Gob and Gab

The illusion of a gorgeous day is shattered once one steps out of doors, the gusty wind chilling and bringing promises of Winter snows and cold. However, the sun is still warm upon the skin.

The faint smell of smoke can be detected, near a trail used by many to get to points northward, the sight of it being blown away by the wind. On closer inspecting, a small camp is discovered, with small walls, two leantos, and a small, pine branch covered roof. Off-key singing comes from inside, a typical pub song, with swearing and innuendo, sung with a scratchy gusto.

The Goblin is slowly turning a spit, where a large haunch of deer slowly roasts. "With a little bit of luck, wiiiiith a little bit of luck, when he comes around ye won't be hooooooome~~"

GAME: Vrenskas rolls survival: (3)+7: 10

Cold winds. Heavy, whipping air. The combination making smoke linger and waft. The woods a deathly quiet, as most creatures wouldn't be caught dead in such conditions. Which makes the sound of a twig cracking even more amplified.

A tall figure makes no effort to approach on the sly, sampling the air before seemingly finding this well concealed camp. They clear their throat before calling out in a scratchy, gritty tone. "Oi. Who's camp's this?"

Their accent is distinctly Blarite.

The singing stops immediately, the Goblin rolling and ducking into a leanto. She comes out armed, before approaching the low wall.

"Mine!", she says, proudly. "How're you?"

The tall and broad figure is none other than a brown and grey toned Nar. Wrapped in hides and furs, one with nature it seems, were the military coat he wears and riding boots not contrasting with it. It's clear he's assessing the camp, glancing at the infrastructure and the fire within before finally settling on the armed gobber.

The longbow in hand lacks a a nocked arrow. But is soon pulled over his shoulder and rests on his back. "Well enough to walk. Mother's Blessings," he jabbers off in his native tongue. "This seems more home than camp." <Goblintalk>

The Goblin is clad in black leather armor, the only furs being those wrapped around her feet. Her weapon, a spear that is obviously made for someone larger than her, is leaned on casually. "Oh? Were you recently injured?", she replies in the same tongue. Glancing around her camp, she shrugs her shoulders. "It's home for the winter. Cities get icky during winters. I much prefer out here."

She moves to open a small gate. "You're welcome to warm yourself at my fire. I've got some deer roasting."" <goblin-Talk>

The Nar man seems to have a perpetual scowl, either in assessment or annoyance. But it seems to loosen up somewhat at something within the gobber's words. "No. I'm hale. I too agree that the cities are a bit much during this time of year."

The offer gets him to pause, assess, then grunt as he steps forward and through the gate. "Thanks." Taking a moment to look around, he turns to face the leather clad goblin. A gloved hand reaches out, making the tree medallion on his shoulder softly jangle. "Vrenskas Krauledat. At your service. Need any camp aid as compensation for your hospitality"

"All the snow gets stomped into the dirt and becoming mud, it just sticks to everything. And the buildings make the winds worse.", she complains, though she grins toothily. Nodding, she shuts the gate and makes her way to the fire. "I could put on some water to make tea, or coffee, if you want something hot?"

She inspects the gloved hand a moment, sniffing at it before grasping it with hers and shaking vigorously.

Murder shakes her head, "No, the camp's in good order, but thank you, I appreciate your offer. My name's Murder. Soooo, what brings you here? You're a little far from Blar. And while I am not exactly an expert on the Blar military, you don't seem to be part of a scouting party or raider."

"And it smells," Vrenskas adds to the list of city problems as he makes his way to the fire. "... tea, if you wouldn't mind."

The glove smells of dirt and trees. Fruit as well? It doesn't phase him, used to such dealings. The strength of the shake does throw him off, surprise cracking through his visage. "Murder. Pleasure." Unslinging his bow and removing his scimiar's scabbard, he sets it aside to sit cross legged by the flames. "Blar doesn't do raids," he corrects. "You're thinking of Bludgun. But you're right, I'm not." A pause. "Here because Dana told me to. At least, I think so. Ran into the Grove here after being in these woods for some time."

"Hah, it always smells. But I suppose it smells worse when you're as short as me." She giggles, and nods, fetching water from a large skin, and pouring it into a kettle, which is left over the fire.

The Gobbo settles down beside him after giving the roast a turn. "Well, not a raid, hmm aggressive scouting? Harassing attacks? Get in, do damage, get out, ride off somewhere else, repeat..." Her voice trails off, and she cants her head slightly. "Ooh, you got called by the Goddess for service, hmm?" Murder nods. "I understand."

"Mmm. Fair," Vren concedes, pulling his gloves off. "Gobbers in Blar always complained about zat."

He watches the roast spin, fingers held near the flames to bring some life to his joints. "Zat's called a strike team. Was part of something like zat but, not anymore." He shrugs before tilting his head back up to the sky. "... in a way. I owe Dana. Saved my life."

The Goblin stands, patting one of Vren's knees. "Did her call pull you out of a bad spot?", she wonders, as she crawls into one of the leantos, coming out with mugs, and a small pouch. "I went on a spirit journey once, where I met Angoron, he showed me many things. It awoke the hidden magics in my blood."

The kettle begins to gurgle, then whistle, and Murder busies herself with making tea. "What has Dana tasked you with?"

Vren pulls the patted knee up, resting his chin on it. "Something like zat," he mumbles. "Long story short, should have died. Collapsed at a shrine to Dana. The... caretaker of it fixed me up. Owe my life to her and Dana."

A brushy brow rises. "Did you now? To speak with The Brawler himself. That sounds as if it was a difficult but necessary journey. What did he impart upon you?"

The question gets a pause to rise out of him. "... mmm. It is both simple and difficult. One that I do not understand in its entirety. But da Mother has storms, yes? Where she is very angry?"

He taps his ivy wrapped scimitar beside him. "I am her vengeance, when the need arises."

"Ah, so she did pull you out of a rough spot.", the Goblin states, offering up a mug of tea, the smell a slightly citrus one. "Black tea with orange oil."

Murder settles back down beside him, sipping at her own mug of tea. "It was a hard journey, in places. I was a blunt weapon, but he wanted to sharpen me a little. I learned only a small portion of his wisdom, but I am able to control my anger now, and unleash it when it is most useful. Fire sings in my blood, and I can call upon it in battle, to burn my enemies."

She grins ferally at his purpose. "Ahhaaaah, woe to those who would mistreat the forest, yes?"

Vren accepts the cup with one hand, the other giving Murder's forearm a clasp. A gesture of appreciation that pulls back. He inhales. "It smells good. Thank you."

The Blarite nurses his drink, listening quietly. "Interesting. I don't think it was blessed by The Brawler, but I do recall quite a number of gobbers back home that could use fire. Though that is usually zrough oil and fuel, and not zrough magic. It is... good to learn how to focus such anger to an edge that than splay it everywhere. I was similar before I found Dana."

A toothy smile cracks his face. "... heh. It's why Blar assigned me the shite positions."

The smile morphs into a firm one. "Aye. It's why I checked your camp, to be honest. I've... dealt with people that thought the forest was better for razing." Bit of a sting in that fact.

"You're most welcome!", she says, with a cheering smile. "I rather like the people who make a living outdoors, you make for good company. So I tend to share what I have with them." Murder nods then, "Oh yes, I can make fire with tools physical and alchemical, but I also enjoy magical fire."

She giggles lightly, "You got the shite positions because they knew you could get the job done, right?"

The Goblin huffs and she sets her mug down just so she can cross her arms. "Tch, I wouldn't set a forest on fire, I'm pretty responsible that way. Now, other wooden things, I make no promises. But, well, this place keeps me, and feeds me, burning it would be burning myself."

Vren nods his hand sharply. "I took the outdoors for granted until later in life. Didn't realize it suited me so well."

He shakes his head, smirking. "Naw. Shite positions because I'm terrible at following orders from commanders and sergeants."

He takes a big sip of the tea, grunting his approval. "Good tea. But yes. Everything in moderation. Wood to warm and build. But not to raze and domineer." Another sip. "Where you from? Don't recognize your accent. Ain't from Blar, can tell that much."

"At least now you're able to take it in and enjoy it. Better late than never, right?" She slurps noisily at her tea, and moves to turn the spit a little more. "OH gosh, this is going to be so good. Soaked in butter milk, and slow roasted, sooo good..." The Goblin wipes at her chin.

She glances over her shoulder, and snorts, "Oh. Hah. So much for the vaunted Arvek discipline, hmmm?" Turning to face the man, she grins. "The Vast. I'm the last of my tribe, saved, my sister and I, from certain death by Baz da Ork. My da. I've lived here and there, so not a surprise my accent is muddled."

"Agreed," Vrenskas grunts about nature before looking up at the deer. He's not as vocal about it, but his stomach does grumble loudly at the scent. "Throw something spice in there and you've got a Blar Basher."

He snorts too. "Naw. Serriel didn't seem to bless my birth in the slightest. Blar military don't like it when you say orders are stupid and you run off to do the better thing."

He nods slowly. "Vast. Interesting." A frown crosses his face briefly. "Sorry that happened. Good you was able save your sister."

"Oh? I've got just the thing that I grew myself. I wasn't going to put it on, just my own portion, but if you like spicy, I have what you need!"

She snorts at him, and giggles. "Well, sometimes discipline means saying your orders are shit and doing the proper thing. No where in the definition of discipline does it say, "Go stupidly to your death if ordered.".

Her expression saddens. "I haven't seen my sister in some time. She joined me here in Alexandria, but she wandered off somewhere and I haven't seen her since. As for my tribe, I will go back one day, and have my revenge. I'm learning all I can, honing myself for that day."

"Splendid. Throw it in," Vren grins, opening up more. Feels like home. "The commanders would disagree with you. Hell, I would too, sometimes ya just got to trust what da boss is saying to do the big picture thing. But I've been in enough regiments managed by morons to know when to listen and when to close my ears."

He frowns a bit, reaching over to pat her on the back twice. "Sure she's doing well. And you seem capable. About near ripped my hand off shaking it. Figure you can do it readily."

Murder disappears into the leanto once more, returning with a little glazed, clay jar and a braising brush. "It's a stubborn pepper to grow, but I manage. Only grows during the late spring and summer. But it's got a nice smoky, fiery flavour. It will make you sweat a little." Dipping the brush into the jar, she begins painting on a dark red paste into the deer. She rotates the deer a quarter turn, and continues coating the meat.

"Hah, you're humoring me, but okay, I do have a strong grip for a Gobbo. Angoron is my god, after all. I also have a few spells for that." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Well sure, you have to obey orders... but uh, if you can't trust your commander, if they give you orders where you know yer gonna die... Well, that's where I would get creative."

Vrenskas leans forward, downing more of his tea before refilling it and Murder's cup. "Excellent," he grunts. "I like it when food has a little kick. My friend would grow all kinds of different peppers back at the shrine."

"Humoring? No. Known plenty of gobbers. None I've met got a grip like that," he chuckles, shaking his head. There is a flicker of annoyance, a memory. "I do get creative, and I got reprimanded for it. They say they need me to save the horses. I say ramming my steed into an ogre is a tactically sound decision. I never got promoted."

"Oh yes. Just a little kick, though. It really adds a nice flavour, and makes ya sweat a little, without burning you on the way out, if ya know what I mean."

Murder cants her head once more and shrugs. "Well, we are little, its you guys with all the muscles." She laughs then. "Was the ogre surprised? I mean, horses are big beasties, the ogre had to feel that one. And besides, is it not worth it if you save all the other horses by sacrificing one?"

Vren just snorts at that and nods in complete understanding. But he shrugs back. "Yeah, which is why it's noteworth when a lil 'uns got the strength of the strongest Nar."

He works his jaw, a tusk scratching his cheek. "The ogre died. I almost did. So I guess it worked. Still feel bad for the horse though, but I'd rather trade a horse for the others any day. Preeeetty sure I'm discharged now with that. I haven't bothered to check."

"Pfff, I don't know why you're buttering me up, I'm already going to feed you." Murder winks, and laughs. The haunch, now thickly coated in red paste, is rotated more frequently. "You'd still beat me in an arm wrestle, don't you worry.

She feigns surprise, and snorts. "Uh huh, gone awol, is it? Is there a reward for turning you in?" Her eyebrows dance up and down, and she laughs again. "I'm kidding, though!"

Vren throws his hands up, snickering. "Look, I'm just acknowledging you can kick my ass. Bad habit from Blod, tha's all!"

There's a moment where Vren looks mildly worried, but it goes away once Murder implores she's joking. He sighs in relief. "Don't scare me like that. Probably not. More than likely they think I'm dead. You know, the whole Dana story? Can't check the place for a body because the place is gone." He shrugs, a touch forlorn. "Ain't nothing for me back there now."

The Goblin's grin is broad and cheeky, and she poses, flexing her muscles... that are hidden under leather. "Oh yisss, my reputation precedes me!"

She laughs at his worry, and shakes her head. "Bah, I wasn't serious... you know how hard it would be to get you back there? You look heavy. No way I could carry you all the way back." Another snort, and her expression softens. "No?" The Gobbo hops over to hug at the man suddenly. "Well. There's plenty for you here. You can crack some skulls for Dana, yes?"

Vrenskas laughs, folding his hands into his lap. "I figured you weren't. Who knows? I don't know what magic you can do. More than me, that's for certain."

The sudden hug surprises him. But it's not unwelcome as he returns it briefly. Still used to goblin-kind culture, it seems. "No," he affirms. There was nothing to return to.

That does bring a slight smile to him as he pulls away. "Now /that/, I can do," he grunts, getting to his feet. A hand fishes around in his cloak as a hunting knife is unsheathed and flipped in the air. "Here, least I can do is at least serve food, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah!" She hops up, and goes about removing the spit from the fire. This she hands to Vren, "Careful, tis hot! In more ways than one."

Bowls are procured from the leanto, and she gestures. "Why don't you carve us some spicy deer?!"

-End Scene-