Norwick's envoys and the goblins of the West Rawlins
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Ragnhild frowns in concern, quickly making a sign to ward off evil over Mark's head before squeezing his shoulders reassuringly.
<g>"No fear, you are Bloody Tooth tribe. Vhatever darkness fall on you, is mine also, and you know no darkness of sound mind vould pick on me, right?"
She grins wide and confident, trying to conceal her inherent superstitious fears as she takes Mark's hand in hers, pulling him along like a child.
<g>"Come, we best tell the others. Tell more of voice, too, if remember detail, like vhen first appear, how sound like, vhat say? And no worri, nothing and no one vill harm you vhile I live."</g></g>
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Mark seems to crumble under the weight of Rag's gaze. His shoulders slump and he seems to grow even smaller.
<g>I didn know before…the darkness come at night and tell me. Says need hurry. It comes every night, make air all cold.</g>
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Setting Mark down, Ragnhild crouches infront of the clearly reluctant goblin, resting her hands on his bony shoulders.
<g>"You know? But.. how? Vhy not say before?"
Sharp blue eyes look straight into his as she awaits a reply, no anger, reproach or suspiscion apparant on her features, just an intense scrutiny which leaves very little room for evasiveness.</g>
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Mark looks uncomfortable for a few minutes then sighs deeply when Karn begins questioning him.
Mark <g>I know where need to go, where Kal'Vargen lair.
Not so far away from the camp a black armored figure mutters.
<d>Farking takin them forever.
The figure raises a black gem before his eyes and peers into it with great intent. It had taken him days to find the right dead goblin,the goblin that knew where the lair was. It was much quicker bringing it's essence back, much to his surprise it was no ordinary undead. No matter, it followed orders well enough. Moving the gem to his left hand he takes a long pull from his tankard wiping his mouth with his cloak.
<d>Tell them already ye stinkin excuse for a throw rug</d></d></g>
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_Dwin mostly keeps to himself, besides the occasional mutter to Bel'in. Fighting alongside greenskins goes against pretty much every bone in his stout body. Several times during skirmishes as he cleaves through mutliple foes with his singing axe, his mind deep into the battle-song, he imagines one extra slash or chop that might send one, or both greenskin heads flying.
Friends or not, they are still greenskin, and will eventually betray the group.
Knowing that he might not be able to control himself if Steel-cutter is singing loudly, he tends to position himself as far from the goblins as possible. Not so far, however, that he hasnt been impressed several times with the abilities of Spitter. A fine duel partner he would make, and an even finer trophy, but not yet.
The other goblin seems to be losing steam. Maybe its sick or lame in some way. Rag and the others seem to have noticed as well. If this Mark can't keep up with the group, we'll have to make it a quick, painless death; out of respect to Rag of course. She obviously cares for him, perhaps as a pet. We can't afford to let him go and betray our position to anyone or anything else.
During the times where the group is traveling, Dwin stops every once in a while and scans the woods, while holding his helm firmly on his head. He then usually stops and inhales deeply through his nose, as if searching for an odor or a scent._
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_Ragnhild seems to take both pride and joy in the battle prowess of her tribesman, eagerly throwing herself into each fight that comes their way with Spitter at her side, clearly counting him as a brother in arms. The combination of her long-reaching dragon-toothed spear and Spitter's sharp battleaxe prove rather nasty to anyone deciding to try their luck against the rag-tag group - not to mention what the rest of the party are capable of.
While food is likely replenished by hunting as the trip drags on, the once generous ale supply soon shrinks to a single bottle in Ragnhild's pack, carefully and painstakingly set aside for "emergency". While this obviously doesn't please the tall blonde, any aggressions due to the shortage are thus far only taken out on the unfortunate hostiles encountered, at least on Ragnhild's part.
Mark's increasing absent-mindedness seems to actually worry Ragnhild more than the lack of ale, and she frequently dashes off to intercept his wandering, sometimes resorting to carrying him on her shoulders like a child. On one such an occasion, she rests a soothingly warm, strong hand on the skinny goblin's leg as she strides on to catch up with the others, mumbling a soft enquiry:_
"Marrk, vhat be matter vith you? You seem like have head in clouds, have eaten strange berries or mushrooms? You sick, or something on mind have? Either vay kan tell me."
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During one camp break, Tindra decides to rest up in a tree. She needed a break from dwarves and goblins. Dwin and Belin weren't bad people, but as with most dwaves the werecat has met, they don't share the connection to nature that Tindra's grown used to from living with druids and rangers. And the goblins… well, she was sure it was no secret she didn't care for goblins at all. For much of her live she's been at odds with goblins. She saw the goblin race as a stinking, crude, and disgusting infestation of the Rawlinswood. It didn't help that they tended to kill everything on sight and abuse the land.
She had to admit, perhaps begrudgingly, that she was finding respect for Spitter. Partly, it was his tenacity and skill in battle that impressed her. Most goblins were push-overs. What impressed Tindra more was how dedicated he was to protecting Raghnild. When this trip began, she was doubtful of Raghnild's claims of being adopted by goblins. Spitter put those doubts to rest.
Mark worried her though. He easily fit in the "push-over" category, though that didn't worry Tindra as much as his recent behavior. Something troubled the greenskin. Tindra looked down from her perch at Mark. She should keep an eye on him, she reasoned.
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_It seems quite apparent that something is disturbing Mark. The last few days the goblin seems more and more distant and distracted, often walking into trees or wandering off.
Spitter on the other hand seems well at ease and keeps a strict vigil over Rag and whenever a fight ensues positions himself to Rag's right. His combat prowess is quite impressive from what everyone has seen from previous goblins (12thlvl barbarian) and quite often just shrugs off injuries as he throws himself into the fights.
After a few weeks of traveling the party is no where nearer their goal it seems._
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((if we want to rewrite this to somehow help Norwick with the Bugbears, thats fine with me!
))
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//Narfell and timelines being a mindwarping concept altogether, I'm willing to leave that up to you Salsa. The thread began way back when the eastern woods were crawling with tainted goblins though, so I had assumed to head roughly in that direction, unless we were to happen upon signs leading elsewhere. Wild stabbing in the dark here, basically
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(I am assuming this whole story is a flashback at this point since it happened during the tainted plot.. so i think "are and were" are probably the same. make sense?)
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(clarify, are you going to where they are or were?))
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Belin watches Rag's back as she begins to walk towards the cave mouth.
<d>I hope she doesn't mind when this spitter fellow spits his last. Farkin green skin.
mutters about keeping up and being out of ale as she trots off after the long legged woman.</d>
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to Belin [d] soft and slow? this Spitter aint gonna even be able to spit when I take his green tongue from his throat…
to Rag
Don't worry about us, lass. We're guardin' the rear. Tell yer friend he's got little to worry about... fer now.
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Ragnhild nods to the goblins, ruffling Mark's matted hair affectionately as she translates to the others:
"Onli one vay out of cave, except river, Marrk say. No one ever khum back from there, so he no think Grahk vould tri such thing and leave behind those he seek to protect. Spitter eager to go split heads, so I say we go back vay we came, find us some demon gobbalins and maybe morr answers there. Tindra, you scout and sniff as we go and let us know if something stand out, ok?"
With that, the ever impatient barbarian hoists Mark up onto a muscular shoulder and strides back towards the winding tunnel leading out of the cavern. Glancing over her shoulder, she adds:
"Dwin, Belin - keep up! Spitter alredi suspect you soft and slow, not going to let him be right, are you?"
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:: Spitter looks at Rag and shrugs::
Spitter <g>No know, never look.
:: Breaking his silence Mark speaks up in an almost mumbling tone::
Mark <g>There just one way. There is river also,but no one ever come back from there. No think Grahk would try that and leave mothers and youngins behind.
:: Spitter grunts::
Spitter <g>so where Kal'Vargen camp, time feed axe.
:: Mark's face squishes in thought::
Mark <g>Dunno, only people know where either dead in cave or Grahk.
::shrugs::</g></g></g></g>
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Ragnhild just grins at Belin, blue eyes bright as she comments:
"Vhat we need now is good fajt.. luckili there be plenti Kal'Vargen to turn axes edge red, so how about we go find some? Goblin and dwarven axe all sing same song of death, you vill see!
Tindra, task for you be to tri find trace of warparti leaving cave, but we know vhas long ago, so no big hope. Still, best tri every vay we kan, huh? I vill ask Spitter some more things, then we leave. If no trace, vell.. we know vho ennemi be. So we kan juss ask them, vith speer, axe and magicks."
She turns back to Spitter, looking just as eager to start paying the blood debt as the goblin warrior himself. Shooting an encouraging glance to Mark, Ragnhild seems to invite the skinny goblin to help answer her questions too.
<g>"Before go, need know if there more than one way out of cave, for cat scout to find trail. Sqee tell us that tribe that is no tribe, or Kal'Vargen, do this. They now tri take all of Rawlins, with minotaur and demon on their side. I vish make sure we hunt right enemy, so I ask you both if this true."</g>
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Tindra watches Spitter with a keen eye as he tosses the piece of dried meat to her. She sniffs the meat with consideration. The prideful part of her wanted to turn down the offering; why should she stoop so low as to eat scraps from a greenskin? She gave one more glance at Spitter, then bent down and snapped the meat up. It was better that she not play the role of a bad kitty right now, she thought. Let the goblin feel he's earned some trust, and perhaps he'll be more likely to help Ragnhild.
Besides, she really needed that snack. Shapeshifting always makes her hungry.
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eyes spitter with a certain amount of disdain
Well Ragger, I dunnay like da look in hims eye. Dat un keeps given meh da look dat says, "meh wunt tuh stick my axe in yer head." Weh dids set out tuh help yuh find yer 'dopted da. I say let fishie pauses looking at the green spitter nay froggie, froggie better fer hims. let frogger there lead da way. Hims likeliest tuh know where they all falls back tuh if you ken my meaning.
mutters <d>wish that fart had been stinker. farkin goblin just let him try me kin and … seems to bite her tongue as she turns to look back down the cave mouth</d>
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Spitter seems to be keeping an eye on the big cat and fishes out some dried meat out of his pouch tossing it in front of the cat.
