[color=#ff9900][h3]Gartoj[/h3][/color]

Not enough!

With as much ferocity as one could possibly put into an item of such vanishingly small mass, the goosequill was pushed through the small opening. It was plunged into a black sea below of it, but as much momentum as there had been initially as quickly it was killed before an inevitable impact would have destroyed the carefully cut tip. With small, violently separated droplets adding themselves to the mess already created around the little jar, the tool was rapidly guided back to Gartoj's journal.

Or was it a journal ? A bookmaker possibly would claim it to be far too riddled with non-alphabetic elements, while a magician -- or a mathematician, as far as one could say that such a person existed -- would scold its author for being far too... chaotic. A stream of thoughts jumping from sheet to sheet to even mere fractions of a sheet in an not always sequential manner. Only few had ever looked into the drow's tent since his arrival at this camp, but those few had already made sure to let him know that he was wasting his resources on nonsense. Almost needless to say that Gartoj's view of the matter was a very different one. Right now he was merely trying to calculate how much bread, water, wine and other supplies he would need for the upcoming journey on the basis of an estimated duration. He was quite sure that Szazah would ultimately have his will come true, even if there were people seen around him to whom the attribute 'unusual' could be assigned in the best case.

However Gartoj possibly wouldn't be Gartoj if his most immediate surroundings wouldn't at least partially mirror the things he was thinking others to be. That pathetic assembly of wooden pieces beneath his butt was hardly a match for his size, but building an own one would most likely do nothing but openly present his lack of artisanal talent to the entire Moving. Maybe one day he'd just happily sumble upon a leftover piece of a trunk that he could simply roll in and use as a replacement ? That hammock next to him had been a different issue... He had been forced to reinforce both it and the poles it was hooked up to right after the first time gravity had blasted him through it. Otherwise ? Well he had not yet tried out what the stablemaster would do upon seeing him approaching. Those beastkin definitely had some advantages sometimes. Or those of his own kind who were blessed with actually being more normal.

Yet most calculations came to an end and so did this morning's one. Moaning a little under his self-inflicted backpain, the drow stretched himself and got moving. The sound of rain coming down made him feel just a tad more miserable rightaway. Just... why ? Snow would have been a much more appreciable thing, but it appeared they were right at the borderline where it no longer was too dry, but still too warm for such things to happen with comparable intensity. The nights in the tent weren't long enough to let his clothes dry completely, so by now they were pretty damp on the outer layers and providing their environment with quite a bit of an distinct odour. Gartoj could keep himself as clean and tidy as he wanted, but he simply couldn't solve that problem with the means available. Once there'd be more wind it wouldn't matter anyway.

The drow got himself moving, pushing his enormity forward towards the tent he had been told about. In this completely soaked ground he couldn't help but find that to be quite a tedious effort: His weight was pushing his boots far deeper into it, increasing the work to get out. Tracing him along this camp wouldn't be too hard. He hadn't slept all too well, so hopefully this would be over soon. Hardly anything was more annoying then people dragging themselves and other along in a discussion that could have been shortened dramatically if individual preparation had been better. With mixed feelings and slight rings around his eyes, Gartoj entered the location and inspected the others. Something - or someone - was smelling like fire. The idea of aggressively sniffing around in order to identify the culprit was tempting, but ultimately saved as a means of retaliation in case anybody would complain about him. He wiped his white hairs out of his face which had immediately decided to cling to his skin the moment they had made contact with water.

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Summary: Under-amused and tired drow expecting orders that hopefully will get him out of the miserable location.