|
Post by FC4 on Jun 30, 2009 0:29:31 GMT
Sliding the flask under his shirt, Reese finished the journey to the Redoran, whom had finished donning a set of armor. When he came within ten feet of the Dunmer he spoke. "Good to see you moving, lad. A lot weren't so lucky. Listen, we need to hurry here, we don't have the luxury of sticking around." He extended a hand to help the Dunmer to his feet, "We need to hurry and meet up with those others down there," He pointed down the beach, to where the dots were still moving about, "Then we need to scavenge this beach for all we can. I'd give us no more then an hour leeway." "My name's Reese, by the way." "Greetings to you, Muthsera Reese." Majulin replied respectfully, taking the man's hand. The old Redguard lacked the warrior look, but Majulin still respected him. The man had stood up to Valenth, lost a finger, and seemed completely unaffected. "I am Majulin Redoran." "Sadly, I am not unscathed though. My sword was unsheathed and sliced deep into my leg. I've wrapped and supported it with my boot leggings, but it'll reduce my mobility till we can get to a proper healer in Sedya Neen. I've also lost my shield and spear." The warrior seemed deeply troubled by this fact, though that look did not remain for long. Raising from the man's offered help, he shook Reese's hand firmly, then let go and tried to walk on his own. Unarmored, walking on the cut leg wasn't too hard, but it had caused pain. Now with the weight of armor, he found the long slash in his leg to become far more troublesome. Hesitating momentarily, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, unaffected by the air quality. Grabbing the ash robe he had wrapped his equipment in, Majulin slung it over his shoulders, covering himself except for his helmet, which he slung around his neck with a thin rope. "Let us aid them, and then find our equipment. Take anything valuable. Purchases of new supplies must be made in Sedya Neen."
|
|
|
Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 30, 2009 0:47:41 GMT
For an instant, Babur's natural instinct waved a red flag frantically, but he was, aside from the throbbing flow of pain in his eye, coming back to his normal mental state. Spells of the nature the altmer described were not intended to harm flesh and bone...it would be, most likely, very effective for something like this.
He paused for a moment. "I am not well versed in Destruction magic, but I have seen rudimentary disintegration spells in use. What you propose would not only destroy the object, but in addition, any other slivers that might have wedged themselves farther back. Well thought. My apologies, I have never had to deal with a serious injury before."
It was not for fear of making enemies that Babur had apologized. On the contrary, he enjoyed occasionally drawing a bit of dislike from others when he found himself traveling in a group. This made it easier to see what people were like at their worst - easier to see who might make better allies, who was better to trust. But the altmer had not done anything to merit this, and his snappishness had come from rash emotion, not planning. His sense of decency overrode his desire to strategically alienate himself.
Glancing about him, he beheld a broken plank of wood, presumably from the boat (or just random flotsam; it was hard to tell here). He picked it up and held it in both hands, making sure he had a good grip on both. It would be used to grip tightly to help with the pain; he had done so in the past with removing arrows, and he would have been biting down on such a cloth or piece of wood, but holding it in such proximity to the area of the spell would probably make it simply disintegrate.
"Very well madame, I will trust your ability. Have at it. And thank you, by the way," he added, for he had not done so already. He did not appear nervous, but slightly anxious. It wasn't that he was afraid- no, he was well aware that it was going to hurt like hell.
|
|
|
Post by Vicorva on Jun 30, 2009 7:49:12 GMT
Artmer had a coughing fit, then scolded her for moving her tail. "Stop that," he hacked. "You'll only hurt yourself."
Dark made a disgruntled sound deep in her throat. "I'm not stupid," she panted. She felt compelled to tell him this. "It's like blinking. I'm not trying to-," she cut herself off as he gripped the base of her tail. She struggled against her instincts to shy away from the touch of others, to maintain her personal space. She knew this was for her own good, because she could see he did it with good intent.
When her tail was weighed down beneath her own body, he released her, as if she were suddenly burning hot. She watched him uncertainly. Why was he being so kind to her? He seemed to help her almost automatically, but surely he had no reason to look after her so.
As he descended into a particularly horrible fit of coughs, she noticed him staring at his own hand. A coating of blood was on it. She decided not to ask him any questions; it couldn't be good for his throat.
"My pack," she suggested to him. "I was wearing it just a moment ago, so I know I haven't lost it-," Too bad she couldn't say the same for her bow, or arrows. "-there's a soothing potion inside. It's for nerves, but should coat your throat well enough."
She was happier to have her pack than her bow and arrows. Though she had nothing really of use inside her pack, not being rich or highly talented, she had customised her pack to herself with great effort. It was waterproof, since as an argonian often her best mode of escape was to swim for it, with an extra layer of material- horker skin- and coated with horker fat on the inside. It was also pretty well-loved. She felt like as long as she had a pack to carry things in, she'd be alright.
She had only thrown it off when she'd first struggled upon waking, so it couldn't be more than a few feet away.
It was then that she saw it. The hulking great brute was scuttling away with it further inland. The mudcrab had her pack, hooked on one of its pincers.
Fantastic... she thought, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Carefully, so as not to strain herself, she pointed. "S'there," she said, sounding displeased. "Sorry..."
Totally. Useless.
|
|
|
Post by webster52402 on Jun 30, 2009 8:10:05 GMT
OOC: xD That mudcrab's stirring up all kinds of trouble. Also, the following post was written to Old Western showdown music. IC: Artmer barely even registered Dark-Feather mentioning that she had a soothing potion in her pack that could take care of his throat. Though he did look back in her direction, he immediately looked back to his hand, frowning to himself. He didn't want to use potions for something that could be solved with simple fresh water. Especially something that she may need later. Or indeed, now, if it did dull nerves... It may wash away some of the pain she was feeling. He began to rise to his feet, only to notice her pointing, telling him that she had spotted her pack. Following her finger, what should he set his eyes upon but the mudcrab from earlier, that had been squatting on top of the Orc a few moments ago. Now, it had her pack firmly in one of its pincers, and was making its way over the beach to dash off further inland. Utterly stunned for a few moments, he simply stared after it as it skittered and scrabbled on the light rocks and sand, torn between laughter and shock. Something about this mudcrab being their greatest foe right now after having dealt with the Nerevarine struck him as hilarious. After a few seconds, though, he finally came to the realization that it was running off with Dark-Feather's stuff, and he should probably stop it. With a hoarse cry, he flung himself away from Dark-Feather, to scrabble over the rocks himself after it. The mudcrab seemed oblivious to his presence, simply carrying on its merry way without a care in the world. Snatching up one of the many rocks that lay about the beach, he sat back slightly, throwing it at the mudcrab to give him some time to get on his feet. As it turned out, he was a horrible shot, and it sailed right over the mudcrab's back to clatter onto the stones before it. But, at the very least, he succeeded in getting its attention. The gargantuan thing stopped, and turned towards Artmer as he gained his feat, albeit a bit shakily. For a long moment the two simply stood there, looking at each other. Neither of them moved, Artmer because he was afraid of the thing running off again, and the mudcrab because it was sizing the Dunmer up, judging whether or not to actually pinch the man or not. After a few moments, though, the mudcrab got tired of waiting, and began to skitter off on its way again. Artmer jerked as the stillness was broken, and promptly scrambled after it, skittering and slipping on the loose rocks. The mudcrab only picked up the pace as Artmer drew closer, hauling its gargantuan shell over the beach with a surprising amount of haste. Though its underbelly rasped against the stones, and its long legs kicked up small clouds of sand with its weight, it still managed to give him a good chase. The only reason Artmer even caught up with the thing was because he had longer strides. When he was close enough, Artmer flung himself at the crab, tackling it into the sand. With a chattering sound, the mudcrab rolled, its spindly legs waving frantically in the air as Artmer tried to overpower it. "Let go!" He snapped at the thing, both hands yanking at the pack that it had in its claw. It only tightened its grip, letting out a furious bubbling sound. With the same speed that it had been skittering away with, its other claw rose and promptly latched around Artmer's shoulder, enticing a pained yelp from him. Trying to pull back a bit, the thing hung on with all its might, its legs finding purchase again on Artmer's chest. With a grunt, he forced himself to sit up, only to have the mudcrab bring its not inconsiderable weight onto his chest instead. With a strangled, gargling cry, he toppled backward, and the mudcrab, sensing victory, let out another chatter as its spindly legs wrapped around his chest. Digging its claw into his shoulder, and battering him with the pack in its other claw, Artmer was actually losing a brawl with a mudcrab. "Ack! Get it off!"
|
|
|
Post by Vicorva on Jun 30, 2009 16:35:11 GMT
As Dark-Feather watched Artmer brawl with the mudcrab, only to be thrown onto his back and battered with the very pack he was seeking, Dark sighed.
Artmer was going to get a concussion, her pack was going to disappear into the sunset, and they all had to face the fact that they were not yet ready to face a mudcrab, let alone the Nerevarine.
"This is what comes of losing your bow..." she thought with an almost superstitious solemnity. Next time, she would be better prepared for a shipwreck and mudcrabs.
She thought about going to help him. She started to tremble at the very idea. Could she really cope with that? No... the pain...
But, nonetheless, Artmer was getting pummelled by the clackety thing. She rolled slowly over, and carefully raised up onto her hands and knees.
Pain exploded, colouring her vision red. She collapsed to the floor and lost consciousness, still save for the twitching of the very tip of her tail, and as her ears swivelled to and fro, taking in the sounds all around her even as she slid into blackness.
Before unconciousness took her, she had time enough to think, So that's mudcrab three, adventurers nil.
And then she stopped thinking about anything.
OOC: I think we're fighting a losing battle, here.
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Jun 30, 2009 17:15:05 GMT
Majulin sighed and shook his head at the view before him, as he moved with a gentle limp over to the remaining survivors. His sword slid out of the sheath with a slosh of water. Will have to see to that before it rusts.
Collapsing to his knees when he finally limped to the scene, he lowered the point of his blade. The stupid Hlaalu Dunmer was struggling with the crab, getting pummeled by a pack in the beast's claws as it gripped his shoulder. It was tremendously amusing yet disheartening all at one, and with a soft grunt Majulin ended the comically depressing scene.
The sword, point low and angled a few degrees up, slid along the underside edge of the mudcrab's rocky carapace, piercing the softer exo-shell beneath and cutting into inner organs. The Mudcrab gave out a bubbly, guttural wail and released Artmer, appendages flailing. Majulin raised his blade, and subsequently the crab. The poor beast slid down the sword to the hilt, ceasing all movement. Rising to his left foot but remaining on his right knee, he held the sword up over Artmer.
"Take it." He spoke curtly, referring to the pack. "We will use the meat as a meal until we get to Seyda Neen. Finish your recoveries, search for your things, and let's move."
|
|
|
Post by webster52402 on Jun 30, 2009 18:55:50 GMT
OOC: That's a good thing. I prefer to fight the losing battle, because it means we actually struggle to accomplish things. Struggling to accomplish the vanquishing of a mudcrab, though, that's new...
IC: As Artmer struggled and battered at the thing weakly, he dug his heels into the sand, trying to pull himself away from the mudcrab. IF - and that was a very big IF - he could get a bit of space between himself and the crab, then he may be able to either beat a hasty retreat, or launch a counterattack. Which probably would go about as well as his first attack, but that thing wasn't getting that pack without a fight!
Course, he was more focused on fending off blows landed by that very pack on his shoulders, sides, and head, but that was irrelevant...
And then, the struggle was over, just as quickly as it had begun. Though Artmer let out a startled yelp as the blade of the other Dunmer insinuated itself between his chest and the mudcrab, nicking at his robe, it still managed to twist up, and almost effortlessly skewer the crab that he had been struggling with.
As he calmly lifted it off of him, holding his blade in a single hand, Artmer felt a wave of shame. He had gotten his ass handed to him first by a skeleton, which didn't even have muscles, and now he had lost to a gigantic crustacean, that had literally beat him silly with one hand incapacitated. He wasn't sure whether that was moving up in the world or not... But the sheer, effortless nature that the other Dunmer lifted that crab with only furthered his shame.
Relaxing onto the sand, he reached a hand up to his aching shoulder, where the gargantuan crab's pincer had cut into it. Though the wound was shallow, and barely even bleeding, it still stung. Especially thanks to the sand that now covered Artmer even more thoroughly, from rolling about on the beach with the thing...
"Take it." The Dunmer growled, enticing a small wince from Artmer. He looked up at the warrior, still holding the crab out easily over his chest. "We will use the meat as a meal until we get to Seyda Neen. Finish your recoveries, search for your things, and let's move." He ordered, a tone of authority ringing through his voice.
Wincing once more, Artmer nodded, and quietly murmured, "Yes sir." Reaching up and tugging the pack from the crab's claw, he slowly, achingly, regained his feet. Shouldering the pack for a moment, he trudged his way back to Dark-Feather, only to find the Argonian woman unconscious on her stomach.
Stopping, Artmer stared down at her for a few moments, exhausted. He couldn't even form a facial expression to express his dismay. Finally, after a few moments, Artmer sank to his knees next to her, slipping his hands beneath her shoulders. Rolling her over onto her side so that she didn't have to breathe in sand and dirt, but still not have to lie on her injured back, he set her pack down in front of her, wrapping her arms around it so that it was held securely.
He ignored the potion that she had offered him, feeling it best to simply not speak until they got to Seyda Neen, or until they made that crab into soup. Either one.
Rather than go search for his stuff, Artmer sank the rest of the way onto the sand, flopping over onto his back to stare up at the sky. He felt drained, and understandably. Compared to the rest of his life, the events of the past few hours had been insane. Battered by skeletal warriors on a ship, confronted by the Nerevarine, blown up along with the ship, waking up here, trying - and failing - to help the others around him, and losing yet another battle with a mudcrab.
Aren't I off to a great start? he thought bitterly, glancing at the other survivors. They were infinitely more prepared for this than he was. He was going to have to learn to use a blade, or a bow, or something soon, if he hoped to be of any use on this journey.
|
|
|
Post by DarkNova50 on Jun 30, 2009 19:00:26 GMT
Terra gave a slight nod to the Orc, who seemed considerably more agreeable now, as she raised her hands, poising them only a few inches away from the wood that was erupting from his eye. Part of her wanted to close her own eyes, not only for concentration's sake, but so that she might be spared, if only for a moment, the grisly sight of the Orc's ravaged socket. However, given the delicate, and indeed experimental, nature of the procedure, she elected to keep her eyes open, and began channeling the spell.
Bright, ruby red light began to build at the edges of Terra's fingertips, before quickly moving towards the lodged piece of wood. With an almost wispy appearance, the bright red light began to coil delicately around the object, moving past Babur's flesh with remarkably ease. Within moments, the size of the wood began to lessen, with a fine, granular ash falling away from it. Terra didn't allow herself to imagine what the pain must have been like for Babur, as the disintegrate spell worked with equal effectiveness both in his eye and outside.
After what seemed like minutes, the light quickly dissipated, the entirety of the wood now laying beneath them in a dark pile of powder. Terra wasted no time in switching up her spells, with a soft azure light now pulsing from her hands, filling the hole in Babur's eye. Tissue was mended with remarkable speed, and hopefully it would ease his pain as well. In short order, Terra managed to complete healing his eye, and sat back down next to him, slightly winded.
"Feel any better?" she asked with a delicate smile on her features, relieved that the ordeal was over. Taking in a deep breath, she prepared to get up and move on; she hadn't forgotten about their resident Argonian, after all. Before she did, though, she nodded at the Orc, and mentioned: "Terra. I don't know if I've introduced myself yet, but my name's Terra." She got up to her feet, and began to turn around. "Maybe we can talk a bit later, but I think that-"
It was then that she noticed the Argonian ahead of her, face down in the sand, unattended, and barely moving, save her tail and ears. Terra quickly sprinted towards the downed woman's location, a renewed look of concern washing over her face as the Hlaalu, arriving once again on the scene, rolled the Argonian onto her side.
"Hey! Hey, are you awake?" she asked the Argonian pleadingly, even as Artmer himself collapsed onto his back. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
|
|
|
Post by Tom Bombadil on Jun 30, 2009 19:44:16 GMT
One of the few things worse than experiencing extreme pain is knowing that one is about to experience extreme pain, and forcing one's self to receive it without objection. Babur struggled with his thrashing impulses that were begging him to remove himself from the reach of the incoming spell, and he stood motionless while he waited for it to begin its work.
As soon as the spell slipped into his socket, his teeth gritted, and his fingers dug into the plank in his hands. He suddenly wished he had at least sat down for the procedure. He felt like he was about to pass out from the agony that flooded his nerves - it felt like his very eye was being burned out in a fire pit. The sensation felt much, much longer than the actual elapsed time. It was eventually replaced by a feeling of great emptiness in his face as what felt like freshly burned wood-ash ran from his face.
The feeling of the salty air flooding his eye space was more painful than the wood had felt. It was like the burning sensation one feels when they plunge a flesh wound into salt water, only it was in an area of high nerve concentration, within his head, and several times more intense.
It too lasted mere moments, thankfully. And those moments were not nearly as long-feeling as the previous ones. The relief of the procedure's completion overshadowed the feeling of having a hole in his head.
The pain faded even more as he felt his flesh being mended by a healing spell. To his surprise, he felt as though the empty hole was being filled. He had thought that his eye had been completely destroyed. In reality, it had, to a certain degree. The eye, or rather, what was the eye, had still been in his head. The restorative magic had managed to roughly rebuild the organ. By the time the healing light faded, Babur found that he had fallen to his knees at some point during the process.
"Feel any better?" he heard her say. "Terra. I don't know if I've introduced myself yet, but my name's Terra." Babur blinked, this time without terrible repercussions. His heart rate was still lowering from the intensity of the shard removal, and he managed to get out, "Yes. Babur. Thank you," or something like that, through quick breaths. By the time he looked up, she had already rushed to help the argonian, who appeared to have passed out.
He got back to his feet, feeling the flesh around his regenerated eye. He still could not see out of the eye, of course. The eye was a complex organ; restoring its functionality would have been a challenge even for a specialized healer. But even if he had a useless eye now, he found that far better than an empty socket. Use of an eye patch would not have helped his reputation in society.
Babur started towards where Artmer, Dark-Feather, and Terra were. Approaching, he got a view of the woman's injury. Laying in sand with an open wound, he didn't want to think about the kind of prolonged pain that must have caused. Then again, he didn't want to think about any pain at the moment. Or ever, actually. Pain was not a pleasant thing to contemplate.
Seeing that the argonian was indeed unconscious, and that Terra was tending to her, Babur walked toward the dunmer sitting in the sand nearby, who he had glimpsed with her previously. "Babur gro-Shadbat," he introduced himself with a nod, "Are you well? Do you know of any other survivors besides these?" he said, looking up and down the beach at the others he could see standing about. It was easy enough to distinguish the survivors from the townsfolk that had approached.
|
|
|
Post by FC4 on Jul 1, 2009 0:45:10 GMT
Majulin saw the Hlaalu wince, and he understood why. It had to be embarrassing to be overcome by a mudcrab. But then again, he'd heard of the tales of mudcrabs outside of Morrowind. They were nothing compared to the moving stones of Vvardenfell. These crabs were more tenacious, if slower.
Majulin sighed as he let his sword and the crab fall into the sand, kicking up a small cloud of the ashen grains. "We don't have a chance against him." Majulin muttered, starring at the mudcrab on his sword. With a swift yank, he released his blade, but left it in the sand. With his other hand he tipped his scabbard, pouring out the water. Digging the end of the blade into the sand, he used it as a crutch to get up to a stand, then sheathed his blade.
"I'm going to look for my spear and shield. If any of you can cook, gut the crab and light a fire. Use some the debris from the wreck to make roasting spits, or something..." He trailed off at the end of his suggestion, as if he was no longer paying attention.
We were weak before, with little chance. Now we've met him and seen what he's become. He's reduced us to Khajiit slave toothpicks with a snap of his fingers. What chance do we have? He wondered, looking around as he began his limping walk down the beach, head low.
|
|
|
Post by Vrek on Jul 1, 2009 2:14:08 GMT
Reese stayed in place while Majulin went to the other Dunmer's aid. He was rather dismayed at the whole thing. From here it looked like the Dunmer whose name he didn't know, the Altmer, and himself, and possible the Sleeping Redguard, were the only ones who didn't sustain serious injury.
The Orc had just been finished getting treated for an injury on his face. Hopefully that wound would be superficial. Everyone crowded closer to the prone form the Argonian girl, which meant she was still alive. Far better than the alternative.
When Majulin began to walk off to look for his equipment, Reese put a hand on his shoulder, slowing him down a bit. "Majulin. Try to be quick, and careful. We need to get your leg tended to before it becomes serious or even irreparable. You've probably got the most combat experience of all of us, so we'll be relying on you. Another thing, though. Look for my things while you're out there. It's a leather strip wrapped around it, about eight inches wide, and wrapped in cord. If we find that, I can make this whole trip a lot easier for us."
He lowered his arm, and walked closer to the rest of the group, and knelt down next to the group, leaving enough space between him and the Argonian, so the others could finish tending to her. "What's happened to her, and how serious is it?"
|
|
|
Post by webster52402 on Jul 1, 2009 5:05:20 GMT
As Artmer lay in the sand, trying to get a bit of energy back into his bones, he heard the voice of the Orc from earlier, as he introduced himself. Wearily, Artmer's eyes opened, to gaze up at the man with an almost baleful gaze. So much for his promise not to speak until he could cook that crab.
"Artmer." He rasped, barely managing to get the word out before choking. Launching into a fit of hacking and coughing from speech, he raised his hand, setting it against his throat. It felt like it was going to burst from the inside, it was pulling so taut.
After a few moments, he turned his head to one side, and spat up a bit of blood, decorating the beach next to him with a bright crimson hue. Shakily pulling himself to his feet, he waved his hand at Dark-Feather. "Crack in the scales of her back. Deep, but no blood." He explained weakly, despite the agony it brought him to speak.
Trying and failing to bite back his coughing, Artmer trudged wearily over to the mudcrab that they had killed, falling to his knees beside it. Waiting a moment for his coughing to stop, he spat out another gob of blood onto the rocks. Luckily for him, he wouldn't have to worry about his throat too much soon. Unsheathing his pilfered sword, he carefully cut out the soft bottom of the mudcrab, leaving it inside its shell for the time being.
Rather than speak again, he raised his hand to point wearily around at the numerous planks of wood that had been scattered about, then flicked it inland to gesture for timber. He was exhausted, and didn't want to trudge all about gathering firewood. He could handle the cooking part. He just needed them to provide the fire for him.
|
|
|
Post by DarkNova50 on Jul 1, 2009 17:02:48 GMT
The Hlaalu Dunmer, whose name turned out to be Artmer, concisely pointed out the nature of the Argonian's wound, before painting the landscape next to him with a crimson spatter. Terra winced as the Dark Elf continued to violently cough; though it probably wasn't too serious, it was more than likely it hurt like hell. It was just another injury she'd have to have a look at after, she supposed.
Turning her attention back to the downed Argonian, however, Terra placed her hands delicately on the woman's back, careful to avoid the edges of the wound itself. It was no wonder that she'd passed out from the pain when she had; it truly was as deep as Artmer had pointed out, though it was surprising that no blood was present in the wound. Regardless, Terra slowly began to channel a strong healing spell into the area of the wound, the deep crack within the Argonian's scales pulsing with a faint blue glow.
"If one of you boys would be so kind as to look for my stuff," the Altmer suggested loudly to the beach combers of their group. "It should just be my jacket, with all my stuff in the pockets. Something tells me I'm gonna need it." She was already starting to feel somewhat fatigued, between their encounter with Valenth and her healing efforts, and had the feeling she'd need her potions before she was done there.
|
|
|
Post by Vrek on Jul 2, 2009 5:59:59 GMT
Reese watched quietly as Artmer coughed up blood. He gave him a pat on the back, "There, lad. Breathe deep, and breathe through your nose." The advice wasn't specific, but it did serve a purpose. He seemed to start coughing when he spoke, but the advice would serve as a test to see if the damage was primarily in his throat, mouth, or lungs.
He got to his feet, and started to move inland, looking for firewood, having caught on to Artmer's gestures. There wouldn't be any salvage further then the tides went in the last few hours, but there would be old driftwood which would be dry enough to burn well, unlike the soaked wood from the ship. So he set about collecting wood here and there. Pieces small enough to carry, mostly about the width of his arm or smaller, and almost all were partially covered by a dry, dying moss. The Blight took no prisoners.
When he felt he had enough for a fire to last about an hour, he started back. Upon reaching Artmer, he unceremoniously dropped his armload nearby and plopped into the sand, taking a brief rest before he started building the sticks into a pile he felt would burn well. Not that he had very much knowledge on that subject. Wilderness survival was not his forte.
"We can probably just use the shell as a pot, right? If not, I suppose we can find a shield or something that could work..." Reese mumbled to Artmer as he worked on lighting the pile. A quick fire spell managed to light the moss fairly easily, and moved slowly up the rough pile of sticks. "Anytime you're ready, lad."
|
|
|
Post by webster52402 on Jul 2, 2009 7:35:51 GMT
As Reese wandered away to gather up some firewood and tinder, Artmer took the man's advice to heart, and tried breathing through his nose. It didn't really do much, as the damage done was mainly in his throat, and it made him smell more of the dead crab that he was cleaning... So shortly after he had dug up a small dagger that would be more handy on the inside of the crab than a longsword would be, he started breathing through his mouth again.
Falling to his knees beside the crab, he dipped the blade of the dagger into it, and sliced out its mouth, intestines, stomach, and gills, which weren't fit for consumption. Though normally he would dig a hole or something to bury the remains in, since he was next to the ocean anyway, he simply collected these parts up, and tossed them into the sea once they were removed, to feed the fish with.
Returning to the crab, he sat down and reached inside of it with the dagger once more, cutting two small holes, one on each side of the shell. About the time he finished that was the time that Reese returned, dropping some sticks and moss that he had procured beside him. Grateful, Artmer reached out and snatched four sticks from the main group, setting them aside for now. However, the rest of the sticks that he had brought wouldn't quite serve Artmer's purpose, so as the man lit the fire, he rose to his feet, and left for a moment.
Hunting through the planks, he found a long piece of wood, which he broke off to form a long, thin section. Bringing this back to the fire with him, he used the leftover pieces of the plank he had found and the sticks that he had pilfered from the fire to form two small stands, one on each side of the fire. Running the long stick that he had created through the two holes he had made in the crab's shell, he lifted it, and set either end of the stick on the stands that he had created, leaving the crab shell hanging - with the open bottom as the top - over the fire to cook with.
The last thing that he did was reach out and break off each and every one of the surprisingly thick legs that the creature had run around on, dropping them into the shell to cook. Leaving the side of the crab for a few moments, he tracked down a iron shield, and dipped it into the ocean, bringing up some salt water. Though the concentration of salt in it would be hazardous if you drank it, when being used to cook with, it should be fine. The crab meat may come out a bit saltier than normal, but most people usually used a bit of salt to spice up their meals anyway.
Returning to the crab with water in tow, he poured a bit of it into the shell, putting just enough of it in that the cooking process wouldn't dry out the meat and set it ablaze, while still not oversalting the mix. If he added too much of the sea water, after all, it would make it hazardous to eat. Setting the shield down nearby - just in case the fire needed to be extinguished quickly, Artmer glanced around, before being satisfied with what was done.
His work done, Artmer settled down beside the fire, resting a hand against his throat. He would have preferred the man to take the iron shield and fill it full of fresh water and bring it over to boil, but... He would have to make do with what he had. You couldn't boil salt water and expect to get anything good out of it, after all. Salt didn't boil out of water... He had found that out the hard way.
Pulling his knees up into his chest, he settled in to wait for the crab to cook, locking his eyes on the fire. He didn't speak to anyone, not because of unfriendliness, but because speech hurt him, and he didn't want to irritate the damage in his throat any more than he had to. After eating a bit of the crab, and getting a bit of moisture in his throat, maybe then he would speak...
|
|