Calindra makes her daily oral report of rations consumed an projections of how long food supplies will last at the resent rate of travel. The report on other supplies she has but she'll only make an oral report if asked. Otherwise, she simply will hand it over. She''ll retrieve the reports later in the day for achievable purpose and for use as a basis for the next day's reports.

Her officer asks her, in confidence, how the camp followers are faring. Morale is holding, sir. They do sense the tension withing the camp and are grateful the pace is not faster. They do worry about the food holing out. I believe some of the official food supplies have been diverted to them, but the "unofficial' requisitions seem to be occurring within acceptable limits. The 237th should be okay if we can reach supplies within the estimated time. The followers, teamed with some of the soldiers, have been foraging...all in all, there's enough.

Valaric lives and travels with the camp followers, although he has formed his own small group in it. His group consists of four young boys who work as gleaner's and odd tasks, an elderly woman in her 40's whom everyone calls mother; who cooks and cleans, and mother's daughter a beautiful crippled girl of 19 who sings and plays music.

Mother and Kaitlyn travel in Valaric's two wheeled cart, driven by one of the young boys. The remaining boys all walk beside it, when not doing other tasks taking turns driving it to rest.

Valaric along with his dog, Thor are always hunting and foraging for food for his group.

The disciplined soldiers of the Bloody Hand force a punishing pace; thirty, forty, even fifty miles a day when the Warlock is in a particularly foul mood. Yet Vraithe travels light, Vraithe is agile. Unburdened by wagon or a heavy pack or any large amount of personal effects, she manages close to twice that routinely as she ranges on either side of the main route march. Picking herbs and berries, foraging for wild fruits and gathering mosses and specific mushrooms and leaves outside the immediate band of pillaging and destruction on either side of the road.

Generally she returned only as the 237th Regiment was going into camp and did the rounds of the select few waking wounded she’d selected as ‘hers’. Bullying one five-year veteran into letting her change the wrapping on his arm after he’d soaked it crossing a river during the day. Reassuring a barely seasoned recruit that the fever was only mild, she wasn’t dying and should just hold back from kissing her shieldsister for a few days and keep drinking the teas Vraithe gave her at every march halt long enough for a fire. She joined Valaric’s little band when it came time for dinner, eating her share of the army rations and then sharing a pair of finely sliced crab apples as she watched some of her tinctures simmer over the low fire.

There was work aplenty for the newly 'recruited' cobbler, the long punishing march making sure of that. Unfortunately it also left Oxsidi less time to do more work, and he was in no way capable of keeping up with demand.

As result his work was becoming shoddy, quick repairs with limited resources often made in near darkness. He dearly wanted to give up, to fall behind, to drop in a ditch and sleep the eternal sleep, but he found himself unable to surrender to that desire.

So he pushed on.

There was a young, tough hunter named Valeric. He seemed to be a seasoned follower, but he had taken Oxsidi under his wing and showed him how to get by in this new life. He also provided skins for use as material for the shoe and boot repair. He was, quite literally, a life saver.

At this pace, however, it might not be enough...

Most of the hands-on work was complete; now it was just a matter of keeping an eye on a low flame for a full hour as the brew in the small earthen bowl slowly simmered down to a thick paste. Seeing a familiar figure pass close by, Vraithe spoke to two of the young boys and promised them a pinch of sweetmoss each next time she found it if they kept an eye on her flame and kept it from either burning out or burning up.

She also promised them she would skin them alive and string their worthless skins up on Valaric's racks if they disappointed her. Half nervous and half laughing they assured her they would and wouldn't respectively, and the thin young woman moved away from the flames briefly and walked over to join Moccasin where he now sat.

"I found another good tree," she began abruptly once she squatted beside him on the wet earth. She opened one side of her cloak and revealed eleven good long strips of soft birch bark cleanly removed, and a twelfth with haggled edges all strapped against her side to keep them dry and out of mischief. The young woman removed them carefully and offered them on an extended hand.

She didn't talk easily these days, not with the long days of travel but she eyed his weary features and bestirred herself to ask, "Are you alright?"

As always, Oxsidi had a slightly haunted look in his eyes, and a hunched over postured, as if trying to hide in his own shadow.

At the arrival of Vraithe he perked up a little, and even more when he saw the bark she had brought. It would be gone by morning he suspected, but several of the local soldiers would be grateful for it.

"Master Moccasin," he said in a low voice, a correction without direction, he really didn't care. Habits that hadn't had time to die. "Or Oxsidi if you prefer, it is what  my friends call me." There was a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

At her question he nods, though he is clearly holding back a lump in his throat. This was all still very new to him. "I'm doing about as well as can expected. When things look their darkest, I remind myself what they did to... my home town," he said, not wanting that name in mouth. The city had to remain in his past, he couldn't let the memories impede his way forward.

"Here, let me see your foot gear while you are here."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:26, Mon 24 May 2021.

Vraithe nodded simply, her pale eyes not really registering the information as a correction or an admonishment. "Oxsidi," she echoed simply.

She listened to him tapping into the wellspring of memory, then - as his mood darkened - dismissing it in turn and deciding to live in the present. She could support that, and cooperated when he urged her down; she sat on the cool ground and extended her feet towards him for inspection.

"They're fine I think."

She had on old worn leather boots which were battered and muddy, yet seemed to still be keeping her feet dry enough despite her endless wandering. There were a few points where they looked as though they were almost worn through, and others where caked mud would need to be peeled off to get at the base leather beneath.

With his permission to draw portraits of Lucas, Calinda created two drawings of him, one in which he looked canny and the other heroic and trustworthy, as presents for him. If he mentions home, she will elicit descriptions and draw accordingly.

Above all. she heeds his orders and listens both to his speech and his silences...and keeps his confidences.

Immersing himself in his craft, Oxsidi examined Vraithe's boots. The leather was worn, but compared to what was brought to him in a daily basis they were in no way ready to be thrown out.

Back in his father's shop, such shoes would be sliced up into scrap, but the world was so different a place. It seemed impossible how different his world had become. But there was no denying it, the hunger, the exhaustion, the memories.

"A few worn spots Vraithe, nothing major. If I had more supplies I would measure your feet and make you something better, but, well..." He shrugged, that was obviously not going to happen while the regiment was on the march. Maybe not even after the got wherever they were going.

"Be sure to keep your feet dry. The things I've seen." Wet feet would rot, the meat falling right off the bone if not taken care of. There were a lot of new ways to die, he had learned. Combat wasn't even remotely the most likely.

But she knew all of this already, much better than he did.

He tried to show more interest in the world then he felt.

"So, how has your hunt for herbs and things going?"

"They don't always," Vraithe responded cryptically.

"But when I get back out of the water and onto solid ground, I strip them off and let them dry as they hang from my shoulders. I'm not so weak-soled that I can't stand a few miles on meadowgrass or earth. And as you say, wet feet that stay wet... well." She smiled briefly.

"It means more work for me. Thank you for looking Oxsidi; I can wait for new shoes Someday." Even though Someday hardly ever came for the exhausted camp followers of the 237th.

"I had a fairly good harvest today. I found a couple of herbs I've been low on for weeks, and I found your bark. Also some meadowgreens for the stew pot," she nodded back to the other fire, "and something new that seems to numb at the touch. I'll test it and if it's not too poisonous it could be a helper."

She looked up the line to the main camp.

"Have you heard any news of changes? Are we still expecting four days to Kher Adain?"

For just a second the vision of Vraithe walking with her feet tossed over her shoulders caused Oxsidi to grin, but he got the point pretty quickly.

"Don't tell anyone, but I keep a small supply of the best supplies tucked away for important people, and to me, you certainly qualify, but I need to wait till you really need them. It's never a large stock."

He nodded as she told him about her day, and unlike some, he really seemed to listen.

"Sounds like a good haul"

He wished he could start a fire, but wood was so scarce.

"News? No one ever tells me anything, sorry Vraithe. We could be marching in giant circles for all I know."

Vraithe rarely spoke as much as that, and seemed half surprised at herself but nodded with complete understanding at the man's reply. As Oxsidi said, no one did tell them anything. They were free to follow the regiment, free to go, free to starve. Not a real part of the regiment, and mostly ignored by the powers that were.

Mostly.

"I won't tell anyone. And if Corporal Grigori comes around looking for me..." her voice trailed off and she offered a humourless smile as she named the thuggish soldier who kept pressing her to accept a more personal relationship. When he could find her that is.

She nodded at Oxsidi's response (whatever it was), and then rose to her feet.

"I should get back. If you want to share the fire, I'm sure Valaric would welcome the company." She would get her ointments finished and then find a likely patch of ground to get some sleep.

"Good evening, Oxsidi."

In reply to Vraithe Mooraven (msg # 13):

Oxsidi blushed at her comments regarding the Corporal. At least that wasn't a problem he had (so far). His skill set seemed appreciated by enough of the soldiers that the kept him from starving, but many of them didn't have a lot to eat either.

He waved goodbye as she left, but made no move to follow. His need for companionship battled with his social anxiety and his overwhelming desire to live in the past, even if it only residied in his mind, won out.

Instead he turned back to his make-shift work bench, and started working.

Vraithe's daily haul came in handy, and it opened up the jobs he could work on. It was a balance between rank, fear and gratitude, whose footwear he worked on. Settling in, the repetition of the labor allowed his mind to wander. There were times when he felt his body did it's best work when his mind wasn't there.

He worked for a couple of hours, then put everything away and crawled under his wagon to sleep. Between the soft mud, the tarp, some tatter blankets and a pillow stuffed with hay, it was (given his current circumstance) comfortable enough.

While Andarra is a somewhat pleasant place during the day, at night it is cold, dark, and somewhat terrifying. Feral yellow eyes watch the camp from the treeline across the road, with extra sentries being posted to that side.

It would seem, though, that the camp followers have pleased the Warlock (or perhaps Lukas got involved), as there are two barrels - one of watered ale, another of dried meats and cheese - a haul to divide amongst them. Fist Dmitri can be seen speaking with soldiers around the camp, and Brynna has been in her pavilion. No marching for the next day, it would seem, according to the gossip at the soldiers' fires. Dmitri awaits a scout report.

Vraithe didn't touch the ale, not in the wilds with weird feral eyes glaring from the forest. She added a handful of dried meats to the stewpot being shared among she and Valaric's little group and palmed a piece of cheese for now and one of meat for the morrow, then got out of the way of the other followers jostling around the barrels.

Quickly in and out, that was the way - she might be useful, but she didn't have the muscle or the menace to stand up to a crowd of hungry folk.

Once she had eaten and washed her bowl and had her new tinctures and ointments stoppered, she found a patch of soft ground underneath the cart that the beasts hadn't soiled, wrapped her cloak close around her and went to sleep ignoring the dull growl of her stomach. No marching for the next day. That could mean opportunity, it could mean waiting for stragglers to drift in, but it could also mean trouble.

Where even were they? She had only a vague mental map of the area, but she didn't think there were any enemies in the area.

Calindra, on her way to her bedroll, saw that the guards for the supplies were posted. She strips to her small clothes before snuggling in. Before she does, she unsheathes a dagger, letting the firelight glint off the blade. She sets it down by her, on which side is hard to say.

The night is long, a few torches remaining lit for the guards on sentry duty. Wolf howls fill the night and make sleep difficult. The night is cold and crisp, the full moon hanging low in the sky.

Night is eventually chased away by dawn, with the typical changing of the guard interrupted by a disturbance of some kind. A group of soldiers is gathering around Lukas, who has a grim look on his face.

He moves to find Calinda and wake her.

'Is there a tracker among your folk? We've need of one. Scouts never came back last night, and there's a party goin' after. I'll make it worthwhile.'

Calinda thinks a moment, normal for her, before replying. Bad news, that is. I know a hunter—a good one. And there's an herbalist; she has a keen eye and a nose for things. Forgive me for mentioning this; but, if you're going to send a squad to investigate, will the squad leader listen to the hunter and take his advice until there's a combat situation...if one arises?

Lukas' grimace deepens. His voice an exasperated rumble.

'Girl, you know as well as I that I'd not have darkened your door if I needed not the help. Your hunter will be listened to. Now fetch  'em ere the trail is lost.'

Calinda goes, after bowing her head in obedience. By now, the camp followers know the supply woman is somebody not to cross, so she has little trouble finding Valaric.

Valaric, Sergeant Lukas wants you to do some hunting, with company. Please gather what you need for fast travel and, (quirk of the mouth) little doubt, sport. Haste, please. We go to find Vraithe.

Vraithe, Sergeant Lukas wants you to have your talents available during a hike. Please gather what you need, including any kit, for fast travel. Haste, please. If you are laden, somebody may volunteer to help you carry stuff.

Along the way, when nobody else can hear, Calinda explains: A scouting party didn't return. You're going, I guess, to find them or their remains. A squad, at least, will go with you. Sergeant Lukas has promised the leader will listen to you, Valaric, until there's a combat situation. Varaith, you have excellent eyes, use them for danger as you go, and be a medic. Sergeant Lukas will be grumpy; be nice. One more thing: The squad probably will be uneasy and maybe filled with braggadocio. Be serene on this mission. Good luck; may the World-Kings look upon you with favor.

The trio arrive, and Calinda says Sergeant Lukas, here are Valaric to scout and Vraithe whose eyes will aid him. She also has skills as a medic. I pray they may suit your purpose.

As usual Vraithe took a bit of finding, but Valaric had caught sight of her seeking her impromptu den the night before. Once she heard the voices speaking to her she woke up quickly from her light sleep and rolled out from under the cart.

"I'm fine to go now," she said quietly, then arched a fine white brow. "If we're serving the regiment directly today, is there any chance of some food before we set out?"

That was a Calinda question; she knew better than to seem like she was making demands of Sergeant Lukas directly, even if he was one of the more friendly soldiers in the regiment. Either she could arrange it or she couldn't, but in the meantime she listened to the details she could share with her.

Arriving at Lukas, she remained a quiet shadow between and behind Valaric and Calinda, still wrapped in her thick and muddy cloak.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:27, Thu 27 May 2021.

Rising early, Oxsidi is surprised to see they didn't seem to be preparing to march as early as usual. He didn't understand the delay, but felt no qualms about enjoying the pause.

Spotting the remains of last night ale and meat, he scrounged for any last little bits, if there are any, then asks if he can have one of the barrels. If so, he will roll it back to his camp. If not he will shrug as he returns to his spot and starts working in repairs.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Sat 29 May 2021.

Lukas and the soldiers gather in the center of camp, awaiting the arrival of Valaric and Vraithe. Lukas turns his stern countenance on Vraithe as she arrives. He speaks, but not directly to her.

'Wonder where this hunter is. If he comes not soon, we march without 'em. The wolf-folk might cover up any trail otherwise, if they're afoot.'

Oxsidi is not challenged for the barrel.

The young cobbler watches as Lukas gives her speech, and wonders what is going on. It is above his pay-grade to know and more effort than it is worth to ask however, so he rolls the barrel back to wagon where he begins to dismantle it.

Some would be fire wood, he imagined, much would go to ending shoes. The metal loops would go well to reinforcing some of the officer's boots, once clipped down to size. He might be able to fashion a few nails, given time, though that would require a bit of effort.

If they didn't move on this day, he would be able to get quite a bit of work done.

Settling in with his new treasure, Oxsidi separates and sorts the parts of barrel, staves in a stack, the hoops in a pile, the top and bottom he examines for sturdiness, or rot and mold. Any odd pieces of meat he finds, he drops in his bubbling pot of porridge for flavor.