[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/AxcX7w3.jpg[/img] [i]Dinah, The Oat Woman[/i][/center] [b]The Moving[/b] Early Morning | "Balls and Oats" Tent The clatter of several tin spoons hammering against thin tin plates filled the tent in a chaotic percussion as hot globs of boiled oats with milk and honey were ravenously scraped into several mouths. The porridge oozed across the plate in a sweet creamy mush that was scooped with either spoon or dense bread roll. Numerous warriors were seated in groups on small kegs tearing away at stiff bread in a breakfast colloquially called [i]Balls and Oats[/i]. The bread balls were tough enough to rip out a man’s teeth if he wasn’t careful. The more intelligent folk placed the ball in the oat pudding and allowed it to absorb the warm liquid and soften. It sweetened the bread and was much more pleasant on the jaw. A young wench stood behind the large pot with a ladle in her hand, scooping up a full cup of the beige mash to dump onto the plate of a waiting and eager warrior. She then reached down to grasp a ball of bread from a barrel at her side and placed it on the customer’s dish. Her eyelids were half-lidded, her amber eyes gazing back deeply into her thoughts. In a camp filled with mostly men in the form of beasts, dwarves, elves, and man, she was a beauty desired by many. Her chocolate hair hung in short blades from her scalp, laying in slender strands over her forehead where dark brows and lashes framed her eyes, causing the honeyed hue of her irises to gleam. They said, Dinah The Oat Woman had long hair once. To some, her new look maid her resemble a boy, and to others, it made her even more desirable. Her somber pink lips were straight and stoic. Her movements had become methodical—pour the oats; place the bread; next. She no longer had to think. Above her lips, across the bridge of her nose in a red smattering of marred and torn flesh was a wound that had scaled over with black scabs. It stung whenever she wrinkled her nose, the mild itching it excited often having her accidentally claw it back open. [color=BCB9B9][i]Who did that to your face?[/i][/color] Dinah’s eyelids lifted as her eyes grew with alert. She blinked and swept her immediate vicinity until her eyes landed on the back of a man who sat on a barrel a few feet from the serving table. She scrutinized him in her uncertainty. His dust-white tunic laid over his muscled back and shoulders like a sheet and his black hair laid behind his neck, the lengthy bangs drawn back into a loose tail that descended the back of his head. A bandage was knotted around his skull, making her curious. The stranger scraped and scarfed down the porridge just as voraciously as the others in the tent. She swallowed the words that threatened to leave her lips and returned to gazing aimlessly over the hunched and feasting forms. The man rose then, his raven hair spilling from his shoulders to hang between them. He turned to face her, and she noted the black bandage that covered his right eye. Coarse dark hair covered his jaw and a thin stash passed over his upper lip. His gray eyes never settled on her. Instead, they glared fiercely upon the plate that he placed on the table before her. The man said nothing as he turned and left the tent. Dinah gazed upon the plate he left behind, the plate which still had much porridge and half a bread boule on it. She didn’t suspect that the oatmeal had been awful. Had he lost his appetite? [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/rVt8oSJ.png[/img] [i]Dinah and Leouric, Sons of Blood[/i][/center] [i]There’s me girl.[/i] A few hours and a hundred mouths fed later, the bottom of the pot had but a burnt pool of sludge that no one had been desperate enough to eat. The voice that had greeted her made her skin grow colder than the mountain air that teased it to goosebumps. Dinah’s jaw tensed when a bald man stepped before her, the table and pot being the only barrier between her and him. She remained behind it as the man rested his hands upon the table and leaned over the oat pot, grinning at her. His face was marked in scars and tattoos of strange symbols. Bear fur lined his collar as hard-boiled leathers and iron plates were buckled over it. A beard as long as his neck hung in a brown curtain from his chin. Blue eyes peered down it into the dark pot and his nostrils flared to breathe in the smell of burnt oats. A smiled stretched on his face as his eyes rose to gaze upon Dinah’s turned cheek. “Aw, y’didn’t save me none?” he said in playful disappointment. He reached out to grasp her chin in an attempt to turn her head toward him, but Dinah snapped her chin away. Grasping her face, his hard rough fingers clenched the sides of her jaw and bit harshly into her cheeks, causing her lips to pucker in an expression that he thought was comical. The skinhead chuckled. “Dun be rude girl. I’m mad y’didn’t save me a plate after all I done fo’ ya. No one’s touched ya. Y’d tell me if someone tried to touch ya, wouldn’t ya?” He released her face and Dinah frowned at the ground, her eyes shrinking with her silent anger and growing glossy with hopelessness. Her response was quiet and reluctant, “…aye.” “You’re me girl. No one’s gonna touch ya. They know me mark. Leouric of the Sons of Blood.” Leouric jabbed her nose with his finger, causing Dinah to cry out in pain as she recoiled away from the laughing man holding her burning nose. The pain was so horrible it made tears bubble in her eyes. She kept her back to Leouric to dissuade the skinhead from sticking around. He helped himself to a bread ball, tossing the boule into the air before happily snatching it out of the air. “I’m gonna come see ya tonight. Dun hide from me this time,” Leouric told her as he continued to giggle through a wide grin. As the skinhead stepped from the tent and pressed the hard boule to his teeth to begin the arduous gnawing, sitting to his right was a man with a bandage over his eye. A hot tin mug of tea was clutched in his hands, warming them as the clouds that crept overhead startled to drizzle. He sipped the bitter liquid, his rabbit skin-covered feet stretched out comfortably before him in a wide-legged lounge. When Leouric was two tents away, the man took one more sip of his tea and rose from the crate he had been sitting on to leisurely follow after the man. Dinah turned around to see that Leouric had left and she saw the man with the bandage pass before the tent. Why was he still hanging around? Her brows shot upwards. He couldn’t possibly be planning to fight Leouric. She grasped the faded-brown skirts of her gown and lifted them as she ran to the door. Poking her head out, she watched as the man with the bandage calmly followed after Leouric. As the man walked, he took bigger gulps of his beverage, his head tipping back as his neck muscles pumped the warming liquid into his stomach. A stone in the dirt path twisted beneath him, causing the man to stumble. Lowering the mug, he threw out his arms to catch himself and gazed down at the brick-sized stone that had been dislodged from its earthy bed. Finishing off the tea, the man reached down and picked up the stone. Weighing it up and down in his hand, he mentally estimated it to be about as heavy as a full sack of rice, but unfortunately not as soft. He set the empty mug on a table where a merchant was selling gemstone necklaces. His tongue dragged across his lips, collecting the herby residue, before the side of his hand followed to wipe them dry. His pace quickened. Leouric was trying to tear a chunk of boule away from his teeth when the stranger came up behind him and cracked the stone against the back of his bare skull. With a pained grunt, Leouric staggered forward. The bread ball fell from his mouth as his eyes bulged in shock. Waving his arm, he caught his balance and turned to face his assailant only to catch a rock against his left cheekbone. The skinhead’s head snapped to the left and then right when the rock was brought back around. The second consecutive blow shattered a few molars in his mouth and they left like sugar cubes on a red syrupy ribbon of blood and saliva. Leouric was dazed, his vision swirling and legs crossing. A hand latched onto the collar of his armor and roughly he was brought before the face of his assailant. The man with the bandage pressed the rock that was nearly bigger than Leouric’s skull against the side of the skinhead’s dome. [color=BCB9B9][b]“See? I’ve left my mark on you too,”[/b][/color] the man scoffed, his grey eyes livid. Leouric’s fingers clawed at the man’s chest, raking down his tunic as he choked and coughed out a drape of crimson that tumbled down his beard. [color=BCB9B9][b]“You go near that girl again, I pray that Michael grant you more mercy than me.”[/b][/color] The man shoved Leouric back, the warrior stumbling in his disorientation until he fell to his knees. Bent over and posted on his hands, Leouric spat blood on the ground and a few teeth. He panted heavily on angered growls like a wild dog. “You’re…You’re dead!” he bellowed. The man glanced at the rock still in his hand, and then glanced to Leouric. Leouric’s face paled and in fright he scrambled backwards before he managed to stagger to his feet and push through the crowd of onlookers who had gathered around to watch the show. The man only stared off in the direction Leouric had fled for a few seconds longer before he dropped the rock and dismissively spat at the ground where the man had been. As he turned back down the direction he had come from, he saw Dinah ducking behind a small gaggle of people before they scattered out of boredom. Once she was revealed, she figured she had no reason to keep silent any further. She followed after the man. “Are ye daft? Do ye know what ye done?” she asked. [color=BCB9B9][b]“I’ve done a horrible thing,”[/b][/color] the man honestly returned. “Aye, ye did. He and the other sons will come after ye! They’ll try an’ kill ya!” [color=BCB9B9][b]“I’m already dead,”[/b][/color] the man replied. [color=BCB9B9][b]“Besides, there’s more than enough rocks on the ground.”[/b][/color] Dinah stopped following him, stunned and bewildered by how calm and unconcerned he was. She frowned and yelled after him, “Ye didn’t hafta’ do that ye know. I can ‘andle me’self!” [color=BCB9B9][b]“’Course, I did.”[/b][/color] Dinah continued to nervously grip her skirts as she watched the man vanish into the crowd. She feared what sort of war he had started and feared getting caught up in it. [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/lDcQvqC.png[/img] [i]Kheluz, The Diremane and Horsekeeper Branson[/i][/center] [b]The Moving[/b] Afternoon | Horsekeeper [i]Aah, the Reed Human returns.[/i] He was greeted by a tiger with white striped fur and wise gentle eyes. A smile curled the corners of his maw as he pressed his paws together and delightedly bowed twice to the human. “Your horse was good. Real good. He mated with all my mares,” Branson reported with a pleasant growl. The man with the bandage known as Reed smiled as his cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment. He laughed, [color=BCB9B9][b]“I’m sure he did. Our journey has been long.”[/b][/color] “Come, you see him now.” The tiger walked with Reed over to an enclosure where the large black horse was proudly trotting alongside its perimeter. The great beast stopped once he saw his master and thrust out his head, his lips flapping as he greeted Reed with the most enthusiastic whinny he had ever heard. Reed laughed as he walked over to rest his hand against Kheluz’s snout. The stallion intimately nibbled at his fingers as his tail swished behind him. [color=BCB9B9][b]“I’ve created a monster,”[/b][/color] Reed muttered. [color=BCB9B9][b]“Is he going to be like this for long?”[/b][/color] Branson threw back his head in laughter as his arms curled behind his back. “He will calm down soon. You want to discuss payment, yes? He mated with five of my mares. I give you 250 gold.” [color=BCB9B9][b]“I accept your offer. Could you keep him for a while longer? I have something to attend to.”[/b][/color] The tiger smiled and bowed. “Yes, Sirrah.” Reed rubbed Kheluz’s nose and told the horse, [color=BCB9B9][b]“Behave yourself.”[/b][/color] The Diremane jerked his head away from his master and started galloping along the fence line again. Just watching the horse was making Reed feel tired. He offered his hand to Branson as the two merrily shook hand and paw. [color=BCB9B9][b]“Thank you for taking care of him. I will try to return before he jumps the fence.”[/b][/color] “No worries Sirrah. He is safe.” Reed nodded and as he left the horsekeeper he wondered, [color=BCB9B9][i]But are your mares safe?[/i][/color] [b]The Moving[/b] Afternoon | Szazah's Tent The rain was coming down by the time he reached Szazah’s tent, and as Reed stood outside the tent flap, the strong funk of alcohol was the first thing to greet him. His eyes closed with displeasure as his nose wrinkled in disgust. He should have known that the meeting would have spirits to draw those who had no sense of justice of their own. Alcohol was a poison that lured many a colorful character like flies to shit. Reed hesitated to enter, contemplating going back on his decision. He was honestly afraid to see what kind of characters were already within. A brief image of a bald man with tattoos all over his face flashed in his mind and naturally, Reed’s eyes went to the ground. [color=BCB9B9][i]Maybe I should take a rock with me…[/i][/color] he mused. [color=BCB9B9][i]Michael would not punish me so.[/i][/color] A mercenary group full of skinheads would have been too cruel a fate. Reed exhaled a deep breath through his nostrils and pushed aside the drape. The first being he noticed was the giant beastkin who he was surprised could even fit inside the tent. His eyes then darted over to two other men: one was the man called Szazah who he watched pour himself the affronting liquid and drink, and the second, a stranger. Finally, there was the dwarf who had been the most potent source of the alcoholic stench. Reed exhaled another purging breath through his nostrils to rid them of the dwarf’s smell as he found a spot in the corner furthest from the small table and booze, which wasn’t that far seeing as the tent was rather small. [color=BCB9B9]“[i]And we know that for those who love Michael all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose[/i],”[/color] Reed recited the verse as his greeting to the group. He sat cross-legged on the ground, soggy and dripping like all if not most of them. Internally, he was praising Michael for having packed a dry pair of clothes.[hr] [B]Summary:[/b] A skinhead gets beaten with a rock, a happy horse, and finally an unpleasant meeting in a booze-filled tent.