Once satisfied for at least the moment, he turns to the recovering troops and says wearily, "Someone check the fallen lizards. Let's make sure they're dead for good."While the other soldiers saw to that, K'Dar loads back his own gear. And if there's any chances of moving the boulder enough, he motions for others to push it aside to collect at least a memento for the fallen. One moment of silence later, the K'Dar is once more at the head of the group leading them forward.
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When you realize you're doing too much: Signature.
Feldri bowed as he and the others were dismissed. He took a moment before going to sleep to pray to the God of the Forge, thanking him for another day of survival, and asking for a safe mission at dawn.
Similarly, when Feldri awoke, he said his ritual prayers to the Great Maker, praying over his shield. After he had concluded his rituals, he gathered his things and prepared for the mission. After he finished everything, he stood by the gate to the camp, looking out onto the swamp he was to survey. He examined the area for any signs of his fellow Lizardfolk in the night, and whether or not they had altered the terrain in the immediate area.
The rising sun can be seen on the horizon, and the air is cool and damp as you make your final preperations. Quinn joins Feldri and Tusk as they gaze ito the forbidding swamp. He is a tall, dapper man, with curly black hair and a thin sword. "Looks like it'll be just the three of us." He comments. " Boragul's come down with Bog Flu. "
Feldri and Tusk, you find no signs to indicate lizardfolk activity over the night.
The combined strength of Eoin, K'Dar, Aramys, and several fellow soldiers is enough to shift the stone slab to one side, and you gaze upon the remains of your fallen companion. His name, you recall, was Elias Pickle, a friendly young man with a penchant for poetry and bad puns. He is scarcely recognizable now.
"Had a wife, back at home." One of your fellow soldiers comments quietly.
Wraith rouses himself as Quavari comes back in to the guard shack. He first checks his weapons & armor. He will then prepare some water over the fire to brew some stew with a trail ration.
Wraith looks out at the white expanse in front of them & thinks how incredibly easy it would be to hide outside with his alabaster skin. Who knew being cursed with albinism would ever be useful. He chuckles under his breath. He wonders not for the first time, how he came to be serving in the military. Such a far cry from his life as a gutter rat as he grew up.
Wraith calls out to Quavari, "Do you want any stew, mate?"
Phentallius rolls on to back and stares blankly at the ceiling. "Selune, thank you for another day. May I reflect your light as the moon reflects the sun." Out of the corner of his eye he spots a squad mate as he leaves the room. Phen is too tired to ask what he is doing. Instead he sits up, and rolls out of bed. He stretches with a loud pop, his shoulder just hasn't been the same since his last mission. He begrudgingly dons his armor and straightens out his tabard. On his side hangs the holy text of Selune, Goddess of the moon. "Well, might as well make a quick patrol to get the blood flowing." He dons his shield and grabs his triton from the weapon rack.
As he heads outside, he takes in a deep breath. He welcomes the frigid wind as it finds its way between the plates of his armor. "Ah, another beautiful day!" He head out on his patrol, being careful not to drift too far from the camp.
Phen quickly spots the impending snowstorm. "Hmm, this is not good. I better head back quickly." He heads back into the camp and spots Wraith cooking up some stew. "Aye, that smells delicious! Mind if I get me a portion?"He looks to Wraith hopefully as his stomach begins to growl.
"Many thanks!"He grabs the bowl and sits down to enjoy the meal. He bows his head and says a quick prayer. "Aye, it is still bothering me. But I think it due less to the cold air and more to the foot long tooth that found it's way through my armor!" He lets out a loud laugh, "Luckily you showed up when you did, or I may not be here today." He grows somber for a moment as he ponders his own mortality. " But anyway, thanks again for the stew! Is the cold getting to you yet?" He takes a large bite of stew and steam pours from his mouth.
Wraith replies, "I hate the cold, where I hail from in the South, we wear light clothing at all times." Wraith pulls his cloak tighter about himself. "I imagine the cold doesn't bother yourself much, Quavari?"