Heth-alumps and Woo-zles

Log Info

• Title: Heth-alumps and Woo-zles
• Emitter: Shilde
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Shilde
• Place: W02, The Wilderness
• Time: Tuesday, May 24, 2022, 8:14 PM
• Summary: Shilde is taking a break during a patrol. Barclaiigh finds his fellow druid on the way back in from a mercenary contracts. Porter and Rocky catch up and have a play. Shilde loops Bar in on developments to do him a hethin' concern. An awkward topic is revisited.

Shilde is.. taking something of a break. As much of a break as one can when you're suppoesd to be on the alert for the undead. She is somewhat curled up in the gnarly branches of a particularly old and.. not exactly majestic tree, but certainly an intimidating one. Rocky is still on the ground, belly to the dirt and undergrowth.. but he is tense, as if expecting trouble to erupt from the bushes at any moment.

"... 'n iff'n y'reckon I could get a break here'n there, well..." Barclaiighs drawl spills through the flora half-raised to shouting. There's a hint of plea mingled with a heavy dose of doubt and insecurity. His boots crunch and slop as he walks but there's no sound of him pushing through bushes or snapping low-hanging branches; his druidic gifts making that bit smooth sailing.

"That is t'say I'm not goin' outta my way t'pick fights with Khazad-eatin' bushes or brain-dicin' fungus but-- oh..." the hefty wildman pulls up short and smiles at Rocky, glancing about. "Howdy, fella."

Finally, he looks up and can't help himself when his look of stunned confusion turns into a small smile. "Howdy to you up there, too, miss Shilde."

Rocky, alert, had eyes on the walking and talking druid. He lets his tongue hang out as he pants a greeting, but he refrains from barking.. seems Shilde's drilled in the need for him to not go dashing off and barking a greeting to everything in the vicinity. At least for now. Though she doesn't seem too concerned about silence for the time being as she opens one eye, and then the other, craning her neck a little to peer down. "Oi, Barclaiigh," she greets, eyes roaming to look for the bear that's sure to be around somewhere close. "Been t'the grove, yet? They're gearin' up t'defend the place from a wanderin' horde of wights, if they come this way. Many magicks goin' on. Got me'n some've the other juniors runnin' about trackin' down hunters t'get 'em either to the grove or the city."

"Ain't," Barclaiigh admits, half-turning to look off in the direction of the grove. "Just rolled back after helpin' a friend'a my aunty's with some caravan duty." He raises up his sausage fingers and reaches into his beard to scratch the chin beneath. "Wights?"

Porter's arrival isn't long in the coming and just as loud (if not louder) than the druid's. The black bear lopes to catch up, bouncing as he slows and pads a little ways ahead of the Khazad-aul. Silver scales mix with drool, river water, and a little fish oil to decorate the otherwise-brown snout and the bear licks his chops noisily, still enjoying his recent meal.

Bar turns away from watching his friends arrival and looks back up, leaning forward and shrugging the pack higher on his shoulders. The bear isn't wearing his barding so the dwarf is likely carrying it. "Them rollin' in from summ'ere else'r poppin' up local? Ain't really run int' much walkin' dead since I got here, m'self."

"Rollin' in. Dragonier, looks like," Shilde answers, not sounding tense exactly... but definitely with an air of that stoicism dwarves are supposedly famous for. No point in complaining or whining about a fight that's on the way. She pushes herself up, then scrambles down the tree. Not quite monkey-like.. more like a half slide, half fall. She hits the ground with a 'whuff'. "Officials in th'city started talkin' 'bout Heth an' contingencies an' all that."

"What's a 'Heth?'" Barclaiigh wonders, watching Shilde descend and takes a few steps back to give her space. He sighs and shakes his head, "Really was jus' gettin' used t'the idea'a that Garm fella stirrin' up problems fer th'moon." He glances up, squinting his small eyes in an attempt to pierce the canopy. "Takin' pieces'a her'n all that mess."

Porter grumbles a quiet 'hello' to Rocky and pads closer, lowering his head to push along the pup's flank in friendly greeting. Then he takes a few moments to snuffle, catching up on the day's events with his wet nose.

"Reckon... we could walk t'gether iff'n yer still up t'that?" The auburn-haired young man suggests with an awkward smile, adjusting his breastplate as his cheeks glow mildly.

Shilde hesitates.. the question about Garm and his antics on the verge of being framed, but then she shakes her head. Too many immediate problems to deal with first. "A big deader dragon," Shilde answers instead. "They didn't have much time t'explain. An' it didn't right matter, anyways." She watches Rocky respond to Porter, unable to contain hiself any more as he rolls away from the big bear, whipping around to bark a greeting right back at him. Shilde winces.. but lets it go. "Aye.. a walk'd do us some good, truthfully. Got some things t'talk about, you'n I."

Little eyes blink at the notion of an undead dragon and blink again at the notion of the undead dragon leading undead hordes from a distant nation to Alexandros. Dragonier isn't close. Well, it wasn't close.

"Vast ain't easy goin'... 'n Bludgun is full'a giants'n orcs'n gobbers--" he turns and spits off to one side. "Ain't no clear shot t'Alexandros." The druid doesn't know much but he's traveled a fair bit and spent plenty of time learning trade routes with his great-aunt; that much is obvious. "Reckon folk here ain't best friends with'm but I hope someone think t'check in on'm." Bludgun, he means.

Porter bobs his head at the bark, half-standing and issuing his own half-bellowed greeting. Bouncing a few steps in a half-circle behind the hound. He's still showing signs of his fight but the Khazad-aul has put more healing magic into the bear than himself.

Bar lets himself be distracted by the two animals having a good time. Ignoring for the moment the elephant in the room Shilde's pointed out.

Rocky closes his eyes and flattens ears against the bellow.. when it's over he just gives his doggy grin, dashes forward to nip at the much larger furball before dashing off, daring Porter to follow. "Well. If there were wights'n the area.. they'll find us now," Shilde grumbles.. but shrugs again. If they do, they do. "Some've the official types figured they might've come through th'mountains. Lots've 'empty' lands 'tween here'n there. Might've been on th'move fer a while." The straw-haired woman waves a hand. "No matter fer now. Just waitin' t'see if there's goin' t'be a fight or nay."

Leaving the animals to their play, Shilde starts picking a path through the underbrush. "Thought 'bout that day at th'... " Another wave of her hands. "Yer eatin' place there. With yer gobber friend. 'Bout what she said." She looks sidelong at the other dwarf, eyes narrowed. "Might be ye weren't ready t'talk 'bout things, an' she stuck her nose in. Might be ye figured ye never would, an' she thought she was helpin' ye out."

There's a heavy sigh and the clattering of enchanted darkwood as Barclaiigh adds a shrug to the conversation. Porter frolics with Rocky, happy to play in spite of his healing wounds.

"Lots a things I ain't good at..." the Stoutbrew admits, forcing himself to look across at Shilde as they walk together. "Usually make friends better'n most but... -that-..." he turns crimson and glances down, smiling sheepishly. "Reckon miss Irshya caught me moon-eyed one too many times'n pried some gossip out'a me... 'n then she was just tryin'a help."

The young man looks down at the back of his hands, studies the tattoos, and then nervously reaches up and pushes his fingers back through his wild, wavy hair. "It were all true, though," he finally admits with a nod. "Lots goin' on... feel like I'm losin my mind half th'time. Feel like I'm just a... conduit, I guess, fer the Word the other half. Those little bits.. with you.. hrm-chhm." His voice flutters and he has to stop to clear his throat. "Reckon it's my favorite parts'a these months down this way."

"Aye. Ye've taken to th'craft like a natural, t'seems," Shilde offers. "Whatever's goin' on in that thick head o'yers, its workin'. An' that's somethin' t'feel good about, aye? Figure ye'll go far wi' these folk, if'n ye keep at it. An' that's good."

As the druids walk, any observer would probably note it peculiar that somehow, despite the thick frames and solid steps, neither of the pair seem to leave much of a trace as they move.

"Truth is, Barclaiigh, yer a fine man. An' a grumpy harridan as myself could do worse'n have ye at her side. So..." Shilde shrugs, not looking at the other dwarf now.. and maybe there's a touch of red on her cheeks, now. Though she'd likely punch anyone who said anything about it. "So I'm willin' to give it a whirl if'n you are."

He'd started holding his breath at 'truth is' and held it through the last bit there, dreading the looming 'but' that never comes. When Shilde acquiesces, Barclaiigh stops and blinks, opening his mouth to speak but finding himself breathless. His crooked nose gives a little whistle when he inhales through it.

"... please," he finally manages, grinning like an idiot.

The druid stands stock still for another moment before it occurs to him that they're meant to be patrolling. He hops ahead and quickly covers the distance to catch up. There's certainly an extra little spring to his step-- but that might just be the magicked boots.

"So... them wight fellers. Stick'm? Smash'm? Burn'm? What's the best road, there..?" The Stoutbrew doesn't embrace her or take her hand. He certainly doesn't lean in to kiss her. He might be walking closer but their shoulders don't touch.

As pleased as he was, Barclaiigh seems content to let this courtship take its time. The stoicism of dwarves.

Shilde nods once, rather firmly. Giving the impression of having not known where the next step would land her.. and finding relief when it comes down on solid ground. She doesn't address the wights right away, however. "Now ye hold on a mite," she tells Barclaiigh, pointing a finger at him. "Ye need t'understand, I've got a path t'walk. Might be most of it we can walk t'gether.. but if it takes me away, y'gotta be ready t'let me go. An' I ain't gonna be coddled or swaddled an sure's granite I ain't gonna be retirin' t'no damn farm any time soon, aye? As nice as yer family's farm sounds like it is." She gives that a moment to sink in, then adds, "And! An' I expect ye not t'let me push ye around, neither. Ye make sure ye stand up fer yerself... my mother'd push my pa 'round all the time, an' I won't have ye be anythin' like that either. Ye be ready t'tell me what fer if'n ye think I'm bein' daft 'bout somethin'. That's th'deal."

Barclaiigh listens, half-turning to glance down at the finger and then back up at Shilde's face. "Yer... cchrm... yer fantastic, miss Shilde'n I ain't tryin' t'make y'all a prisoner'r housekeeper'r nothin'."

There's a pause and he stops, adjusting the weight of the pack again, the pouches on his belt.

"We ain't married. I jus'... reckon I'd jus' like t'know ya better. Spend more time with ya... do them things what we both do alone, y'know... t'gether." His grin's a goony one as he gestures around the wilderness they'd just been walking. "Ain't neither onn'a us onn'a them big twigs at the Union. I ain't yer boss. You ain't mine." He glances back at Rocky and Porter running at play. A light comes on behind his eyes. "No alphas, yeah? Equals."

"Aye, we're not," Shilde agrees, taking a step back figuratively. "Sorry. Just wanted t'get that out in front, aye? So. Equals." This seems to satisfy her. And if the two walk a but closer together, she's not going to complain either. "Anyways. 'Bout them wights. Not knowin' a whole lot, but got some recent experience...."