Taylen heads off through the woods back to where they had camped the night before, hands resting uneasily on the hilts of his blades and listening carefully to the woods around him, his own comment about possible orcs putting him on edge.

Your walk back to last night's campsite proves uneventful. If any orcs still remain in the area, they have not made their presence known. Considering the fate of their compatriots, this does not seem out of sorts in the least.

It appears that this road might not be so oft travelled as the beaten earth would indicate. The burned-out fire from your night's stay still sits undisturbed near the far side of the road. To its right, the dwarf's shoulder bag sits unattended and crumpled, as if discarded. To the campfire's left, the dwarf's armor remains piled atop the larger of his axes, not budged from where the lizardman deposited them. The dwarf himself lies beneath the bridge on the near side. Flies and other small insects swarm around his body.

"Now where has everyone gone?" the elven woman sighs, letting her shoulders drop. "This is downright ridiculous. Is everyone in so much of a rush to get going that they forget why we're out here to begin with? Speaking of which, why are we out here? It's not like we have much need of a campsite in the middle of the morning."

[Aust]

Aust looks over at the lizardman, and opens his mouth to speak, but promply shuts it again. He speaks a few seconds later, "Nevermind, I really don't want to know. If you have that much of a problem with magic, then I would suggest you just keep your opinions on the subject to yourself from now on." He stands another moment, glancing between Drakkenclaw and the construct. "What are you staring at?!" he finally throws out, with a tone of exasperation.

"This thing," he says as he continues looking, "contains more answers than any other item here. Someone had to make it, someone had to bring it here. That person is responsible for the submission of these creatures around us. And this thing can lead us to him."

He walks over to the dwarf and attempts to lift him and carry the dwarf over his left shoulder.

"Oh? And how exactly will it do that? Do you expect it to get up and walk away now that the orcs are dead? Maybe someone is just going to show up out of nowhere and take it back. Maybe whoever made it was just dumb enough to write his name and address on it! If you see something to back up your wishful thinking, then show me. Because in my experience, lizardman, that's not how the world works." Finally, Aust pauses his rant to watch Drakkenclaw's reaction.

[Ara]

Bored of waiting for someone to notice her, Ara turns to Silvan. "Did you not know the reason for our coming out here?" she asks in a calm and generally pleasant tone, her elven accent in place.

ooc:
The bag couldn't take that much weight. Unlike the reinforced backpacks belonging to Taylen, Aust, and Freya, the dwarf obtained his large shoulderbag from the lizardman cart. Never trust in the quality craftsmanship of something you've never examined.

After loading 40 lbs of armor and a 7 lb axe into the dwarf's shoulder bag, you begin walking towards the dwarf, when you hear the sound of the leather strap creaking. It strains under the weight, but you have other concerns on your mind at the moment. As you lean down to pick up the dwarf, the weight of the bag shifts, and you have to shove it around behind you with an elbow.

After lifting the dwarf with one arm around his neck and another under his shoulder, you manage to sling him up onto your left shoulder. At that moment, weight in the bag suddenly drops out with a thud, hitting you in the shin, and causing you to topple forward under the dwarf's weight. You get your foot forward, and manage to catch your balance for a second, before a searing pain runs up your calf. The ground meets your rear end soon after, as you reflexively take the weight off the injured ankle, and the dwarf rolls off your shoulder again.

Taylen looks down at his shin and gently feels around to see how badly he injured it.

The dwarf does not reply to your inquiry. He probably doesn't have the energy for it at the moment. As for your own injury, you spot an arc-shaped gash in the back of your ankle, slowly oozing blood. It's also rather painful.

Ara looks at Silvan blankly for a second, then quirks an eyebrow, and sets her hands on her hips, "You mean to tell me you know where everyone went, even though you were in that tent longer than I was? Oh, what a marvelous aid that talent must be for you. Perhaps you should have used it a few nights ago, instead of sending me into a trap. Then we wouldn't be out here to begin with, now would we?"

As Silvan walks away, the elven woman rolls her eyes. "They couldn't have gone far, he says. We're in the middle of nowhere, but they couldn't have gone far. Oy, what a mess I've fallen into," she says quietly to herself. After that, she sighs, lets her arms drop, and follows Silvan over to the construct at the camp's center.

[Aust]

Aust turns to the approaching elves, "Welcome back. Taylen said to wait here. So, um... any suggestions?"

"And what are we supposed to do while we wait, hmm? Just sit around staring at each other, or that... thing?" she turns to the construct, and gives an exasperated sigh. "There has to be something worth doing in this place. You said we came here to investigate, right? Well, did anyone actually do that? I would like to know what's going on." Ara has let her elven accent drop, and now speaks Common in the tones typical of many Vistan residents.

[Aust]

"Well," Aust ponders a moment, "the fellin woman and the daysprite headed off in that direction," he raises his arm straight out to point past Ara towards the trees, "and Taylen headed back to where we left the road, I think. We spent a good deal of time looking over this construct, but not much else. I think the halfling is in one of these tents. He might've slipped off though. Never can tell with halflings."

[ 10-27-2002: Message edited by: Reyolen ]

As you get close to the southeast tent, you catch a faint odor of something foul.

It is difficult to tell how deep the wound is through the blood which continues to pool in the wound. Pulling the wound open proves painful. The wound stretches nearly across the back of your calf in a shallow arc.

As soon as you apply weight to your wound, the skin shifts, causing the wound to open slightly. You feel a sharp pain in your ankle. While you might be able to walk on your leg, it would definitely not be fun.

ooc:
Oops, used the character name in my last post to Reyolen. Doesn't seem to have caused a problem though

You now stand in front of the tent, hardly a foot away. The smell has grown only slightly stronger during your approach. The tent flap still rests closed in front of you. As for the nature of the odor, it stirs a sense of vaguely unpleasant recognition, but you can't quite narrow it down as of yet. Holding your breath doesn't aid your attempts to identify the foul odor's nature.

As you lift the flap of the tent, an aweful odor hits your nose, much stronger than you smelled it outside. Even while holding your breath, it takes an effort to keep from feeling nauseous. This tent looks more like an alchemy shop than an orc home. A crude shelf on your right is lined with jars of humanoid and animal organs, including hands, hooves, horns, brains, and eyes. A small table, stained with many colors, stands near the far wall. Along the left side of the tent, a pile of straw with a few tattered pillows appears to serve as a bed. Several human skulls dangle on strings from the center of the tent.

Since the dwarf has gone the night without his shirt, trying to take it off him now would prove rather pointless. It sits idle a short distance away, beside the burned out fire, where the lizardman slept. His pants, however, are readily available, as is anything you brought over to the stream's shore with you.

Drakkenmaw

You can find no markings of any kind anywhere on the construct. The surface is smooth, without so much as an open crevice between stones. As you peer closely, you can see that the band around the statue in fact makes no contact with the stone itself, but is held in place by the four posts which extend through it.

Reyolen

As you pass by on your way from one tent to another, you notice the lizardman in the corner of your eye. He seems distracted by the odd construct in the center of camp. Aust stands idle, watching the lizardman's movements. For the moment at least, Ara also appears distracted. As you approach the one tent that both you and Ara have yet to explore, you hear the sounds of gently creaking woodwork coming from inside.

Hey. I'm goin back to the camp. Yell if you need me, or send your owl...or something.

Sae then starts back on the direction she entered.

The quick motion of your entrance provides you with a somewhat awkward situation. As you step into the tent, the tip of your rapier spears through the puff of the halfling's beret, lifting it off his head. You stand with two feet inside the entryway, looking down at the hatless fellow. In one hand he grasps a small rolled-up page, and a metal hook dangles off the fingers of his other hand. A rope hangs across his chest at an angle reminiscent of a sash or the strap of a shoulder bag. A rather stunned look flickers briefly across his face.

"Hey, woah, what's the big idea?" Jean blurts out. He makes a small leap, and snatches his hat off the end of Silvan's rapier. With a flick and a twist, he plops the cap back onto his head, and settles it into place. "You know it's rude to go barging in on someone, and even more rude to go sticking someone with swords. It's a good thing that this someone happens to be none other than Jean Olivier D'Underhill, else that blade might have found more than a hat to play with. Shame on you."

[Ara]

With the sudden ruckus emanating from the southwest tent, Ara's attention draws away from the construct and the lizardman. She steps slowly over to the tent, and pulls the flap aside. Finding her view obstructed by Silvan's back, she asks in an innocent tone, "What's all the yelling about?" Her elven accent remains prevalent in her speech.

As you return from your flight among the trees, the camp appears less crowded. Ariana stands in the entrance of the tent where Ithar went off to play. Aust and Drakkenclaw stand on either side of the construct in the center of camp, staring at it. No one else is in sight.

"The same thing you were doing, my elven friends. I was checking for orcs, and," the halfling pauses, and forces a cough as if to clear his throat, "anything else worthy of note. There seems to be an array of goods here, likely the plunder of encounters similar to our own."

Ariana looks down at the halfling, and offers a gentle smile, before kneeling down to bring her torso level with his. She bats her eyelashes, and gently lays her arms crossed over her lap. "Adventuresome fellow, aren't you, Lord Olivier. It seems you've come across a find worthy of your adventuresome nature. What is it you have there, if I might enquire? Another map, perhaps, hmm?" With the last inquiring hum, she props herself up on her knees, leaning slightly forward.

Jean looks at the elven woman, then down at the map in his hand, and back to the elven woman again. "I, um," he begins, clearing his throat again, before catching his bearings again, "Milady, finest Ariana of the woodfolk, as you know, I, Jean Olivier D'Underhill, am versed in many arts. This parchment, however, bares enscriptions with which even I am not familiar. Perhaps milady would care to have a look for herself?" He holds the scroll forward, offering it to the elven woman.

Walking proves painful, but you manage to hobble your way over to the fire. A spotted trail of blood appears behind you, extending itself by a mark each time you place your weight on your injured leg. Settling down beside the firepit brings a degree of relief, though the wound still causes great pain.

"Silvan Koras!" Ariana bellows, a distinctive not of irritation in her voice. She does not stand right away, nor turn to face her elven companion. She continues to speak at a more normal volume with her elven accent, though the undertones of her speech make her sound distinctly Vistan, "After all that has happened, I would like to believe you are smart enough not to go through this again. Now be polite, or this time I will take your precious book, and you won't get it back.

[Jean]

Once he realizes what has just happened, Jean makes a quick grab for the parchment. Setting one foot forward with the other knee close to the ground, he takes a single step before leaping nimbly into the air, making a snatch at the parchment in the elven man's hands. "Release that parchment, roughian!" he shouts out as his feet leave the ground.