The sleeping quarters on the second floor of the keep are sparse and more than a little cramped- fitting for a military outpost, less so for squeezing four tired, smokey adventurers into a single chamber. Zaiyas magics and a bit of elbow work by the rest of the party goes a long way to making things more comfortable though, and it is with some, but not too much discomfort that the four adventurers are able to rest.

With the thick walls of the keep, the night seems deceptively peaceful, the chaos and noise outside barely leaking in. Still, those keeping watch catch the occasional sound of boots, calls about survivors being found, worries about food and supplies...

It is with bleary eyes that the party awakes late in the morning, having started resting deep in the night. Peering outside, one can see the ruins of Triboar from the thin windows embedding the inner walls of the keep. Nearly half the city has been destroyed in the blaze, their smoking ruins still smouldering against the cloudless sky. Outside, the courtyard is a mess of refugees and tents. Hundreds of refugees, mostly citizens of Triboar, huddled around makeshift fires or soft blankets. The image is eerily reminscent of the first morning at Nightstone, all those weeks ago. Yet- a few things are different.

The four walls of Triboar are still (largely) intact. Nearly half the city was ravaged- which means that half yet remains. And most importantly - looking out further beyond the walls one can see a veritable army camped around Triboar's four gates- military tents and soldiers set up surrounding the city in a protective formation.


OOC: Image was chosen more for atmosphere than accuracy

It seems that the Triboar Guard has returned.

Those with keen eyes can count at least six full companies of soldiers surrounding Triboar, all waving the standard of three boars upon a background of red and gold. Despite the damage done, despite the horrors of battle and suffering and lives lost- Triboar still stands. Wounded, but not broken.

Even tinged by smoke, the morning air smells oddly sweet.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:47, Mon 21 Dec 2020.

"I can still--"

Despite being scorched and ash-laden, despite being battered by wounds gathered through that chaotic and terrible evening, Moira still sought to do more.  Even being exhausted to the point of collapse as she was, she didn't waste a moment in offering her service further.  The look in her bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes was desperate - that she not only wanted to help, but somehow felt that she needed to with utter defiance of her own body's limitations.

It was only that mid-word and mid-step the entire room jarringly turned sideways in the Halfling's vision, even with herself remaining upright, that she stopped.  No, you can't, it felt like more than just her body told her in that moment.  It hadn't been since that first night in Nightstone, when she's spent her hours mourning the death of her kin, that Claire alone would've remembered seeing Moira look so inwardly defeated plainly on her face.  The frustration, the anger at herself... both made all the more worse by the inevitable acceptance that there was nothing she could do.

---

It hadn't been an easy night.

Even being exhausted to the point that she quite instantly passed out into slumber the moment she settled down, Moira's rest had been uneasy.  Her body slept as if dead while her mind whirled with unwelcome memories filled with shouting voices, the clash of metal, the roar of flames consuming homes and lives alike.  In her dreams she ran across blood-soaked cobblestones flanked by burning pyres that were once store fronts.  Angry, defiant calls for justice welled from behind her along with the thundering charge of farmers and shopkeeps and parents turned soldiers keeping pace.  Ahead stood a wall of armor and blades and sneering faces framed in rising red.  Her dreams - her memories - remained as chaotic as the times they recalled.

She could still hear them.  Still feel the heat on her skin.  As the dawn rose through smoke-filled skies, she could remember how it struck such a harsh contrast against the rough stone she'd been knelt on and the rougher ropes that bound her wrists bloody behind her back.  How the warmth of that morning was no comfort as she looked out from atop the high wall at the gate at the lifted faces of so many.  Of farmers, of shopkeeps, of parents.  Voices raised against yet overwhelmed by proclamations of those red-plumed, sneering forms on either side.  The gleam of steel at morning light.  The whistle of a blade, as sharp and cold and strange as anything she felt in that long, tumbling fall...

---

That morning, as everyone eased awake in their own manner and time, they would find Moira had somehow maintained her usual habit of being the first one awake.  Normally it was to have breakfast ready for the lot of them so they would awaken to the smell of steaming hot tea and crackling pig grease in the pan.  But such was not the case that morning as the Halfling was idle for once - her back to the group as she sat in the open window with her bare feet dangling out the other side.  Singed hair let down for once along her back in long, dense red waves that mostly obscured the slump in her shoulders as she spent her morning in silent introspection, gazing out over what remained of Triboar.

Though the gleaming shine of gold inlaid into the skin of her arms had since faded away to become faint, dull black once more, she held in hand the holy symbol she normally wore about her neck.  That thick black choker she'd never once removed so long as any of them knew her then rested in her hands so that she could meditatively run her fingertips about the imprinted face of Waukeen, lost all the while in her own thoughts.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:29, Sun 04 Apr 2021.

U'lin's return to consciousness was a slow stirring, with sleep reluctant to release the firbolg.  When finally vanquished, the slumber popped abruptly, and U'lin rubbed his eye with an unfortunate hand, causing his eyes to water from ash still caked upon his hands - imagine, falling asleep without washing!

The cramped room had been too confining for U'lin - until he had tried stretching on the stone floor, and had found the more natural surface feeling like a comfortable cave all of a sudden.  At least that was the little he could recall before being buried under his exhaustion.

He stood quietly, then stepped carefully over to the wash basin, poured a stream of clean if tepid water into the bowl, and spent several minutes fouling the water as he removed ash and smoke from his face, and hair, and then washing clean the rest of himself.  Nose wrinkled now at the smell of his equipment, and he used the dirty water to wipe off the surface layer of fire residue, and then a little more clean water to clean the gear properly.

It wasn't until the Gondish holy symbols gleamed bright and inspiringly that U'lin smiled, and settled down into his morning pray-nope, up to throw out the dirty water, and clean the bowl for the next person- and settled back into his morning prayers.

He looked protectively over the other capable folk under his watch, and smiled, pleased, that they had survived such mighty challenges, and saved so many folk, and all their creations and new inspirations to come, new friendships formed in adversity.

The Gondish priest walked back through his day, offering thanks and praise to Gond not only for the blessings provided to the party, that had turned certain failure into success, but also for the creation and new designs he had witnessed along the way, and of the new creations and friendship formed, new inspirations for hope amidst great despair and loss.
In particular, he thanked Gond for the excellent work of the Beetle, such an excellent combination of protection to the weaker folk, and an ability to reach out with strength to smash down those opposing Gond's great works.  And to find folk familiar with the operation of such devices -with skill- and the spirit to try new things -a wonderful blessing in the midst of turbulence and destruction.

As U'lin rose, he felt a stronger connection with Gond once more, the spiritual blessings and gifts restored, and he smiled once again in thanks, and went to join Moira in enjoying the rising sun, and the vision of hope built before them - a hope the party had been critical in securing.

"We did well yesterday, Moira.  Thank you for your skills and courage and leadership through the events.  They certainly were challenging, but the gods looked favourably upon our efforts to aid those in need."  The firbolg drank a long pull from his waterskin -a little warm, but helpful in drowning the echoing growls from his stomach, and he enjoyed a bit of quiet time with the too-internal halfling.  Perhaps this silent approach was a stronger way to reach her - were shortfolk used to being talked over, so they spoke less?  Or was it like wind in the trees, and only the upper branches moved, except in a great storm.  Certainly windmills required higher vantage points for greater effectiveness.  Now, if there was a manner to channel wind into a more concentrated space, such as a defile off a windy coast, that would...

---

Pre-sleep:
08:41, Today: U'lin rolled 8 using 1d4+4.  Healing Word.
08:41, Today: U'lin rolled 6 using 1d4+4.  Healing Word.
Zaiya worst off? 14HP back

Long:
08:39, Today: U'lin rolled 7 using 1d8+2.  HD recovery.
08:40, Today: U'lin rolled 8 using 1d8+2.U'lin back to full.
Recover 2/5HD?

Though she didn't stir from her reverie while U'lin made his way about his morning ritual - both figurative and literal - it was the craftsman finally speaking up that seemed to draw Moira out of her own thoughts.  A hitch rose to her shoulders and she hastily gathered her choker about her neck once more; by the time U'lin joined her at the window, it was affixed back in place on her throat the same as it ever was.

"Coulda done more." For a woman who had genuinely accomplished much, it said a lot that she her gaze was drawn instead to her shortcomings rather than successes.  All the same, Moira gave a sardonic half-chuckle.  "I was thinkin' we actually owe that Fae crone from th'road a word of gratitude.  If not for her spookin' us, we'd have shown up t'find Triboar nothin' more than ash days after th'fact.  Ain't exactly inclined t'go sniffin' her out though."

One could only imagine how Moira might've felt if they'd come upon the ruins of the once-proud city long smoldering rather than in the midst of its assault.  What that would've done to her sense of duty.  Though they had indeed arrived in time to help to some measure, the situation still rested heavy on her soul all the same as a deep sigh seemed to deflate her.  "I hate this, U'lin.  I leave one war behind inland only t'have two more - each bigger than th'other - razin' th'entire coast.  Folk don't deserve this..." Moira gestured out broadly at the vast span of smoking wreckage, refugee tents, and war stations that surrounded the half-ruined city walls.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:15, Mon 21 Dec 2020.

U'lin nodded, and listened, but help back his words for some time.  What could one say to that?

"I don't think she deserved gratitude, although she would like be offended and troubled by it, so perhaps a solid rebuke.  If we had rushed through the last town, we might have missed hag and attack on the city both, leaving Emma to be devoured, the town unaware of what was building outside its boundaries, and Triboar attacked just after we left."  U'lin's hands spread in a 'what will be, will be.'

"Some things are bound to time, others may stretch years waiting for action.  A catapult may be in contact use, or wait for months for release of action.  I don't feel the gods are so capricious as to only find value in burning their devotees to non-existence... but they do trust us to do what we can do, as we can do it.  If we waste our time in nothingness, is it any better than rushing away from everything and doing nothing?  Like the seasons, the tensions of creation and crafting, there exists a timing of building and breaking apart to repair or restore.

"No one deserves this.  I wish I could mend all the harms, restore the fallen, repair the great works - but there is also something to allowing others to rise together, to repair and lend hands together against a common ill, to rebuild anew and better.  Bad things will happen in the world.  But those that remain have hope, have heroes that strive against impossible odds to best giants, to take arms and minds and will against things far beyond them, individually.  Those that passed served as models of courage and love.  But putting together inspiration, and the world's power, and balancing the cost of diminishing in one area to strengthen in another place... this applies to Waukeen's concerns, to the Earthmother's, and of course to Gond's creations.

"Maybe that hope and care and bond-of-word and inspiration is what they do deserve."

U'lin's stomach growled and echoed loudly, clearly not appeased by the swallow of water.  "Although perhaps some appreciate your breakfast cakes as well.", he added ruefully, with a gentle smile.  "Would you like some help?  I was going to check on Emma, since she was working hard as well, and likely enough found sleep in the Beetle, or another resting place near her workplace, and she might be just a touch hungry too."

It was unclear whether Moira found some measure of comfort in U'lin's words or if she'd simply grown accustomed to his long-winded ways.  But for once she let him say his peace without rolling her eyes or sighing or barking at him to be quiet, as was so often the case when his talkative nature clashed against her short-fuse temper.  She really wasn't certain herself, in the end.  Though, really, Moira felt it a good sign that it was even a question in her mind by that point.

The Firbolg's grumbling stomach and less-than-subtle prompting for breakfast, however, did get a tired - but genuine - smile out of her.  She shifted in place to straddle the windowsill and drew a knee up to her chest to lean against.  "We're likely t'be eatin' with th'soldiers today.  Gonna have a lot t'speak t'th'Lord Protector on and with all that's happened, likely every stove and pot left whole's gonna be feedin' th'masses.  Doubt th'Keep'll have any space t'spare in th'kitchen." she hated to burst his bubble where food was concerned, but given all that had transpired and how much they were bound to be on-the-go helping out as soon as they were all ready, a leisurely breakfast of their usual sort was unlikely.  "Y'know, a day's gonna come where I ain't gonna be 'round t'cook every meal for us all.  Best y'find y'self a Hin wife eager t'make y'fat and happy.  I've got a few dozen cousins I could introduce y'to."

The sleeping quarters' spartan austerity hardly stopped Claire from practicing her usual habit of going out like a log. Legs splayed out on the pallet, poking out from under whatever ratty woolen blanket the garrison stores could spare, there was barely any sign of the lady-like priestess who had presented herself before the Lord Protector and her officers. Or the heroic manner she had spontaneously displayed in the many encounters before. Just an exhausted young woman wont to let out the occasional snore, unbeknownst to anyone else, dreaming deep emerald dreams of a certain familiar garden.

She stirred earlier in the morning than she was accustomed to. Sitting up on her pallet, Claire palmed her cheeks while her senses adjusted to the weightiness of waking reality. Moira and U'lin were already awake - but a small snoozing mound of tiefling indicated that Zaiya had not. She made her way by tiptoe to the wash basin, appraising herself in the reflection. Her hair was a mess. A liberating feeling. Mother would have been mad if she'd come to the breakfast table like that. But what even was the fuss? It wasn't like they were some snooty aristocratic family, with servants waiting on them and house guests to see.

Claire ran her fingers through tousled flax-gold locks, managing to tame them somewhat. Felt wrong not to do at least that one thing for dear departed mam.

Freshened up and changed into a fresh tunic, it was but a matter of habit to follow her nose to wherever Moira had to be whipping up breakfast for them. She also made a mental note to check on Thente in the healers' tent right after.


"Eh? What's this all of a sudden?" Claire blinked as she walked in on the tail end of Moira's remark, evidently not yet fully woken. "Is U'lin getting married?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:25, Tue 22 Dec 2020.

Sadly for Claire's seeking nose, there was no breakfast to be found when she came upon Moira and U'lin.  Though given how strongly the Halfling had been infused by the scent of cinnamon and cooking herbs over the years, it was perhaps fair to mistake her singed self as bearing the lingering aroma of spice among the soot.  Claire's arrival and her almost childishly blinking state of not-yet-awake being brought a fond laugh.

"Maybe, though findin' a proper match could well be harder than fendin' off barbarian werewolves." Moira set aside a gentle bit of teasing as she stood up on the open window sill, able to just meet Claire's own eye-level for once while still a fair bit below their Firbolg's.  "Can y'both c'mere closer a moment?  I've somethin' what needs sayin'." she beckoned her friends nearer with a gesture.

"Likely too true.  At least with barbarian werewolves, you understand where you stand.  Marriage partners are very rare.  So few of my folk about as well... not that such would stop a marriage of like minds, but certainly could cause issues about famil- oh, yes, you are teasing me again.  Well done." U'lin's introspective face turned into a slightly tired smile but joining on the fun of the jest.

"Of course, Moira.  How can I help?" the firbolg politely took a seat upon an empty chest in the room, bringing his towering height down as Moira had raised hers up.

"Well, I could certainly do with seeing more marriages than werewolves from now on," Claire sighed. "Last ceremony I officiated seems like a whole age ago." Hard even to recall the faces of the young couple. She plopped herself down on a rickety stool, resting her chin in her palms. "What's on your mind Moira? I'm all ears."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:57, Thu 24 Dec 2020.

"After all that's happened now, we need t'talk over what we're doin' goin' forward.  I wanna get it squared away before we meet with th'Lord Protector again so we don't have a repeat of Amphail." the party did seem to have a knack for making friends with community leaders and getting job offers to stick around, as history had proven.  Given the state of Triboar she wouldn't be surprised one bit if they were given a similar invitation to join the town's payroll and linger to help out further.  "But that's a conversation we need t'have with Miss Zaiya as well, once she's awake.  For us three, though?"

As Claire and U'lin had each taken a seat near and low enough, it gave Moira the angle she needed to reach out and - unless they'd recoil from the closeness - toss her arms about each of them.  She sought to pull her companions in about their shoulders with herself in the middle of a tight, fond embrace.  The copper-haired Halfling had never been shy about openly sharing both praise and scorn alike, though her doting more often came in extra portions of meals served and playful remarks made in passing.  A hug, meanwhile, was a bit new from her and both her companions could readily feel the need in her grip as she clung tight to them for a lingering moment.

"We've been through plenty of scrapes and close-calls, but yesterday?  That was too close.  I just... I want y'both t'know how thankful I am for y'both.  Truly." she said with a soft, genuine warmth in both tone and touch alike.  Moira held fast for a beat longer before her grip eased to let the three of them draw apart once more.  "I've lost too many folk dear t'me without ever gettin' th'chance t'let 'em know.  Didn't wanna make that mistake again."

"Mrrghhh"

The bundle of blankets and pillows in the corner steadily begin to shift, to twist, to tangle themselves up.

Then fall apart as Zaiya pulled herself out of the mess, blinking blearily.

"Are we having a heart to heart moment right now?" she mumbled quietly to herself.  "I just had the most concerning dream, and since I do my projections in my sleep, that's terrifying.  Yesterday was pretty promising!  Today though..."

She shuddered.

"Someone is going to have a very unfortunate day, and I don't know who it is yet...  That aside!"  She tried to put a positive spin on things.  "Nobody we know died!  And we got a great deal of work mitigating it for everybody else, that's a pretty good night's work, isn't it?"

OOC: Today's Prophecy is...  a 3 and a 4.  Yeesh!

"Moira..." As Moira drew them into her embrace, Claire's lip quivered and she choked back a lump in her throat. Though the junior priestess was self-possessed as a young human got, she couldn't stem the tears that welled up in her eyes.

Then the floodgates opened, and the young woman began bawling like a baby in her mother's arms. Save for a minor feat of contortion, there would be no escaping the tight embrace that Claire returned. All the emotions she had felt in the garden of sorrows, where she had grasped Chauntea's knees, poured out into the waking world.

"I'm so, so glad you're here with me..." Claire sniffed between sobs. "You all're all I've got- in the world now...like my new parents you are. Great Mother knew I'd never make it alone. She knew, so she sent you. By rights I should be dead ten times over by now or..." Sleepless nights worrying about Thente bubbled beneath the surface. Voice finally cracking, it wasn't a good while until Claire managed to recompose herself.

Belatedly noticing Zaiya's appearance, Claire sat back up, roughly wiping her blotchy red eyes with her sleeve before stiffly clasping her fingers together. "Uh, sorry about that." Cathartic sentiment mingled with plain embarrassment, she forced a smile in spite of herself. "Though, I meant what I said. I don't want-I won't lose you neither."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:12, Mon 28 Dec 2020.

U'lin tried to shrug, but the friendship sandwich was too tight to permit such depreciative behaviour, so he swallowed awkwardly, looking around, and hugging the two women close.

"I have felt a little outside of matters, I admit, not having been there with you at the start of what spurred you to this venture, but I have always felt you my family.  Especially with my firbolg kin turning aside, it meant that much more again to be accepted and part of yours-ours.

"When Zoira and I were going to die, down at the bottom of the giant hole, all I could think about was letting down everyone.  When we ended up in the challenge with the stone giant - that was an accident, by the way, but I'm glad it turned out well- it was the same thing.

"And then the dragon construct, undead petrified zombies, and exploding firelings amidst the greatest inferno I've ever been within - doubly so, voluntarily...

"I love you both as well... ah, look now, I need some dry clothes for that smoke leftover.  Ah, you rest here a moment - I'm going to go downstairs and check on our friends at the Beetle, and the horses to ensure they're not being ignored either."

U'lin paused as he rose, thinking, paring away what he wanted to say.  "Thank you."

As U'lin withdrew and Claire held all the tighter, Moira shifted the embrace to squeeze fast about the young woman and let her cry out as she would into a shoulder well-accustomed to be leaned on, despite usually so low to the ground.  She didn't fault the Firbolg his discomfort with being caught in such a display and nodded in understanding when he sought his own space.

"Y'want in on this too, Miss Zaiya?  Can't imagine this time's been any easier on ya'.  Hugs help." Moira offered in only a half-joking manner as she extended an arm the Tiefling's way invitingly.  She could only imagine that whatever work Zaiya had agreed to do for their shared patron was far and away from what madness they'd all been caught up in since.

Whether or not the hug was accepted, the party had much they needed to attend to before long and the day needed to be underway sooner than later.  Moira offered Claire one last reassuring grip to her shoulder and a knowing smile before she hopped down to the floor, hair fluttering long and free behind her nearly to her waist.  "Alright, we need t'get underway.  I don't expect there t'be any room in th'kitchen, but I'll see what I can do 'bout gettin' us a meal before we talk strategy or meet up with th'Lord Protector.  Ain't no use plannin' on an empty stomach."  The Halfling immediately set on binding it back into a loose, messy bun.

"Uh...  That's okay, really!"  Zaiya straightened as though struck by lightning, and frantically waved her hands in the way. "The touchy feely stuff isn't...  Really my thing, it's all good!  But, uh, it's good to be...  Part of the team?"

She seemed to trip over her words for a moment there.

"Well, anything you walk away from, though this is a bit more breakneck of a pace than I'm comfortable with...  It'll be good to have some time to study the captured scrolls when we have a moment to breathe though!  At least if I can find the reagents needed to copy them at least..."

"Well, apparently we're gonna sift through a flippin' wizard's tower today, so I doubt anyone'd mind a mite if y'liberated some supplies there."  Exactly what sort of supplies a caster needed were well beyond Moira and she didn't even pretend to understand otherwise.  The most she knew were a few different goods that went into enchanting, as those were always a high-value item on the market - usually monster parts, more often than not.  "I imagine th'bulk of it'll be confiscated by th'city t'sell and gain funds for th'rebuildin' effort, but maybe we'll get lucky and be allowed t'take a few trinkets for ourselves."

Indeed, a cursory check of the keep's kitchen reveals a rather spartan arrangement- large pots bubbling with soup, a few stoves set to a side, and a trio of rather tired cooks standing around several bags of flour, a strained expression on their faces;

"...best we can do. Spices we have plenty. But meat? Potatoes? We're supposed to have stockpiles for a siege but with the budget cuts rece-" the largest cook there, a half-orc man with a thick, square beard pauses as Moira appears, turning to regard the halfling.

"...no second portions," the chef snaps, his tone gruff but not unkind, "Lord's orders. Lunch will be first bell after high noon."

---

Downstairs, the wagon appears to be occupied by Sergeant Grimes, his squad, a familiar alchemist girl, one rather ornery dwarf and his goblin assistant. Emma herself appears to be tucked in a pile of blankets inside the wagon itself, still asleep. Grimes and his squad are in light fatigues, sipping a thick black brew from large tin mugs set upon a thick lump of warm stone.

A rather heavily bandaged Gheryn, no longer in his armor, is busy inspecting one of the siege catapults attached to the battle wagon. One of his arms hangs from a sling. The other is very gingerly feeling out the supports connecting the weapon to the wagon itself. Without the grime and dust of battle, its a lot clearer just how old the dwarf is- smokey grey hair and deep wrinkles under his eyes. The smith is stooped by the side of the wagon, partially supported by Tetri (whose head is entirely swathed in rags, revealing only her eyes). Both still seem rather exhausted by the previous night's ordeal.

"...interesting work," the smith grunts as U'lin approaches, but does not look away, "yours?"

Moira had diverted course long enough to swing by the wagon and recover her pack of supplies before she headed into the kitchen, though the scene she found there was much what she expected.  She didn't even bat an eye at the sharp word sent her way by who she assumed was the head chef - if it had been a hurled stew pot, even that might've been understandable in the situation, but still.

"Ain't lookin' t'take portions outta local's mouths, first nor second.  Just hopin' t'nab a bit of th'stove for m'own pans t'cook for m'group.  Rolled in last night from Red Larch right in th'thick of all this mess." the Halfling explained as she set her pack down with a heavy thump and clang - it was well-laden with her various cooking tools, carefully packed rations, and of course her new favorite magicked pot tethered to the top.

"I ain't got th'supplies t'feed a whole town, but whatever I can donate of m'own stock is yours t'use.  Got a fair share of dried meats and stew bones t'stretch out th'broth.  Got oats, grains, and seeds too.  Onions, taters, cabbage, garlic heads, pots of butter and lard, eggs..." It was a sin for a Hin to let any go hungry if they could help it and Moira wasn't about to go getting selfish with Triboar now.  She rolled her head side to side to pop a few stiff cracks out of her neck in the process of loosening up, much the same way she had days prior before combat with bandits.  "Just leave enough for m'group t'spare their meals and have th'rest.  And you'll have m'self lendin' a hand here in th'kitchen too, 'til duty calls me elsewhere.  Sound like a fair shake?"

Moira has 11 days worth of rations and 9 GP worth of high-quality cooking ingredients currently in her inventory.  She's willing to donate 8 days of Rations and 8 GP worth of high-quality cooking ingredients to the kitchens, and help out working to cook as well.  Assuming the kitchen team are welcome to the idea, she'll make a quick breakfast for the party and then spend the rest of the time volunteering in the kitchen until we need to regroup for strategy talk/meeting the Lord Protector.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Thu 31 Dec 2020.

U'lin reached over to tuck the blankets around Emma, and quietly edged out of the Beetle, closing the door behind him, and placing a thankful hand upon the symbol carved within the wood.

He turned away, nodding to Grimes and the rest of his squad.  "A long, hard day, but the city stands, and many of its peoples and their creations preserved.  Thank you for your help with us and elsewhere... and for seeing her safe - she has had a hard set of challenges already."

The firbolg nodded, but didn't say anything at first, trying to dejumble his personal feelings.  The dwarf was far from U'lin's favourite person, and the callousness and rudeness, especially to a fellow smith, especially after being rescued... but a refreshing sleep, even if not enough, helped the mind and body both.  Courtesy didn't hurt or cost.

And petty pouting was.

"It is, with Gond's grace.  His blessing aided in crafting many pieces to speed the full craftingwork.  I wanted to make use of the wagon's movement, and provide something in long range support.  There are other designs for improvement as funds and crafting time permits, but our road is long, busy, and dangerous."

Claire lingered a while, retreating momentarily to the party's quarters to wait out the blotchiness of her reddened eyes. Her emotional outburst had left her thoroughly red-faced, and feeling once again like the baby of the group, instead of the responsible junior priestess she was meant to be. Sitting on a stool in the corner, she clapped her palms over warm, rosy cheeks. "Oh well. Reckon I couldn't embarrass myself further among this lot," she mumbled, gathering herself for the day's work.

After a quick peek in the washing bowl's still surface, Claire proceeded straight for the healer's station, eager to check on Thente. Perhaps he may have woken on his own accord? Her pace quickened.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:23, Fri 01 Jan 2021.

Moira's offer gets a slow blink from the chef, his expression gradually turning thoughtful. Finally, he nods;

"Deal. Dried meat'n bones we have stock of- the armies hunt and bring game regulary. But grains, butter 'n eggs we lost. Fresh vegetables too- though some dried ones work as well," he gives Moira a grateful bow, then gestures for her to step over to the stove, "you can take the one of the far right- we're mostly stretchin' things with big pots of stew so far, so the smaller stoves aren't in use anyway. And my assistants can help with whatever you need in exchange. That right boys?"

The two other chefs (one of them actually a girl) nod furiously. With a larger grin, the half-orc reaches offers a flour-covered handshake to Moira to seal the deal.

Moira, you may have advantage on your Cook's Utensils check(s) to make whatever meals you wish to prepare. If you are preparing more than one (say rations to go), make multiple rolls for each instance. I'll say you can do this a maximum of four times (including the check for breakfast) in the amount of time you have before meeting the Lord Protector.

The cooks will take 8 days of rations and 4gp of high-quality ingredients. They aren't actually short on spices, dried meat and lard- Triboar has abundant forests and game plus the men to hunt them. Fruit, vegetables and grain however are supplied by surrounding farmlands, many of which have been affected by the uptick of orc and bandit activity in the area.



"Divine smithing?" the dwarf's brows crease, but nods, "thought'e connections're a bit ta smooth fer handwork. Prefer ah'proper forge myself, but draggin' one on d'road's tricky so that gets a pass...yer ore's shite though. Did yer scavenge it from random scrap or something?" Foehammer flicks one of the metal supports, listening to the thrum, "ratios'all off. Nah'uniform."



The healers tents have wound down as the steady stream of survivors has slowed to a stop, though the treatment area is even more packed than before. Nmerous makeshift shelters formed from blankets, bedrolls and straw litter the open courtyard, where dozens and dozens of patients swathed in bandages lie restlessly. Small "alleyways" between the "beds" allow pairs of exhausted-looking volunteers to patrol the area, checking on patients and helping change the occasional bandage. At the far end of the area, a pair of women in clerical robes tirelessly grind out dressings and salves from a large wooden table covered in boxes of medicinal herbs, many which of have haphazardly tossed to a side. Behind them is a large tent with a sign marked "HEALERS".

Asking around, Claire discovers that Thente, along with other "critical cases" have been moved to the rear of the healer's tent so they can be under constant observation. Should she approach the healer's tent, the older of the two women, a dark-skinned woman bearing the symbol of Eldath will look-up. Dark bags hang under the cleric's eyes, yet despite her deep exhaustion the hint of a smile travels over her lips as she notice's Claires own symbol.

"Hello there sister, Guardian of the Grain Goddess. The survivors spoke of your deeds last night. Have you come to heal or be healed?"