leaning towards the devil she knew (or thought she knew) she headed towards Gall as he was called. She could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck rise as she approached the ork-kin, though not fully ork he bore enough features to make her cautious. That he might be the 'runt' of his tribe would not be guessed by the fair haired elf as she approached cautiously. "I have never hunted with an Aruch before but have seen and heard of their strength and courage." Said features not often referred to in such positive terms and more often creating fear and caution in elven kind than confidence and reassurance, but these were difficult days and one must consider friends where they could find them. She would trust this one more if she could keep a ready eye upon him.

 

[Strange Days]

"Did I upset her? Elves really are peculiar. Though perhaps I was...less than delicate myself. No point in going after her, there'll be time to prove my skills when the time is ripe." He would pick the arrow at his feet back up, and advance towards Eyota, placing it in her hand, then pointing at her quiver. "You were lucky, not everyone accepted the gifts. One word of advice: you will find few traders among our people who delve in anything but gems or other precious materials. Your goods would perhaps see better use among the other tribes, now that they are all reunited. I can very well see others taking great interest in what you may offer."

And now, he would nod in approval at Voran's praise of their craft. It was true that the spear was lighter compared to what Dwarves usually produced out of their forge, but they had been informed some of the hunters they would meet were incredibly apt in the use of throwing weapons, which also meant coming along without one such gift would have come off as rude. To his question, Gostîm would shake his head side to side and reply in a jovial tone.

"I am afraid it wasn't by my hand that that fine weapon was forged. But some did come out of my family's workshop, so it very well may be true in a sense. I am not as well-versed as my brothers in the art of melding and weaving the gifts we were given as a people, but I can recognize a reliable weapon when I see one. Say..." His eyes would shift around the encampment, then, he would raise an arm in the direction of a large tree before them. It was an imposing plant, its' blackened bark stout and tough-looking "May I ask you to show me just how far and with how much power you are able to throw that newly-acquired weapon of yours?"

Still entertaining himself with what the camp had to offer, Gostîm finally felt able to let himself break away from the stern nature he had gotten used to by serving at his post. These people were so...carefree, in a way, even if the menace they were about to face would have, sooner or later, affected their very own livelihoods would they have been unable to dispose of it. It was certainly an arduous task, but...if they banded together and stuck as a group until the end, perhaps there would have been a chance? Their folk had single-handedly picked them out for this exact purpose after all.

The gathering was about to end, and soon, they would have been on their way to meet with the enemy, face-to-face. The thought of fighting in an unfamiliar environment like the one which had been described by both the elders, as well as the woman who gifted him what he had figured out to be a special and rare plant made for an ominous situation to be in for all of those involved.

 

[BennyQ]

While Voran was learned with many sorts of weapons over his life, from clubs to bows and other bladed objects, even with his immense experience, he wasn’t going to put it past the opinion of one who forged the tools for such needs. Even if it was only the dwarf’s family. Best leave that sort of expertise to those who were brought up around it. Voran only knew how to craft what was needed for a present circumstance and even then it was hardly durable and viable for continued use. His javelins generally broke on his query, and therefore he used teeth and bone from those hunted to craft the newer ones, and so on. He never had something like this spear that might last…well, more than a handful of combats and usages. It was rather exciting.

Say…May I ask you to show me just how far and with how much power you are able to throw that newly-acquired weapon of yours?

A demonstration? Voran’s eyebrows perked with humor and he grinned. “With this? Well I could, but I generally use other implements for throwing first, and prefer to use this only when closed with the enemy, or to throw it in great need, if it is only I and a single foe left on the field. But I can demonstrate…” Voran said, glancing at the tree, and making a guess at how many paces it was, and moving to take a more solid and direct line of sight, with some spacing from the others. He drew a line on the ground, dark as it was already, and moved a few paces behind to gather up momentum for the throw. Normally he wouldn’t have this much time to focus or prepare in an actual fight.

He twirled Thunderstrike so that the tip was aimed downwards and breathed in and out several times, heavily, until all the air was exhaled from his lungs. Then he drew his arm back, sidestepped towards his drawn line, and hurled the spear gracefully through the air. It soared like any projectile, cutting through the air, where it pierced the distance tree about midway up its trunk, or generally where the chest and heart of a full grown man would have been. The spear cracked against the bark, before the weight of the shaft dragged it down to touch upon the earth.

Voran pouted his lips, shifted them in a circular motion, then just shrugged. “That was…quite more impressive than I expected. I’ll have to practice and get used to that lighter build. Elders said the dragon might have plenty of servants and subordinates, so there should be plenty of time for that sort of bloody practice.” Voran said with a touch of gleeful excitement at the prospect of battle. And actual battle, for a purpose or scheme he could be proud of, not just greedy feuding between tribal chiefs and their desire for resources. Something for the good of all peoples.

 

[TheCorsair]

Gall hefted the greystone shield carefully, startled by how thin it was and how light it felt. He’d seen and used such devices, of course. Heavy things of wood and rattan and rawhide, awkward to bring to bear and generally hacked and ripped into uselessness by the end of an engagement. “May I..?” he asked the Dwarf who had presented it as he unslung his war club.

“Of course,” the Fae answered.

Gall leaned the shield against a tee, then took a firm grasp on the club. Raising it over his head, he bellowed a war cry and brought it down with all the might in his heavily-muscled arms. There was a crashing sound, and the flint head of the club splintered and shattered. The shield was unharmed.

Fall looked closer. No, not just unharmed. Utterly unmarked.

“Magic,” he breathed, eyes wide. “An I mpenetrable shield, forged by the cunning smiths of the Gentle Folk.” He lifted it once more, fitting his left arm through the leather straps. “Great are the gifts of the Good Neighbors!” he roared, slamming the wooden haft of his club into the greystone again and again. “Great are their gifts, and great are their names. Death to the dragon! DEATH TO THE DRAGON!”

 

[Black_Out]

Mo'Toya returned from the fringes of the opening, gathered berries cradled in the palms of her hands as she watched while Gall beat the living hell out of a solid steel shield, only to shatter his club against its unyielding surface. Her multi-hued eyes darted over to Voran, catching sight of him as he hurled his newly gifted weapon into the stout surface of a tree. The witch simply shook her head, although she could not suppress the thin grin that found its way upon her blue stained lips. It was good to see such eagerness amongst the fierce warriors that had been summoned here. But would that eagerness and courage falter when they came face to face with Mordacious. Mo'Toya whispered a nearly silent prayer to the spirits that such would not come to pass as she slipped the berries into a loose sack of leather stuffed with cotton.

No time like the present to introduce myself. The thought passed through her addled mind as she came to stand slightly behind the stocky dwarven warrior that called himself Gostim. One hand came to rest lightly upon the dwarfs broad shoulder while they watched as Voran retrieved his spear. "I see you met my Great Grandmother, Shaman Nuthia." Her two toned eyes gazed down to Gostim as she smiled deeply. "She raised me, taught me much of what I know, and much of what I have yet to learn." Mo'Toya turned her attentions over towards the blanket where weapons, shields, and more remained laid out for the chosen champions to pick through.

"Perhaps you might help me select a set of fine daggers?" She left his side, fingers tracing away from his shoulder as she moved with a smooth stride towards the waiting blanket where Etoya and Iseldra stood nearby. "Unless your people had the foresight to craft needles that would be fitting to deliver the poisons I prefer to breath upon my foes?" Mo'Toya reached behind her back, unslinging a simple looking tube of bamboo that had been polished and whittled into the shape of a blow gun as she gazed down upon the blanket in search of a finer weapon to claim as her own.

 

[Strange Days]

"That is Dwarven Steel for you, Voran. Quite durable, too. The armor I am wearing is over a hundred years old, yet there's no crack or sign of wear to be seen all over its' surface." He would compliment the tribesman's skill with his throwing weapon. Surely, having many people around with different areas of expertise was a blessing, given the fact other perils may have profiled themselves during their journey. While defeating Mordacious was their end goal, no one would have stopped cut-throat bandits or wild beasts from attacking them when they least expected it to happen. And if it came to that, then they needed to be prepared.

"Then, take any chance to practice wielding Thunderstrike. I look forward to seeing what you will be able to perform using that mighty weapon. I heard it can pierce through even the most stout of leathers, so for someone of your skill...it should not be a problem to master it in a short amount of time." With that, he would turn as a deafening shout was heard. His first instinct, shaped by years of defending the Keep would have been to take up his mace and strike down his foe... however, the noise seemed to be coming from the Half-Orc he had spoken to before.

"Our gifts seem to be appreciated, at least. I hope I may be of help as well." He meditated for a moment, right before he would feel a lithe hand over his shoulder, and a powerful presence right behind him. How could he not have noticed it? Had his senses dulled due to the festive atmosphere everyone seemed to be enjoying? Or perhaps, Mo'Toya had received aid from the Spirits she worshipped and in turn, they had cloaked her presence.

He would turn around as she spoke, looking at the plethora of animal bones, skulls and the fading bodypaint covering her figure. Gostîm wondered if all Shamans looked like that, or if the woman was a special case, even among her blessed caste. "Aye. She is a wise woman, I can see where you took your wits from. I don't doubt you will be a precious asset to our cause. Not familiar with your people's cult in the slightest, but I am aware of the fact you worship nature's spirits due to your close communion with the environment. I would like to learn more about them, should the time be right."

It was then that the woman asked him to show her a set of daggers, or even needles if they carried them. The latter was such an odd choice of weapon, especially paired with the blow gun she produced and presented to him. He'd raise his brow and lead her to the blanket, crouching down and speaking with one of the attendees before rummaging in the dwindling pile of steel boons and lifting up a pair or sharp-looking blades and handing them to the Shaman so that she could inspect them and deem them appropriate to wield as her weapons in the pursuit of the foul Mordacious.

"Those were the last to be forged. They do not have a name yet, thus, you are free to choose what to refer to them as. Be careful however, they are extremely sharp." As he spoke, the woman's odd eyes could pick up the reflection of her neutral expression on the pale, pure steel, broken up by the slit of the dagger's blades themselves which made it look as if her features were being shredded into various parts. What one could hope to be the result of their usage on Mordacious.

The attendee would come back and shake his head, only handing over a small burlap satchel to Gostîm before returning to the campfire to indulge in some ale. The Dwarf himself would continue speaking as he peered into the sack and then looked back to Mo'Toya. "Unless you're capable of turning sewing needles into weapons, I believe those would serve you much better." He'd simply speak up as she continued to inspect the gift she had just received.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

It was quickly becoming apparent to Eyota that trading for dwarven goods, and trading directly with their makers, were two entirely different things. In her previous business transactions, always conducted with people of her own kind--though these were better traveled and more sophisticated than the isolated Toko tribe--the trophies and bits of animal litter had always been appropriately eyed for their practical uses, and usually offered a fair price. But beyond running a few curious fingers over the thick pelts and the occasional claw, the huntress could see that the merchants had little interest in her wares. Two small spots of red flared into life on her cheeks, and she was about to begin packing the items back into her bag again when a voice from over her shoulder sent a little spark of hope back into her chest.

“Bones?” interrupted the wild man, Voran. “Of what animal? Harvested when?"

"Alpdeer, mostly," Eyota replied, trying to conceal the smile that would have exposed what remained of her pitiful business sense. "Good for carving, but still stronger than wood, for tools at least. I butchered him not four weeks ago, but I'm afraid I already traded away the antlers." Pausing to rummage through her wares again, she drew out an impressive black horn, much too large to belong to any stag. "I do have a couple of these left though, from a gray yak. You might make decent drinking horns from them," she added, glancing back at the dwarves.

This seemed to arouse a bit of conversation among them, and with one more grateful glance towards Voran (whether he had intended to drive up interest in her goods or not didn't matter to the huntress), she set about more seriously examining the dwarves' own items. Keeping in mind the old shaman's words, Eyota's attention was still mostly held by the knives, although some seemed almost too beautiful to use. After a while though, there was one in particular that kept drawing her eye. It was relatively short overall, but the blade was wide and curiously serrated on one end, with a slight curve to the point. The leather-wrapped hilt easily fit into her hand when she lifted it, and Eyota could practically feel the hides of not just dragons, but beasts of all shapes and sizes opening beneath her.

"What would you take for this?" she finally asked the traders, half-dreading the answer.

One of them said something about coin, although the few odd coppers Eyota had picked up here and were apparently far from the requested price. One who seemed a bit more kindly was willing to offer a lesser knife, already beginning to rust around the edge, in exchange for all of her pelts and horns, but then another suddenly seized a decent-sized and curiously spherical rock from a pile of miscellaneous teeth and claws the huntress had nearly forgotten about. The dwarves chattered animatedly to themselves in their own language, before the one with the rock in his hand looked suspiciously back at the woman.

"Where did you find this?"

Eyota stared back blankly. "It was in the stomach of a wolverine," she said with a shrug. "I thought those pale bits might be flint, but I couldn't get them to light. Why, what is it?"

The dwarf quickly shook his head, then shoved the jagged-edged knife towards her. "Here, take it. It is enough," he answered, a strange gleam in his eye as he turned away from the mat, treasure in hand.

Utterly unsure of what had just happened, but happy to at least have obtained the knife, the huntress began packing away her own items again when Gostîm appeared at her side, one of the metal arrows of his people in hand. Judging by the way he looked towards Iseldra, the huntress assumed there had been some odd discourse between the two, but nonetheless accepted the proffered weapon. "It was nothing. I can always find a use for one more arrow, no matter what it is made of. Better to have one than none," Eyota replied, carefully tucking it away with the rest of her belongings.

"As for trading with others, I see little point in it at the moment. I can hunt for my own food, and aside from the metalworks your own people can craft, my own tools and weapons suit me well enough. Besides, they were willing to give me this," she added proudly, showing off her new knife. "And all I needed to pay was a stone some idiot beast swallowed. Or perhaps a fish swallowed it, and he ate the fish? I seemed to recall some silver scales in the stomach as well..."

"Death to the dragon! DEATH TO THE DRAGON!”

The woman jumped a little, and Alo immediately hissed and arched his back at the roar coming from across the clearing. Once she was assured it was not the dragon himself swooping down from the heavens, and only Gall expressing himself with all the grace of a raging buffalo, Eyota shook her head in disapproval. "Bad luck to utter the name of your prey before it's dead," she muttered as she returned to Iseldra's side, praying that when the time came the man--or whatever he was--would be able to hold his tongue.

"When do you think they intend for us to leave?" she murmured to the elf, resting one hand on Alo's head as she observed the rest of the activity. Eyota's gaze shifted to the young shaman that was to accompany them, and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes a little. "I suppose there is some ceremony or another to be completed before we set out. One cannot do anything without the blessings of the spirits, it would seem," the huntress added, venom dripping in her voice.

 

[LeaT]

Iseldra smiled at the human notion of 'luck' but agreed with Eyota's disapproval. "I think it is bad luck to surrender stealth when hunting a beast as powerful as Mordacious." She mused as the huntress returned to her side. "Perhaps he can be trained? Alo would make a fine teacher for such a skill." Iseldra gave the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears as if to settle it from the reaction to the noise and further the small bond between them. Though it was nothing like the bond between Alo and Eyota, Iseldra was generally on good terms with most wild animals, her understanding of the wild places of the land was matched by few. She preferred the wilds to this noisy gathering of disparate peoples.

"Not soon enough I fear." Feeling a slight sense of kinship with the huntress which was unusual for the elf even among her own kind. But even with the self assurance of her own skills, Iseldra knew the hunting of a dragon, even a young one, was a task she could not attempt alone. "Mordacious will have allies and spies among the people, the sooner we disappear into the wilds the better." The orks especially she thought would be susceptible to the call of Mordacious' evil and though the noisy Gall was only half ork, it made him suspect in her eyes.

Following Eyota's attention, Iseldra's gaze fell upon the young shaman as well. "You do not abide the human customs?" She asked, curious to find that humans were not all much the same mind as each other. Similar in thoughts and actions, she thought much the same of dwarves, as if having met one you have met them all. Even though she had just recently seen evidence to the contrary at least among the dwarves she had just met. But her prejudices did not die easily, having taken over a century to form they would not be undone in a day.

"Maybe we can convince the young one to obtain that blessing quickly." She said as she stepped forward to greet the young shaman. Her eyes took in her pleasant form but when their eyes met Iseldra wondered at the influence of her mind by the potent drink she consumed. Lips stained from too much drink it made her think that their were at least two meanings for the human word 'spirits' and Isledra was unlikely to put her faith in either. She gave a slight bow to the apparently intoxicated woman. "When do you foresee us ready to travel? The sooner the better I suggest."

Flagging: @Shiva the Cat @Black_Out