Merric collects the bow he had dropped earlier in the battle and after getting a nod and hearing "You did good kid." from Sen, stands up a little taller and with a little skip in his step, heads back to the wagon after cleaning off his blades in the grass.

Heading over the Dary's body, Merric yanks out the arrow he stuck into him earlier, hoping the shaft was not splintered.

"I'm ready when you is Durven.  Sausage fer any of ya?" he calls out after hopping back into the cart and digging in his pack a moment?  "A little tumble always makes me hungry.  Gots some bits o' cheese here too...I can cuts the mouldy bits off if you want to rubs some o' that into yer wounds!  Healing trick me ma taught me if yer spells be not working."

Dathyra only nodded at Durven, glad this whole ordeal was over with. She noticed Phyllis interviewing the two women once more, her tone clearly frustrated. She decided not to get involved for now. She was certain that would lead nowhere. They weren't willing to talk about it before. Still, an accusation of killing someone's father...that was pretty serious, and she wondered how true it was. There was something else more important to her, though.

She made her way toward the back of the cart near Merric. "Thank you," she said humbly. "I don't think I'd still be standing here without your help. And yes, a little food does sound good, provided it is still fresh." She winked, her aggravation at him abated. Plus, after some blood loss and how hungry she was before, the offer was very welcomed.

"Just a scratch, here, and aye, thank the gods they were such poor shots," Harivaldr muttered a Healing Word under his breath, "Lækna." (5) Perhaps a bit wasteful, but if the road gave them more trouble he'd want to be at his best.

At the offer of sausage from Merric, the dwarven skald called out, "Yeah, I'll take a sausage if there's any to spare." He tooka  moment to flex his injured leg, then tottered off toward the wagon with a nod.

Seeing everyone start to collect around and relax, Merric stands up and looking at the others says:

"When'ere they be a scrap o' tumble amongst us smaller folk, them's that comes out OK always sits and eats and drinks and be thankings their friends and family for standin' besides em.  Remembers to best be thinkin' only the good bouts them's that did not end the day on der feet as to not bring the ire of the dead upon ya.  So lift yer skin to Brandobaris or one of yer other gods for keepen' yous alive and well.  Thanks to you'z all and the blessins and luck of Brandobaris be upon ya.  I think's we all be goin far together!  A good omen today is I be thinkin'!"

With that little speech, he steps down off the little box, slices up some sausage and dried fish and mouldy cheese, looks around and says "Where de bread be at!?!  Don't ye tall folk know it be right to be celebrating about times like dis...?  Might not get a nuther ya knew!", and sits with a bit of contentment apparent on his face.  Pulling out a HUGE wineskin, he takes a tall-folk size pull, and passes it on...

Sen will quickly pocket the bag of coins trying to hide it from the others for the time being. He assumes Merrric won't say anything about it. Sen will head back to the wagon. "I couldn't have wished for that to go any better. Not a scratch on me. Some dust though." Sen brushes off the dirt, trying to keep the freshened up attire as clean as possible for the time being. 

Sen looks back at Durven digging the grave. Sen will shake his head. "Waste of time if you ask me. We should be on our way. Daylights a wasting and this little tumble has cost us a considerable amount of traveling time." 

Sen hops up into the cart and sits on a box. "Now if you all don't mind, I think I'll be resting my eyes a moment." Sen leans back, puts his hat over his face. "Wake me if those raiders come back. I can probably take them out in my sleep." Sen then nods off for the hour.

Sen:

 The party seems to go about the business of gathering themselves together after the dust up on the road. Whether it be healing or drinking or napping everyone seems to cope, or not, in their own way.  Durven finishes the shallow graves and covers the two of them. He hopes their souls stay at rest and that they are protected from being raised. He spends a moment of the simple marker for Gessup. "His love was vengeance, that is never free."   Some of the party continue to eat and drink and even give him some pointers. 

On the trail, the way bends North and climbs in elevation. The temperature begins to drop and the group passes the remnants of an earlier snow falling on cedars, farther into the Northern Reach. The light fades and the shadows grow and soon it was time to stop for the night. 

[preparations, precautions, rotations etc.]

Slight of hand: 26 

Sen 

After the long day's trek, Harivaldr was ready for nothing more than sleep, but he knew that there were still a few things that needed to be done before he could find a piece of ground mostly devoid of roots and go to sleep. With a little weariness in his voice, he spoke. "Alright then, I want to hit the sack as sure as any of you, but first we need to figure out who's on which watch. I'll take any of 'em, myself. Any other takers?" Once the watches got decided, Harivaldr would take out his dulcimer and begin to play a calming tune before the time came for him to turn in.

(Performance: 14)

While hardly his best work, he still believed it more than satisfactory for the purpose.

"I do not require much in the way of rest," Dathyra said. "I really only need half the night. I'd be fine with the first watch."

Dathyra was not ready to rest anyway. She had been trying not to think of the day's events. In truth, Gessup's surprise stab had scared her more than she had let on. In one instant, it had brought back so many unpleasant memories. She still remembered that the last thing she felt was his fear, his desperate plea for help, right before the blade had started to cut her open...

She had learned, as she tried to deal with these memories, that it was best for her to take a moment to calm herself down and process things in her conscious mind before trying to deal with them in her unconscious trance state. They had a habit of plaguing her mental constructs. But, this was part of her journey. It was one of the reasons she had left her temple in the first place: she needed to learn how to forgive herself.

Phyllis sat in silence on the cart, picking at what ever food provided and her anger disappeared along with the dying light of day. In its place sat doubts and even guilt, often warring together at the people encountered on the road. Should she feel bad for denying a man his father's vengeance? Or feel bad at treating two women down on their luck horribly? Fate was often cruel, but Phyllis found herself at the uncomfortble question of did these deaths happen because they were supposed to, or did it happen because no one on either side tried to stop it?

Foolish thoughts, she chided herself as she brought out her robe to warm up in. Both sides tried to stop it in their own way. It was bound to cause conflict. These were the thoughts the Arcana Collective discouraged, as they blinded one's path to knowledge.

"I can take the second watch," Phyllis offered, rubbing her hands together against the cold. The miserable North would always be cold to her no matter what. "I suffered no injury, so I do not mind."

After the wine food and excitement of the day, Merric was quite content to let the others decide amongst themselves and just sit back and relax in the wagon.  Pulling out a warmer blanket, he wrapped himself and settled down into his halfling-sized nook.  Calling out..."Just wakes me when you be needin' me."  Disappearing from sight, he was quickly asleep listening to the calming music.

The evening draws out. The campfire brings some warmth and Harivaldr's performance is much appreciated even if it for such a modest audience. Durven manages to create a meal for everyone seemingly out of nothing. Merric and Sen wrinkle their noses a bit and no one dives right into the food this time. Somehow the memory of breakfast still lingers. The party decides that standing watch in pairs will be safer and more..watchful. Dathyra and Phyllis quickly volunteer to share a watch together, perhaps to circumvent any awkward social encounters that might occur with different pairings. Sen and Merric nod to each other as if they have something they want to talk about later. Durven and Harivaldr shrug and get their bedrolls out. Durven manages to find a space clear of rocks. Always one of the biggest challenges of nature. 

Fire burns low. Everyone is in their chosen location for sleeping. Dathyra and Phyllis sit with their backs to the fire, so their vision will be affected less. Though they were quick to share a watch, there was a bit of strained silence between them. They didn't know much about each other still or what they might have in common. The Arcana Collective had drilled into Phyllis that such niceties were frivolous and at best a waste of energy, at worst they could be a dangerous distraction. Dathyra's thoughts still lingered on her close call earlier in the day and on those who were far away from her now, how she missed the comfort of their familiarity.

Phyllis had her spell book out on her lap and was studying it in the fire light. Going over the notes that she made in the morning and looking for any sense of the words and visions that came to her.  Savage man doing savage dances. Avoid the bucket. An arrow strikes true. Affection in early morning fog. Pretty pretty eyes but alas, the bucket She's hurt. Obviously, she thought this means... she waited. She waited for the truth of the matter to present itself. It rarely did. Often she was left, day after day, with seemingly random phrases and visions filling up her mind until... she shuddered to think if there was a limit to her capacity for such things.

She started reading through again when a heavy staccato drum rhythm splits the air.  

Dathyra was really unsure what she was supposed to be doing. Oh sure, she was good enough at keeping watch. It was hard for elves not to notice just about every sound within several miles. She felt odd with the silence between her and Phyllis, though. Should she try to say something? It would have been the polite thing to do. And it wasn't as though she considered that too much of a distraction. But, she wasn't sure what to talk about, nor did she really feel like it herself. Besides, Phyllis looked pretty into her reading, whatever it was.

Dathyra knew and had met several people who had studied magic, actually learned it from a book. But, it was still something foreign to her. She had met Jodon, who was mostly self-taught. And she herself really didn't pick up spells from books. More or less, her training with Father Uridan and her own natural abilities had been the source of her own gifts. And even on her travels, she had only learned the odd spell here or there from other healers at other temples who had the patience to teach others. That trick she had learned with the floating weapon was one she had picked up from a head abbot far south of here.

But her thoughts were soon disturbed by the sound of drum beats in the air. Her ears flicked back and forth, trying to find the source of the sound, but the echoes off the trees around them made that harder to discern. She bolted up, her heart already beating fast. She had her hands on her own crossbow, not ready to aim it yet, at least not until she knew which direction she needed to be aiming for.

"I don't like this," she whispered to Phyllis. "I don't think whatever it is knows we're here yet. But we should wake the others before they figure that out."

Quietly, Phyllis placed her spellbook back in its holster as she rose to a half crouch, trying not to make herself known to the source of the drums beats. She didn't want another scrap just yet: even though her short rest allowed her to recover a spell, she wasn't at her best.

She dared only a nod to Dathyra, her human eyes squinting against the darkness. Useless, really, as she usually relied on Nyxtra's sight to aide her in the inky night. "I can send Nyxtra," she whispered back, hoping Dathyra's elven ears could pick up her words. "But I will be blind and deaf here. Can I trust you to strike me if we are in danger?"

Instead of waiting for an answer, Phyllis's eyes unfocused, her consciousness instead viewing out from the black-and-brown owl familiar. Just as she had done hours before on the cart, Nyxtra have a couple of experimental shakes to Phyllis, ensuring that the wizard was in a good enough stance to maintain balance as her mental senses left her. Once satisfied, the bird lift off as silent as it could, its big yellow eyes scanning for the source of the near hypnotic drumbeat.

Nyxtra Stealth: 9

Nyxtra Perception: 11

The halfling musician troop playing on the makeshift stage had the entire troop on their feet and dancing and singing.  Through the crowd, Merric's attention was drawn to the young halfling maiden as she spun and twisted and jumped in perfect time to the music.  Watching her writhing seductively with every beat of the drum and strum of the strings, he pondered how he could dare approach her...

"Tiz a good party" he thought to himself dreamily..."almost good as the last, but nots as good as the one fore that."

She turned to meet his eyes just before being interrupted by numerous other suitors, dragging her back to dance as the music played.  Realizing his chances with the young maiden had likely evaporated as fast as his cup of ale emptied, Merric thought the best solution to this problem was to refill his cup, ponder some more, and just see how the night played out.  "Was not the first...nor likely to be the last...." he thought.  Twas not the halfling way to worry about such things.  No sense worrying about things that always worked themselves out.

Merric smiled to himself in his sleep.  So cozy and warm wrapped up in his blanket as he rolled over, the dreamy thoughts fading away.  "Strange..." he thought to himself..."the drums seem so real."  Vowing to himself to never mix sausage, dried fish, and dwarven wine ever again.  "I must still be dreaming." 

Dathyra watched Phyllis as she bonded with her familiar...a slightly unsettling experience for someone watching it from the outside. Still, she had to get the warning out. Carefully treading backward so that she could still cover Phyllis in an emergency, she made her way to where Harivaldr was sleeping, and nudged him awake.

"Please wake up," she muttered, more to herself when Harivaldr's snoring indicated he was feeling very little. She tried to shake him a little harder. "Harivaldr, please, listen! I think...I think there may be something out there. We hear something going on. We're not alone. Harivaldr..."

Harivaldr was back at the clan hall, standing alone by the gate. After the events of last night he was... hesitant, now, to match his actions with his words. He'd gathered everything he thought he'd need, food for a week, what coin he'd squirreled away his whole life thus far, a dagger, his mentor's old lyre... He checked and re-checked his bags, more to stall for time than to actually confirm if he had everything. He already knew everything in his pack by name and touch. Nobody had come to see him off. While he couldn't deny his disappointment, he also wasn't surprised. He'd heard old Torunn's words when the old dwarf didn't realize he was listening. "The lad's young and brash, a bit of a braggart, that's all. He'll come crawling back to the hall before the week is out and we'll all have a laugh about this whole mess a few years down the line."

It had stung more than he'd cared to admit. Maybe it was childish, maybe he was making a mountain of a molehill, but Harivaldr hadn't been able to shake the fact that, when it all came down to it, his own clan didn't seem to think that much of him, or his aspirations. He'd left with trepidation, but as the mountain hall's entrance disappeared from sight and he walked and walked onward, he felt something growing within him. An old determination, he'd show them... As he walked on, Harivaldr could feel days and then weeks passing in a blur, as the food in his pack ran out, and after his first month the fall, and then a few more months later the winter set in. It hadn't been easy, but old Torunn's words kept his pride burning in indignation, and with pride and youthful spite on his side, it was almost easy to bear the hunger of that first winter...

As he crouched before a pitiful fire in a snowy glade, shivering and starving, he could've sworn the drumming of his heart was beating louder and louder...

Then he woke up to a worried-looking Dathyra, and her words woke him as well as any bucket of water. He whispered back, "Is everyone else awake? Durven? Sen? Merric?" He began to sit up slowly, trying his best to avoid making any extra noise as the faint drumming reached his ears. He then made his way towards where Durven was sleeping, lightly grabbed his shoulder, and began to shake him, wary of any daggers or other surprises the man might keep on his person as he slept. "We've got company, by the sound of things," he'd say, once Durven awoke and wasn't carving off anything important.