RP:A Camp on the Plains

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Abram is setting up camp on the Milous Plains when Skylei approaches to warn him of the dangers of camping so close to Sage. She educates him on the ongoing war in Sage. He pledges his help to the elven cause or regaining Sage

Overlooking Gorge

Abram sat in the light of a setting sun, his bed roll spread out beneath him, and a small pile of wood set before him in what looked like a miniature chimney made of twigs and kindling. While he chewed on a long piece of grass – as was his habit – he pulled out his flint and steel, and struck them together over the kindling until a small flame sprouted up and began to take the miniature chimney. Content with his work, the flint and steel were replaced in his pack, and he pulled out his supper: a handful of dried meat, and a biscuit from the Kelay tavern. As he ate, he looked around at the sprawling plains around him, and the impossibly deep gorge to the East. This was a peaceful spot for camping, he thought. Far enough from the road to keep away from the sounds of wheels on cobblestones, and open enough for him to be able to spot any threats long before they arrived. And so, in peace, he chewed on his jerky.

Skylei is also heading for home, although her home is a far more permanent, if a little more dingy flat in the south of Cenril city. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the start of a smoke trail begin to billow out across the plains. Superior eyesight allowed her to ascertain that someone had set up a camp. Gypsies from the deserts near Gualon? No, surely not. The camp didn’t look large enough for that. Indeed, it could only have housed a single family at most from her cursory glance. It would be the perfect place to camp, Skylei ponders, if only it wasn’t so close to Sage. Perhaps the occupant hadn’t heard the whispers of conflict. Maybe they’d just landed in Cenril and, fresh off the ship were looking for somewhere to stay tax free – after all, the cities tax was extortionate. Skylei has no idea, but, being the good Samaritan she is , she changed her course for the camp. Upon approaching, she would find the man halfway through his supper. She’d raise a hand in greeting, though he’d likely have seen her presence approaching, “Uhm, Hi? You’re not planning to stay here tonight are you?” Stupid question, but Skylei has no idea how else to start the conversation.

Abram spotted the single person walking toward him across the plains, and his first instinct brought his hand to the knife tucked into his belt. But as she drew closer, the man in the flat-brimmed hat relaxed a bit, and instead, opted to simply wave to her in salutation. “Goodeven, ma’am.” Her words sounded musical to him, after having listened to the dull drone of the insects that were milling about in the plain grass. He nodded, and in the firelight, Skylei would be able to see the man’s face: handsome and human, somewhere between his third and fourth decade, though the worry lines carved into his skin would give credence to an age far older… He had the appearance of a man who frowned far more than smiled. “Aye. I’ve set up my camp not long ago. Yon cities have presented some distasteful company, so I chose to return to my former nature and camp beneath the stars.”

Skylei nods, her face clearly alight with kindred thoughts, “Aye, I would greatly prefer the embrace of nature to that of Cenril, but with times being as they are…” the half-elf would shrug and gesture over her shoulder towards the great forest that fringes the view to the west, “Well, I’m just sayin’, I wouldn’t want to stay anywhere near the forests right now with the drow as they are. Most of ‘em probably won’t bother. Law abiding folk, as far as ‘drow law’ goes.” The half-elf pulls a face that displays exactly that she thinks of drow law before she continues “But some of ‘em have been known to attack caravans and travellers not far from this route and I’d hate for someone to fall afoul, just because they weren’t in the know.” Skylei shrugs again. She’s like a nodding dog, but she shrugs instead, “A night in Kelay night not be a poor idea, s’all.” Another shrug. She’s clearly uncomfortable ‘telling’ the man what to do; he’s obviously a seasoned traveller but there have been more deaths than she’s comfortable with along this path of late.

Abram was taken by the stranger’s consideration. His travels in this land have truly been a mixed bag thus far as to the kindness of Hollow’s people. It was refreshing to meet one who cared enough to try and get him to safer dwellings. “Drow…” He repeated the word thoughtfully. As he mulled it over, he pulled out a small parcel from his pack, and withdrew what appeared to be a very small piece of paper – the likes of which one might tie to a raven’s leg and send it with a message. He began to speak, but also continued fiddling with the paper without even looking at it, pulling a pinch of ground-up, brownish leaf and creating wrap for it with the paper. “Do you speak of those Dark Elves? The ones patrolling the streets of yon coastal town?” He motioned to Cenril, “I’ve met the likes of them, not three days past. They set upon myself and a ladyfriend I’d met shortly before, asking whether or not we had seen any, um… Wood Elves. They grew unseemly, and were trying to push the lady I was with. There was a scuffle, then…” He trailed off, touching the wrapped up tobacco to the flame of his campfire, and then putting it to his lips to draw.

Skylei gestures to ensure she knew exactly how such a scuffle would have ended, “I see.” The half-blood would pause long enough to brush dark hair so that it sat behind her ear, consciously displaying that soft point that marked her half breed status. The sharp lines of her face betrayed her elven heritage and the softness of her ears betrayed the human and yet, she would continue to refer to the wood elves as human, “Yes, I would imagine they’re the very same. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re bounty hunting, undoubtedly the most important of our number have a price ‘pon their heads, as do a number of theirs.” She would deny this fervently, but her heart sped at the idea of the drow being in Cenril. Who would they be hunting? All that she can dare assume (arrogant as it may be) is that it’s her; or that they’re chancers, merely trying their luck. This panic is betrayed only by a subtle gulp and the flushing of her cheeks. She hopes that both will be masked by firelight, “They are looking in the wrong place if that be the case.” As for Abram himself, “You’re…not local, I take it. Figures. You’d either have to be foreigner or a fool to camp by Sage right now.”

Abram noted the point of the stranger’s ears, and from her words, he figured she was one of the opposing camp. With the Drow having made the impression that they did upon him, he was inclined to enjoy her company. He motioned for her to sit beside the fire with him in that universal sweeping of his hand, and he continued to draw upon his paper-wrapped leaf as he thought upon what she said. Finally, with a shake of his head, he replied, “No, I’m not from your when and where… I’ve not been here a fortnight, having crossed through some door to what is the saloon of Kelay. ‘Fore that, I was travelling through desert, near-taken with the heat, and nigh without water nor food to my name. Was the wheel of the sisters that brought me here, for what purpose, I do not ken.” He turned to the side and spit into the grass, obviously not accustomed to having much in the way of company – he bore the appearance of a man who was more often than not, used to being alone. “I’ve been called ‘fool’ before, ma’am… But those who spoke such a slur are no longer ‘round to speak it again. If Sage is where the Wood Elves hail from, I wot they’d be glad I’ve already set to lowering the numbers of their darker counterparts. And if the Dark Elves should find their way out to this place, I’ll make sure they meet their patrolment in the clearing at the end of their path…” He pauses and removes his hat, revealing a healthy crop of black hair that settled back behind his ears and stopped short of his neck. There were fine patches of gray about his temples, and a small scar on his forehead – the remnant of some other scuffle, maybe. “I’d camped once with a small band of travelling companions when we first set out in the desert. It was our first time being out that far past the hills, that we didn’t ken the type of critters we’d find. First night, a mountain-cat found its way into our camp, and my friend Jacob was charged with keeping the watch. He’d fallen asleep, though, and the cat was not two feet from me when I gained my senses. It bared its teeth, and I drew my iron, and before the silent stalker was upon me, it was dead. Jacob learned a valuable lesson that night, but I was already prepared. All of the men from Gathol are trained to keep their wits in their sleep…” While he told his story, Abram absently touched the empty scabbard on his hip – it was roughly the length of a dagger, but impossibly wide to hold one. Whatever weapon is supposed to go in it, he no longer had it. “No mountain-cat, nor Dark Elf will stalk me while I lie, ma’am… I’ll not reach the clearing at the end of my path whilst I’m slumbering.”

Skylei would take a seat as she is beckoned to do so. The man doesn’t seem like a threat to her wellbeing. Indeed his vitriol against drow seems to suggest that she’ll be safer in his company than walking the paths alone. As she sits, she would rest the darkwood bow that always accompanies her alongside her, resting just within arm’s reach, just in case. She plays the audience well as he tells tales of his travels in the desert, of mountain-cats and careless night watches. Illuminated in firelight, her changes in expression are even more so emphasised as her expression changes to surprise as he announces the type of beast they had encountered. Eventually, as the tale comes to an end, the half-breed smiles sadly, brushing flyway hair from her forehead, “I wish I could say that I doubt they’ll cause you harm. But they are more vicious than I had imagined.” Her hand brushes down her face, lingering briefly on one of her drow caused scars; a star shape on her left temple, “Trust me, I never thought I’d flee from a fight. I’d rather meet my death in a fair and honest fight than run a coward, y’know, but the bastards are pure evil. They move in packs, like dogs. See in the dark, hide in the shadows. Drow are cowards, but bloody powerful cowards. Don’t think that I do not think that you can defend yourself against them.” She almost laughs, “I mean, we’ve just met. But you seem capable enough; and certainly not a ‘fool’. But many men and women have fallen. And I am loathe to allow another one to do so, should I be able to prevent such a fate.” She would stop and hold a hand out in a more formal greeting, as humans are oft known to do, “I’m Sky, by the way. Seems rude not to.”

Abram took the Half-Elf’s hand, and shook it firmly, “I am Abram, of Gathol. Son of Martine. You are well met, Sky, of Hollow.” The corners of his lips tugged in a barely perceptible smile, and he took his hand back so that he could form another leaf-wrap from his poke. “I admire your willingness to stand true for your people and your own honor. I am much the same. The young men of Gathol were trained to remember the faces of their fathers, who served in the guild before us. It was for our lineage that we maintained our bravery and continued to do what was right and just. To hear that these Dark Elves are not of sturdy mettle is disappointing, though I would’ve wot as much from what happened to me and my ladyfriend. They will not be without challenge…” He paused thoughtfully as he lit his wrap in the campfire, “How long have the fires of this conflict burned? What is it that the sides fight for?”

Skylei casts her eyes onto the fire as the two continue to talk. There is again, some similarity in the way that the two have been raised “We hold our ancestors very dear; they guide our choices, watch over us and wait to welcome us when we pass from this life. They are revered near as much as our gods. My father, I hope, is there to guide my every step…” Skylei gestures once more in the direction of Sage, though as the light fades, the trees become harder and harder to distinguish from the blur of night, “But many of my people’s ancestors are buried within that forest. Generations and generations of Sage elves, torn away from that lineage and killed for their desire to return. That is our home. That is why we fight the drow who banished us. The fight has been long, but we will not surrender until we are home.” It is hard to speak of the fate of her people in such blunt terms. Perhaps once, if not twice, Skylei stumbles on her words, caught up by a lump in her throat or a deep feeling of sadness.

Abram noticed the emotions Skylei was going through, but continued the conversation; he didn’t appear to be a very sentimental person. “So they fight to conquer your land. The place you and your kin have called home, and have buried your elders…” He carefully placed another piece of wood on the fire, and there was a loud crackle and puff of cinders as the flames adjusted to its new fuel. “My home was invaded, as well. I was not present, nor have I returned since… I received word that my father and several of those I’d grown up with fell in the battle to hold Gathol, but I was on my own quest, and was too far on my path to return.” There was sadness in his eyes, but it never seemed to reach the rest of his expression or his words, “I always said I’d return after my companions and I captured the magician we were tracking, but now I am here; and there is uncertainty whether I could even return to my where and when.” He paused as though what he said was some revelation that he hadn’t considered before. Then, he shook his head and went on, “Sky, I would like to help you and your kin to battle these Dark Elves. I know I have no standing with the Elves of Sage, but I do not wish to see another invasion tear apart a people as it did with Gathol.”

Skylei doesn’t look away from the fire as Abram explains his own life. It’s a lot easier to deal with the sight of fire than the sight of someone telling a tragic story, “I’m sorry for your loss. It is hardest when you are unable to control what happens due to distance. I was away from home during the exile and returned to a changed land. I almost wish I hadn’t returned.” Anyway, this is far more than Skylei likes to or is comfortable sharing with strangers, or really anyone. In fact, with a cough, she would move from her place by the fire and restrap the bow over her back. As she prepares to leave, she would respond to his offer of help with the cause, “We will take any of those who will assist us. You can find us in Frostmaw. Always plotting, always planning.” She pauses and then grins, “Though… if you’re more of the doing type, then you can find me in South Cenril. The elves are keener on talking than they are on action. That’s… not my style.”

Abram remained seated, even as his campfire companion rose to depart. He nodded in acknowledgement, and said, “I’ve never been one to take much time and plot. Jacob was always the one to come up with schemes and direct us on our route. Nay, my hand is moved by the wind, and my heart is pulled by the tide; I was raised a soldier, and with no guild to answer to, I go where the path takes me. I will aid you, and will come to you in South Cenril when I am needed.” He makes a gesture with his hand which more than likely was one of farewell, “Goodeven, Sky of Sage. May the days be long in your life. It was a pleasure holding palaver with you before the fire.”