Things Go Bump in the Forest

The heavy rainfall makes it down to the forest floor, making for a miserable day in the woods. The Goblin has ceased gathering wood, instead huddling under a small leanto, built into the root structure of a recently fallen tree. Her fire is small, but covered, so provides warmth and cheerfulness even on a day like today.

With her robes and armor hung to dry from some of the exposed roots, she relaxes in loose fitting homespun clothes. Her attention on a warm mug of tea, and her notebook. The face of a man looks back at her from said notebook, as she works on the background, and a what appears to be a large dog.

GAME: Vrenskas rolls stealth: (7)+7: 14

Dana seems to rage this day. Someone must have upset her, but not overly so that her wrath makes it any worse than it is now. The consistent percussive rainfall is perhaps, in a way, calming, save for the distant roll of thunder and crack of lightning.

There's another crack. This one closer, the muted snip of a twig under something heavy. Perhaps the rain has made it break, the wind and water tearing the landscape slowly.

A creaking sound, like wood being strained, comes from behind the fallen tree, opposite of the lean-to.

Simony sniffles, her nose wrinkling, and then she sneezes loudly, a distinct squeak heard as part of the noise. She snorts and sniffles, spitting noisily after. "Bleeeh." she takes a sip of tea, before scuttling out into the rain to light a cigarette from her fire. The Gobbo pauses there in the rain, peering about into the woods, squinting. Shrugging, the Goblin returns to the little dry spot in the leanto, huddling down once more.

An inhaled breath is heard, and moments later, a puff of smoke is exhaled, the scent wafting away on the wind. Shivering, she hugs herself. "I hope Killword and Dog have found a spot to huddle down in. Maybe they're back at camp already?", Simony mutters to herself.

The rain continues to bear down. It shifts some, a distant wind making sheets come through in coats, the trees breaking the worst of it to dribble down on to the forest floor.

Something near, very near, strains. Twangs. Something slams into the dirt right outside the lean-to. An arrow buried up to the shaft sticking out of the soft ground.

Wood clanks. Straining noise again. A deep, rough voice grunts from behind the fallen log, "Don't move."

The arrow thumping into the ground definitely gets her attention, and she stares at it curiously for a few seconds. "Ou..." Whatever she was going to say is lost in the scream of fear that the Goblin lets out at the deep voice grunting nearby.

She stares in the general direction from where the voice came from, with Simony attempting to make herself smaller.

There's brisk but rough movement as the gobbo screams, someone mantling the fallen log. The lean-to blocks most of their appearance, but one can spy boots, the tip of a sheathed sword, and, more importantly, part of a longbow pointed down at Simony's general direction. "Shut up. Dana rages. Don't waste your breath screeching."

It's not pulled, but the tip tracks the gobbo. "Explain why you trek Her woods. Now."

"I was gathering firewood. I am now waiting for the rain to cease so I can drag it back to camp.", she says quietly. "Why?"

"You are not in a position to ask /questions/," the broad and tall figure snips. "You evade my question: what is the /purpose/ of your /presence/ in these woods? What camp? What is it for?"

"Look... you wanna put that bow away? You are obviously not about to shoot me with it, and I'm not about to run off into the downpour to get lost, muddy and wet."

The Gobbo huffs. "I told you. I was gathering firewood. Gonna drag it back to camp after. Am here with a .. a friend, hunting. Our camp is just that, a camp. It's for ... what camps are for. A fire and shelter."

The bluff about obviously not going to shoot with it is met with a strain. And a >twang!< An arrow zips through the air and thuds naught but an inch away from the gobbo's calf. Calling his own bluff. Clearly having no qualms with shooting her.

"... you are either are a dullard or incredibly naive," the gruff voice growls, him slowly stepping off the log and stepping more towards the opening of the lean-to.

It's a Nar. Drenched in the rain, his military coat seemingly treated to keep it from being sopping. Stern yellow eyes keep a bow half drawn, and one of his ears-missing a piece out of it- flicks from a drop of rain. "Camps have purpose. Hunting. What are you hunting?" he presses.

The Goblin grunts as the arrow plants itself next to her calf.

The pale little face looks up at the Arvek Nar, a frown forming. "Game and werewolves.", Simony replies. "Yes, our camp has a purpose. We're living there at the moment."

Her arms cross. "What do you want?", she says with a huff.

The grey Arvek Nar keeps his gaze firm, even though the rain is coming in sheets and splashing against him. He listens. Reading. The bow relaxes. Still held in hand, but it's not longer a hair's pull away from shooting. "Good."

His nostrils flare. Glancing about the inside of the lean-to. Inspecting the effects within. "I got what I want. Your compliance. Brazen, these lands, with their desires from these woods and beyond."

The albino looks sullen, and glances away. "Easy to get compliance when you shove a bow into someone's face.", she grumps. "These lands? A woodsman and his... well, me. Not much in the way of desires. Wood and game."

Her head cants slightly, she peers at him. "Why did you want to know what I was doing?"

She doesn't have a whole lot by way of personal effects. Breastplate, padding, a cloak, robes indicating a priest of Navos, a backpack with a few things hanging from it, and a warhammer.

The Nar shrugs, reaching a hand up to the depiction of the emblem of a twisted tree to rest a hand on it. "I prefer compliance than pussy footing," he points out. It's quite clear his accent isn't Alexandrian. Bludgun, probably.

A glance off to the woods. Then back to goblin. "Werewolves, undead, poachers, smugglers. Many use the woods to their advantage, many... unnatural things," he deigns an answer. A double glance at the Navosian garb. It's not pointed out, but clearly noted.

Simony slowly stands, stepping outside of the leanto to do so. She slowly lifts her hands and turns in a circle. "Nothing unnatural here. If I find undead, I do my best to send them to the rest they should be having. Haven't run into werewolves, but am happy to help deal with those too. They've been killing game for no reason."

The Gobbo lets out a breath. She offers up a hand. "Name's Simony Smithsdottir. Have... I put your mind at ease?"

Weathered and calloused fingers drum along the wood of the bow as Simony makes her case and shows herself off. He watches. "Good to know," he grunts again.

Intense yellow eyes stare at the hand. "About yourself, yes." He doesn't take it. "For a Navosian, you give much information freely."

The bow is lowered, but a hand rests on the hilt of the scimitar.

The Goblin grins toothily then, and shrugs her shoulders. "Yep, little ol' naive me, giving away information freely. It's not like you were going to pay me, trade me or offer anything for such information."

She squints off into the forest, and her hand lowers. "So are you going to be stingy with your name then? I have to call you 'Hey You' or something?" Simony crouches down then, picking up a stick to poke at the fire. "Would you like some tea?", she wonders. "I'd offer you some shelter but, well... I wasn't expecting company. Probably best that you stay in the open anyways."

"Going to get you killed, one day," the Nar bluntly says. "Wrong words torch camps."

Slowly, the bow is put away, stashing it over his shoulder while a hand is still kept on his sword. "Can call me Vren," is all he says with a curl of his lip. He glares at the hospitalities. "No. I'm not staying. You. Stay away from down east. Migrating moose. Rain clearing in a couple of hours."

Half step away, falling into the shade of the tree as rain continues to splatter against him. "And move before the clouds clear, the moon is bright tonight."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." The Goblin shrugs. "Vren it is. And thank you. We do know to stay out of their way though, but the warning is a useful reminder."

Simony squints after him as he moves to fade away. "Are you coming back to check up on me?", she wonders.

The Gobbo huffs, and moves back to her small leanto, with it's comfortable fire, and relatively dry spot to settle in.

Vren steps up onto fallen log, eyeing Simony for a moment before casting his gaze back out amongst the woods. "No. If you do not heed my warnings, then it is up to nature to decide your fate. Queen nourish you."

He hops down behind it. A stick cracks. A cursory look shows that he's gone. A grey blur rushes through the treeline in the distance.

-End Scene-