Private Tales To Err is Human

[Volker]

Volker snorted. “Until then, if we are attacked I am useless.” He said sharply. He slowly limped toward the food. As prideful as he was, and as much as he disapproved of killing the Griffin, he took a portion of the meat for himself, along with a bowl of the broth. He ate quickly, without wasting a scrap, and returned to his blanket. He closed his eyes, appearing to meditate.

The Well was anything but quiet. In his own head, he had space to pace and think. “If you don’t get those knives back soon, I don’t like your odds.” Nestor said coldly. “Think. These savages have to be keeping them somewhere.”

“Tick tock.” Klaus smirked. “Oor’s going to wonder where you are..”

Volker sat down and held his head a moment. “I will observe them and see if they move the knife roll. It is small, and I would bet Mabess has it.” He said quietly. “Sneaking into her tent with one bad leg would be impossible and may get me killed.”

No matter what he thought of, he couldn’t come up with a feasible plan. So he opened his eyes, pulled himself back to the present, and observed the orcs.

Mabess

 

[Mabess]

Best let him be for now, Mabess thought to herself as she went to rejoin the tribe in the merrymaking.
A good omen, a good name. Shirammor is a blessed village.

So he opened his eyes, pulled himself back to the present, and observed the orcs.

If only that were possible. Before him stood the crooked old hag Gorsgoya with one eye firmly staring at him, the other closed. Her usually frail and thin body eclipsed his vision as if she were Lessat across the Sun.
»It's time to sleep young man, off off, I'll show you to your bed-heeee. This time it won't be a table, so be happy!«

 

[Volker]

Volker snorted in surprise, seeing the old woman in front of him. She should know better than to sneak up on him like that! And young? The crinkled skin around Volker’s eyes said otherwise. He gave her a measured look...well, it would be good to get some rest. He shakily stood, using the stick to support himself. “Where am I sleeping?” He asked her.

He wondered when the tribe would move again. Would it be like this every few weeks? “Old woman, I would not be sitting here helpless if raiders come across this village. I need a weapon, if a small one.” He told her.

Mabess

 

[Mabess]

Gorsgoya pointed at a small hut, big enough to only sleep in at the left side of the village. »You'll be sleeping, heeeeee, alone this time, « she wheezed at her usual pace.
Though Volker's weird remake made her tilt her head. 'beware raiders?' Usually, it was the orcs who raided, and whatever human villagers lived here haven't bothered them in years since Mabess took charge of the stormcaller ashlanders.
»You yourself are the greatest weapon. And that, hhh, stick of yours will do good to clobber someone over the head with. Now, off you go, tomorrow won't wait for you«

 

[Volker]

Volker sighed and headed toward the hut she’d indicated. At least it would give him some space away from the old woman. They still refused to give him back his weapons! He was feeling quite anxious without them. The stick would only do so much, and he hadn’t been trained enough in the staff to make it an effective weapon.

Still, he laid down to rest, hoping he could talk more sense to them in the morning. He needed those knives back.

His irritated master was less patient. A creature entered their camp. It looked like a walking corpse, burned and wizened, with papery skin and only a few wisps of hair clinging to his skull. A soft red light shone from his rib cage, like a paper lantern. He crossed his arms across his chest, walking through the camp in a huff of gray linen robes and bad temper. Where the hell was his pit dog?

Mabess

 

[Mabess]

All was still in the camp but for the croaks and screeches of nightlife, the clicks of bats and the barks of deer.
With most of the camp well asleep, as they should from an eve of long festivity, only one stood vigil by the dying embers of a once roaring fire; picking clean the griffon's bones.
The long bones would make for good flutes.

Thee eerie sight did not go unnoticed to the watchorc, but rather than start alarm, she lowerd herself and observed the wraith-thing from cover.