::Dusk fell and not much out of the ordinary made itself known. As night crept on fully, however, the orange flicker that could only be flames from a camp of some kind could be seen in the hills to the east. By marking the shifting terrain, Ramir is fairly confident he could at least find the correct hill with a search...::
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
Ramir has just enough room to refer to his compass of course, and tucks the location of the camp away in the corner of his mind. That was assuming it was whom they were looking for. With that accomplished, it was time for him to squeeze his way back down the stairwell and be freed of this damn watch tower. He felt like a can of sardines and those hadn't even been invented yet. I think.
Miroslaw is a heavy sleeper and thus remains asleep unless woken. He dreams. He is not as large in his dream. He is running through a field of giant flowers. Or perhaps he is just really small. The smell of the field is amazing, the medley of various herbal scents gently assaulting his nose. He tried to pick one, but they are seemingly as big as a tree. He is unable to muster the might to pull it from the ground. Instead, he eats part of one. It tastes as good as it smells. This is when he realizes his weapons are missing. He cant remember where he put them. As soon as he comes to this realization he is surrounded by zombies and spiders! He yells and runs as fast as he can, but they are just as fast as he. The dream turns quickly into a nightmare. A field of flowers and monsters.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
::Ramir makes it back down from the lookout point, no doubt greatful for the open space of the outdoors. Its pretty easy to find the sleeping Soren in his makeshift bed, snoring away and mumbling something about plants and zombies...::
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
Ramir doesn't give Miro's mumblings any real thought and dismisses them with a nudge of his boot to the sleeping giant's thigh. They had work to do and Ramir thought it best to at least approach the camp under the cover of night, so they could see what they're up against before choosing how to proceed.
With the slight nudge, Miroslaw sprang awake with some odd snorts and a hand immediately reaching to the side of the bed where his weapons lay. He was stuck in the nightmare, if only for a moment. Then he realized where he actually was. He had the shakes from the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins due to believing he was about to be killed... for a moment.
He gathered himself and responded, "Aye. Did you spot anything?" He stood and reequipped his weaponry with great speed. He did not really know how long he was sleeping, but he felt quite rejuvenated considering his sleeping arrangement. It must have been a more lengthy rest than he intended.
As soon as he was rearmed, he said, “Please, lead the way.”
Last Edit: May 1, 2014 17:27:48 GMT -5 by Miroslaw
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
::With the Soren awake, and a destination in mind, it was time to head out.
There was a trail that led in the general direction of the hill Ramir had marked. Following that path would be easy going. However, there came a time where the path continued straight, where the hill rose in the distance to the right...::
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
Ramir had no objections to taking point (yeah, you read that Red???) and when arriving at the point where the path seemed to be of little use, he lifted a closed fist and looked to Miroslaw over his shoulder.
He pointed at Miro's holstered bow and then tilted his head to indicate the hill being their approach. Scuttling to the underbrush and getting lower, Vandal kept his voice low.
"I'm not certain we need to start a fight, but I'm willing to bet we might find one. Let's take the high ground."
Ramir had a gleam in his eye as he produced the compact contraption that was his bow. His wrist flung it open and Ramir tested the string. Satisfied, he waited on Miroslaw's input.
Miroslaw trailed close behind Vandal. He appeared to know where he was going and Miroslaw had no idea. When they arrived at the destination, it was relayed to him through some hand gestures. Upon what he picked up as a request, he retrieved his bow and took a moment to string it. The prospect of combat was near, judging by what he was understanding.
Miroslaw crept forward with Vandal, though he was less graceful and quiet. It seemed unlikely that talking the gnomes into returning what they stole was an option. He was fully set on this turning into a fight. Taking the high ground would give them an opening advantage.
He simply nodded in agreement, but then thought for a moment before speaking up, maintaining the whisper, “So, are we resorting straight to a fight then? Taking the high ground isn't exactly a cordial way to meet them.”
::Ramir's limited knowledge of the lay of the land from what he had seen from the lookout tower would tell him that were he to go straight up the hill, he should come to the camp he saw. It also tells him that should he go to the right, he will gind a lower hill, and to the left a higher one. Both close to where the fires were seen.::
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
"No, we're scouting. But bandits tend to attack on sight and if that happens, I'd like to ventilate a couple of heads before we're knee deep in it. This way."
Vandal was certainly headed to the higher hill. He wanted to get a good look at just what they were getting themselves into and right now, missed his spyglass. He remained low whilst he pushed forward, prepping an arrow just in case it were needed. He smiled as well, his bow was smoother than prior.
Miroslaw nodded at the explanation. Scouting. That was reasonable. If whatever they were about to meet were not hostile, they would not lead with attacks. Maybe a fight won't be necessary. He moved forward, trailing just behind Vandal. He also notched an arrow, following Vandal's lead. A precaution as it was simple to hear the lack of stealth among the both of them. Whatever was waiting, they would most likely not have the element of surprise.
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.
::The pair continue on up the hillside and veering to the left to try and gain the higher hill before decending upon the camp. If Ramir thought he was bad at being stealthy, he felt much better about his skill having met the tall Soren trudging along behind him.
A few yards into the woods, you come across a crude fetish hanging in a tree. Sticks lashed together to form a framework. Dangling from the frame by strings of leather are small gears and bits of brass that tinkle in the breeze. Afixed to the framework is what used to be a snake. The head has been removed and the resulting wound altered to appear to be a mouth. Given Ramir's time at sea, it would remind him of a lamprey...
As you continue around to the left, you find more at odd intervals. They seem to mark the edge of claimed territory.::
My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.
Ramir was thinking on what they'd discovered thus far. He wasn't the scholarly sought, but was well traveled enough and well, some things were pretty simply to figure out. He'd stopped moving after the latest discovery and it was evident that he had some concerns.
"Miroslaw, hear me out. Isn't odd that they'd nick off with this lot and then hang it in trees? They're not thieving, this looks like a tribal thing - some kind of religious thing. I mean, maybe I'm wrong, but this doesn't look like we should be making this problem worse.
What does the guy in Wistvale do with these things?"
Miroslaw found the creations to be quite an unusual use of the things they had stolen. The gears were being used as a part of a handing ornament. As they continued on and saw even more of the creations, Vandal stopped and confirmed that he too was finding it to be an odd use. "Aye. It's a bit strange." He did not really see why it mattered if these folk were using them for religion or building fancy machines. It was their job to retrieve them. He continued, "I am not sure, really. Making gadgets of some nature. If nothing else, a scrap metal shop. What difference does it make? Do you intend to turn back and leave them be?"
Death is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. Whether that eternity is damnation or salvation is determined in the time we have.