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Post by FC4 on Jul 2, 2009 18:35:15 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." Majulin simply nodded to the Redguard and walked off while they tended to the crab and the Argonian, beginning his hunt along the ocean shore. It hadn't taken him long to find his chitin spear, which had been with his folded up armor when he had left it in his room in the ship. Azura's blessing it was still intact, though salty and wet, but the chitin could dry without needing maintenance. Poking the sand with the spear a few times, he checked the sturdiness of the shaft, and found it still held up. Now... he had to wander the wreckage for his shield. But that proved difficult, mainly because the closer he got to the main part of the wrecked ship hull, the more climbing and maneuvering he had to do. And that got painful quickly. However, he managed to find the general area of the lower decks, where the sleeping quarters were. Amidst the massive planks and chunks of ship he managed to find his shield, laying on what used to be the wall of his quarters. Slinging it over his back, he used his spear as a walking stick and balance assistant as he moved through the wreckage, looking for more supplies. You've got the most combat experience, so we'll be relying on you. Majulin thought on Reese's words. They would be relying on him... but he fought soldiers, not gods. Men with weapons, not incomprehensible magicks. Against spellcraft he was as useless as that Hlaalu. "But we've got to find a way. It's got to be done." Majulin grunted to himself as he heaved over a large beam of wood, approaching another wrecked frame of a room.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Jul 14, 2009 16:37:29 GMT
As the other members of the group recuperated and prepared a meal of crab, the Redguard finished his saddening duty somewhere inland and began to make his way back across the beach. The Captain had warned him about the chance of death on this mission but he had ignored it and decided to follow them anyway; the Captain had made him promise to bury Ironmark if he fell. He didn't know why, but he wasn't about to question the captain's orders. It was his duty to follow, not to lead.
He walked over to where the crab was cooking, looking around at the various faces present. He didn't know any of them, but he was sure that in their time together they'd either grow close, or tear eachother apart.
With a quiet, grim tone to his voice he uttered what he hoped would be his only form of leader-esque speak on the journey. "After we eat," he said, "we need to travel inland as far as we can to Seyda Neen. As far as we can before we need to stop and camp. Time is no longer a luxury for all of us." After saying this, he merely stared into the fire, awaiting the food to be ready.
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Post by FC4 on Jul 14, 2009 23:48:26 GMT
After several minutes away from the group, Majulin returned. He was walking along the sandy beach with a slightly more noticeable limp now; more noticeable especially since he was leaning on a chitin spear like a walking stick. It dug into the sand with a soft *shink* at every thrust, the spear butt impaling the sand and holding steady. He was carrying a sack almost as large as himself on his back, slung over his shoulder and barely balanced.
When he finally reached them, he heaved the sack onto the sand. It clanked when it landed, revealing metals within. Majulin rose to a straight stand after dropping the sack, a small twitch in his lip the only sign of the pain the motion caused to his leg. His hand grasped the spear tightly, still using it for balance.
"This is all I could salvage from the wreckage. Most of the food is bad, but some can be washed with inland fresh water and be eaten..." He sighed, looking up to the sky. It was dingy, dark, cloudy. Just like it was back in the day, when he was still young and training on this island. He had learned then to tell the time of day despite the sky's conditions. But his time in the mainland made this art more difficult. He sighed again, before succeeding in his quest for time management.
"We leave in thirty minutes." He announced, glancing at the sky once again.
OOC: Your choice whether the sack contains your character's equipment or not, but it doesn't have much in it. So if you had anything terribly heavy... Majulin hasn't found it.
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Post by webster52402 on Jul 15, 2009 16:46:27 GMT
Majulin's return was fortuitously timed, as pretty much the second he sat down, Artmer judged the crab that was boiling in its own shell to be ready. Though he had had to add a bit more water every now and again to keep it boiling - Majulin had skewered the thing earlier, after all, and he was having a devil of a time preventing all the water from draining out of it - it eventually managed to look like it would be able to be eaten.
Drawing the longsword at his side, Artmer reached cautiously into the fire with it, pressing the blade against the underside of the crab. Carefully, he made a long, narrow slit in the bottom of the crab's shell, allowing the excess water to drain out. Of course, it did so right onto the fire, which immediately hissed and sputtered, sending a bellow of steam in every direction, but that was of no consequence. They were going to put the flames out anyway.
Once the stream of water had slowed somewhat, Artmer took up the dagger that he had used to cut the holes in the shell that the wood had run through. Glancing into the shell at the crab meat therein, he probed cautiously into it with the blade, drawing out a small chunk of crab. Looking over it for a moment to make sure that it was thoroughly cooked, Artmer popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Surprisingly... it hadn't come out half bad. The meat carried both the scent of the ocean, and tasted vaguely of it as well, with a light, slightly salty flavor to it that he actually rather enjoyed. Apparently the crab meat hadn't been able to absorb all of the salt in the water, so it wasn't overly salted... Good. That meant that the dangerous salt had drained out with the water. Pleased with his cooking efforts, Artmer chewed the soft meat happily, nodding to the others to signal that the crab was done. He couldn't exactly tell them, after all... It would hurt his throat too much.
Taking a seat nearby, he swallowed the piece that he had used to taste test, wincing at the feeling of his throat being forced to constrict around something. Though it stung, the meat was at least somewhat moist, and the saliva that it caused him to generate wet his throat down slightly. After this meal, he should at least be able to last until they got to Seyda Neen, and could secure fresher water...
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Post by Vicorva on Aug 6, 2009 20:16:58 GMT
OOC: That is so not true. I wasn't even a big part of this RP. *looks guilty nonetheless* Well, maybe I can redeem myself by making a hash of a post... IC:
There was something groaning above her... a deep, vicious snarling, elongated with moderating pitch. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut against the sound of it... she did not like it, not at all.
"What's wrong with her?" one voice, slightly less grating than the other, asked. "Is she not good enough to eat?"
"No," the other voice assured her. This one was much deeper, and instilled a great panic within Dark. "She will make a most sumptuous meal, I assure you."
"Will thirty grulumps suffice?"
Dark frowned, and turned her head, tail twitching.
"I will not take a pigswot under fifty," the other replied.
"Thirty five?"
"Fifty grulumps," the grating voice insisted.
"Oh, very well," the voice replied, and then it was howling, like a wolf baying at the moon. Dark's eyelids twitched; she longed to see what was happening, but her eyes were heavy... heavy...
She struggled against the weight of her eyes, willing her eyes to open. She had to see, she had to move! They were going to eat her!
She had to see, she had to see... I have to see, I have to see... why can't I see?
And then her eyes opened, the owlish dark orbs slightly pained as sunlight, too-bright, seared into them.
She blinked away the pain, and got to her feet. Nothing hurt any more. She swished her tail. The crack must be gone. She looked around, and saw Majulin with a large sack...
Her eyes continued around the group, until they found Artmer, the only one she had really communicated with. She felt slightly shaky, and she felt almost as if she were mentally shivering.
It was a very disconcerting thing, to wake among strangers, in an unfamiliar place. It suddenly made being alone feel very... lonely. She shook herself, grabbed her pack, her special, special pack that Artmer had painstakingly retreived for her, and went and sat down near where he was.
She had repressed most of the fear shivers now, and could even enjoy the salty breeze. This close to the ocean, you could really feel how the air was saturated with moisture, and Dark had always loved the freshness of it all.
Not saying anything, she wrapped her arms around her knees and closed her eyes, tilting her head back and trying to relax, to picture herself somewhere happier, safer, somewhere there was only her, and the salty air breeze...
But whenever left for a quiet moment, Dark's mind seemed to go into overdrive. And as her mind played through the drama of the previous night, as if she were a spectator watching a play, and she gasped and shuddered and felt the stab of fear all over again, she realised something.
She had nearly died last night. And had she died, she would have died miserable, alone, and scared.
A shudder rippled down her spine, setting her scales on end temporarily and ending in a flick of the end of her thick tail. She opened her eyes, scared to linger on her thoughts. She began to rummage around her pack, for what, she did not know, but she knew she had to get out of there, out of her head, far away from the dark thoughts and memories that followed her into the quiet moments...
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Post by DarkNova50 on Aug 9, 2009 22:46:32 GMT
Terra looked on in silence, as the Argonian woman, the one whom she'd just healed, arose from the sandy shores of the beach, and without so much as a word, even a nod of gratitude, gathered up her pack, and strode towards the Hlaalu Dunmer. She sighed deeply, not so much surprised as disappointed. She knew how notoriously thick Argonians could be when it came to the delicate intricacies of social interactions, with all the grace of an intoxicated Orc, but with a tail.
"You're welcome, by the way," she remarked towards the woman, making no effort to hide her irritation, slight though it was. Rising to her feet with less than perfect balance, she took a moment to steady herself before making her way towards the sack of salvage that Majulin had recovered.
Shuffling through the contents of the small sack, most of the items wholly uninteresting, Terra would subconsciously make an occasional 'Hmm' if she found something even remotely interesting. After digging through a number of trinkets and other miscellaneous items, she cried out "Aha!" with some degree of excitement. She pulled loose not only her marble mortar and pestle, which seemed remarkably undamaged, but her spare mana potion as well. Sadly, her jacket was nowhere to be found.
Delicately removing the stopper from the mouth of the potion, Terra took a small sip of the regenerative elixir, before making her way towards the rest of the group, items in hand. She sat down a few feet away from the Argonian, and contently nursed her potion as the others tended to their own affairs.
OOC: Do your part today, kids! Because only you can prevent roleplay necrosis!
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Aug 10, 2009 3:30:44 GMT
Seeing Terra draw one of her possessions from a salvaged bag reminded Babur of the only one of his own possessions that held any real value - his sword. Instinctively his hand went to his side, but he had to reprimand himself a moment later for thinking that it might have stayed there. In truth, it had probably been in his hand when he was thrown overboard. If that were the case, it was no doubt on the seafloor somewhere miles from where he now stood. The current couldn't have carried a hunk of metal that large and hydrodynamic that far.
The smell of food then turned his attention to the crab being cooked, as well as the fact that his stomach was mildly cramping. It made him wonder just how long they had been afloat before being cast ashore, not to mention how long it was before they woke. Moving towards the sack Majulin had filled with salvage, he peered inside and with drew a small, crude dagger. It was rather light, and Babur supposed it might have been in some box or buoyant sack to survive the waters. In any case, it was more of a kitchen knife with a hilt than a passable weapon.
Appearing beside Artmer, Babur drew up his sleeve and stuck his dagger into the still-hot coals that had recently fostered the fire. It hissed as the last moisture evaporated from it, and he held it in the heat for roughly ten seconds before drawing it out. The improvised sterilization complete, the orc cut a small piece of the crab meat out for himself before stepping back and taking a seat.
He waited before attempting to remove the meat from its knife-skewer, for both were still quite hot. He looked at each of the survivors. "Do any of you know this land?" he asked shortly. This question had several motives behind it. The first was the obvious, the inquiry itself. The second was to see who responded; if it was the Dunmer, then it was likely that one or more of them was native to this land. The third was to gauge the reactions he was about to see to an abrupt and impersonal question imposed on tired minds. He had already made estimations of some of the group members by their actions so far, but more testing was always useful.
OOC: By the Nine, I'm rusty.
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Post by Vrek on Aug 10, 2009 6:32:07 GMT
"Good, good." Reese muttered to himself, as the group became whole again. He sat next to the fire, letting a few moments of rest to pass the group by, taking the moment to cut himself a cut of the crabmeat with Artmer's dagger. As he ate it, he came to realize just how hungry he was. Miraculously surviving shipwrecks caused by a god could take a lot out of you, it would seem.
When Babur asked about the land, Reese ignored the question, knowing that Majulin and Artmer would both be more knowledgeable then he was, so he chose to address a different problem. He reached over and tapped the Altmer on the shoulder. "Terra, wasn't it, lass? Listen, I need you to go and fix up Majulin over there," He thumbed in the Redoran's direction. "His leg is bad shape, probably worse off from combing the beach for us. Now if you can excuse me, I need to go check that bag of his for my things."
Pushing himself up, he did just that, pulling open the mouth of the bag and peering inside. Reese could feel himself relax when he saw the precious leather packet that held his tools. It would have been costly to replace them, and some of the pieces he wouldn't even be able to find this far east. He slipped the packet into his belt, comforted by the feel of it against his skin. He made a note to check the tools thoroughly when he got the chance, but for now, he turned and watched the rest of the group.
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Post by Vicorva on Aug 10, 2009 9:10:45 GMT
But Dark-Feather's eyes were still closed, and she was shivering badly. At Terra's somewhat spiteful remark, Dark opened her eyes a crack. "You healed me?" she asked, her voice suddenly quiet. "Thank-," But Terra had moved to sit at the other side of the fire, and seemed to be deliberately ignoring her.
Feeling tired, and a little hurt, Dark-Feather closed her eyes again. It was exactly as she had thought it would be. Ignored as insignificant by the one they had come to stop, nearly killed, alone and friendless, and unwanted and resented by the other members of the group for her sheer uselessness.
She wanted to cry. But she didn't. That would only make people dislike her more. She got to her feet, repressing the continued shivering. "I...I'm going to scout out the area," she said quietly. She waved her bow, and was immensely thankful that she always kept spare arrows in her pack, although not as many as she would like.
Her tail swished, scattering sand and pebbles around as she got to her feet, but she ignored it. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and, pretending she wasn't hungry, she left without trying to eat anything. She strode off, deeper into Morrowind, but as those on the beach grew more distant, she herself became near impossible to see as she moved more stealthily, using trees and shadows to hide herself.
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Post by webster52402 on Aug 10, 2009 16:18:06 GMT
OOC: Alright, time to get back to work...
IC: Artmer, exhausted, hardly noticed the others' movements. His eyes were locked on the sand in between his feet, alternating between halfway open and lighty closed. The fire was deliciously warm after so much time in the sea, after all, and the day had been a laborous one already. The others weren't showing much signs of strain, though...
Artmer felt a pang of guilt and inferiority as he turned his gaze up slightly, to look around at the group. Majulin wasn't showing any fatigue at all, and seemed impervious to his surroundings. The man had bailed Artmer out of his battle with the crab so easily. The mage, despite having been spending her time healing, looked just fine. The orc was in a similar state. Hell, even the old man looked alright, yet Artmer was already feeling weary.
He was snapped out of his bleak thoughts when Dark Feather - looking rather perturbed - offered to go and scout, before slinking off into the darkness. Somehow, he felt like he had failed the girl somehow, and another pang of guilt tore through him. She had been so eager to help him on the boat, now she just looked... downtrodden.
Standing, he made his way back to the crab, and sliced off a large chunk of meat with the dagger he had left for that purpose. Hefting it in one hand, he nodded towards the Orc. "I know the land. Though I'll know the area around Balmora better." He murmured quietly. If he whispered, it didn't hurt his vocal chords to talk.
After mentioning that, however, he drew his blade - just in case - and followed after Dark Feather, chunk of crab meat in hand. She hadn't eaten, and he knew she had to be just as hungry as the others. Besides - he was the only one of the group to have spoken to the Argonian woman in anything resembling length before now. It may do her good to have a friend nearby.
... Of course he had absolutely no idea where the stealthy woman had gone, so he more just pointed himself in a random direction and hoped that he would find her... Perhaps he should have thought this one through a bit.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Aug 10, 2009 18:53:33 GMT
As the group either settled into their meals or wandered off on their own, the blight storm kicked up. The air turned red and foggy, harder to breathe, and strong winds buffeted the group. What once would have been a storm only found just beyond ghostgate, now was the minor end of the great storm brewing in the mountain. The campfire projected a small circle of a comforting feeling; a secure place to rest without fear of assault by the vicious creatures around, until they began moving. The redguard had dug out a little indent in the sand and was now snoozing happily.
Through the reddened fog and storm, Artmer and possibly Dark-Feather, if they are in the same area, can make out the vage outline of what appears to be a large boulder sitting in the ground, surrounded by what looks like some bleached detritus from past ship crashings. This object and it's surroundings are not quite visible from the camp fire; the wall of red blight had cut off Dark and Artmer from the entire group.
As one would approach the boulder, Artmer likely being the first, one would take care to notice it's slightly misshapen and rough surface, with many things that appear to be barnacles of some sort. Coming even closer, it begins to draw into focus; huge, gnarly looking pincers lie directly infront of it, and a low clicking sound emits from within the rock, the rock looking more and more like a gigantic mudcrab, bloated and blighted beyond reason. The detritus around it is not detritus. It is now obviously the bleached and still partially clothed remains of the sailors and adventurers from another ship. Congrats, you've found the Mudcrab Tank. The mudcrab turned to Artmer as he would approach, and started advancing. Now may be a good time to flee.
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Post by webster52402 on Aug 10, 2009 20:55:21 GMT
OOC: Oh snap! You love tormenting poor Artmer, don't you?
IC: Artmer trudged along wearily, his head down, and blade held loosely in his hand. Not exactly the best way to go about looking for someone, of course, but Artmer didn't bother thinking about that. He just knew that everything was pulling on his bones, making him think - the further he got from the flames - that goign wandering off was a bad idea.
As though to prove his darkened thoughts right, the wind began to howl all of a sudden, reddish blight ash coming rushing from parts unknown to swirl and eddy around him. Artmer's throat, already injured from the salt water, didn't exactly fare better with breathing in ash. Choking and sputtering, he raised his hand - the one that held the blade. Somehow, he was still concerned about coughing on Dark Feather's food... - and pressed his wrist against his lips to try and hold out some of the rough, gritty ash.
It didn't quite work, but it lowered the amount somewhat, allowing him to push forward. The ash that surrounded him was hard to look through, however, and he was greeted only with faint silhouettes of various objects, which were unclear at the best. Artmer had lived in an area with very clear skies, after all, unlike the majority of Morrowind: He wasn't used to being unable to see.
Blinking weakly, he lowered his hand to try and call out to Dark Feather. Perhaps she, who was apparently scouting, would be a bit better at it than he was, and owuld be able to tell him where to go. He was getting all turned around.
When his mouth opened, however, not a word emerged, as his mouth immediately filled with coarse ash, choking him off. Sputtering, Artmer actually swallowed some of the foul stuff, his vocal chords cracking even further. "Feather..." He whispered weakly, the sound being ripped from his lips by the howl of the winds the blight was carried on.
Even the small sound caused a spear of pain to lance through his throat. Wincing as a sharp, warm, metallic taste flooded onto his tongue - that of blood - he fell quiet, and just kept trudging through the blight, growing mroe and more desperate by the second. What if he couldn't find his way back? What if he stumbled into something out here? What if he ended up somewhere in Morrowind that was dangerous, walking without knowing where he was going?
Fear paralyzed him, and he stopped in mid step, to look about. All he could see was that oppressive reddish wall. No sign of Dark Feather, or of anything in general at all. His heart hammered against his rib cage, fear causing him to shake and tremble on the spot. He was lost...
Until he saw the silhouette of a boulder of some kind. Relief flooded through him at the thought of having somewhere to shelter himself from the storm, and he approached the object at a run. Though it became stranger the close he approached, he paid it no mind, too delirous with relief to actually give it much thought. Ironically, once again that turned out to be less than beneficial for him. Once he arrived close enough, the boulder actually moved, to reveal a massive mud crab.
Artmer froze, in mid stride. He looked like he had just gotten hit by a paralyzation spell, every muscle was locked so tight. Terribly, the mud crab noticed him, and began to advance upon the poor Dunmer, the massive beast leaving long, deep furrows in the sand with its huge legs. That thing... was impossibly enormous.
Even more pathetically, all Artmer could do was stand there and watch it approach, horrified. There were so many thoughts running through his head that it was paralyzing him. What should he do? Should he run away? Where would he run to? He didn't know where he was. Should he call for Dark Feather, or some of the others? He didn't know how far away either of them were, and with his voice damaged, they probably wouldn't hear him anyway. Pray? To Azura, maybe? That was about the only thing he COULD do.
"... Azura save me..." He whimpered quietly, taking a single step back. As the creature advanced, he slowly backed up, his longsword held in one trembling hand. He was going to become mudcrab food...
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Post by Vicorva on Aug 10, 2009 22:53:28 GMT
Dark heard something crashing through the undergrowth, and immediately moved towards it, knocking an arrow to her bow. Padding as stealthily along as if she was bare-foot, she slunk from tree to stone, peering around cautiously.
She Saw the blight before she actually saw it. In her minds eye, green, elf-shaped spirits snaked around the area, like a rotten wind given shape. Then the wall of red sprang up, and Dark felt the beginnings of fear.
Blight was the dunmer's curse, not hers. As an argonian, Dark-Feather had always been particularly resilient to diseases of all kinds, and in her childhood in Morrowind, she had ever resisted it.
But she knew that even argonians were not immune to the insidious magical disease. And when a black wind started blowing and the air itself turned red, she felt fear such as she had not felt in a long time. For fear of Blight was not like fear of death- it was a more quiet, creeping thing. It snuck up on you, seeped into you, suffocated you so slowly that you hardly knew what was happening until panic struck and it was too late.
She moved with more urgency towards the source of the noise, only to hear a faint whisper, a plea, "Feather..."
She needed hear no more; she hardly needed to know who it had been, it could only have been one of their group. Breaking into a run, she charged towards the sound, breaking into rocky area.
The biggest boulder she had ever seen was there... and moving. And Artmer, looking impossibly small beside the great bloated... thing, was standing paralysed before it.
Dark drew her bow, pulling the string back to her ears, and aimed carefully, lining up the tip with the shell of the gigantic crab, and slightly to the right. Then, carefully following its movements, she loosed.
The air arched towards the crab and burrowed deep in its eye. The crab screamed, but did not die, but now it turned away from Artmer and dragged itself to her, making a horrible sound, a bizarre cross between a screech and a chuckle.
Dark swished her tail. She knocked another arrow to her bow, and lined it up as the crab shuffled ever nearer, hemmoraghing blood from its eye and probably brain, but seemingly unaware. It was growing dangerously close.
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Post by FC4 on Aug 11, 2009 1:12:05 GMT
"I was born and raised in Ald'Rhun." Majulin answered the Orc when he asked, cutting himself a piece of meat from the crab with a knife he had found at the ship. As he ate, he frowned, elven ears picking up the faint rustle of the winds. He wondered why this struck him as odd, but then he remembered as the horizon filled with red, and soon their camp was overtaken by a breeze of red.
It wasn't a terribly powerful windstorm, but more comparable to being within a thunderstorm. The moment the red dust picked up, Majulin flipped up his helmet, slipping it over his head and seeing the world through a resin screen. The wind buffeted his helm, but did not bury into his eyes as he sat upon the sand, slipping the remainder of his crab meet under the bottom of the helmet.
"When we reach Sedya Neen, each of you should purchase a Chitin or Netch leather helmet, and an ashrobe. The helmets have resin goggles and will keep the dust out of your face during storms, and the ashrobe will keep ash and dust out of your armor." As he explained the purpose of the ashrobe, he also covered himself in his own, the large mutlifolded cloth wrapping around the now standing Redoran, his spear planted on the ground as a walking staff.
"These will also allow you to better blend with the natives. We move soon, but first the two must be found." He explained, referring to the two who had wandered off.
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Post by Tom Bombadil on Aug 11, 2009 1:33:27 GMT
One native, one possible native, and nobody particularly ornery, thought Babur as he finished his portion of meat. It had a bit of grit to it, but he was very far from a position to be disdainful of so minor an inconvenience. As the wind picked up, he looked toward the skies; was a storm coming on so suddenly?
He began to feel something beating lightly against his face. He closed his eyes from reflex, then opened them to a squint. He now saw red skies. The light beating of something against his face intensified. It now stung quite a bit. Babur cupped his hand against the side of his face to form a shield with it, the back of his hand taking the brunt of the ash.
So these are the ash storms of Morrowind. Shadbak was not exaggerating after all, it seems. A man could lose his way easily in one of these. How intense might this one be considered, I wonder? As ash started to get into his nose and mouth, he exhaled through both sharply to expel the substance, then pulled his shirt up high enough to cover his mouth and nose, clenching the collar behind his neck with his hand to hold it there. His remaining hand retained its role of shielding his eyes.
Babur looked over to the direction in which the two missing fellows had gone. He couldn't see them, so intense was the storm. He nodded to Majulin at his suggestion, and then nodded his head in the direction he had watched the two go. He didn't even attempt to speak; the ash and his shirt would surely stifle his voice. Babur started off, slowly, as to ensure that everyone stayed together.
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