IoK Session 16

‘No… that is not yours!’

Cranic pulled the now torn bedroll from the young bear.  He and his brother had gained at least 10 pounds in the last couple weeks, and their constant roughhousing was beginning to wear on the lone beastmaster.  He had separated them for the evening, which only seemed to make them frustrated. 

Rylon, the larger of the two cubs, had taken to chewing leather when upset.  Cranic had already gone to the quartermaster to replace a backpack and a quiver.  Seemed his next silver would be spent on a replacement bedroll.  Despite the inconvenience, Cranic smiled as he watched the bear paw and play at the loose batting.  He would sleep on the ground tonight.

Cranic and the cubs had set up their own small camp just north of the Nine Hammers expedition.  Still close enough to aid in the defense of the camp, but far enough away that he need not listen to the constant berating of Bolan.  The older brother had taken up the mantle of Ironsbane, though he knew nothing of leadership. 

Then again, Cranic had to admit that the camp was developing at an impressive pace.  Though he and the Srylian still slept under hides and makeshift shelters, the dwarves had moved from their tent city into several rough cabins.  Three log houses which offered protection from the elements as well as potential shelter from attack.  They were built with heavy log walls and wood flooring.  The windows and doors were also heavy construction, capable of barricading from the inside.  Standing high above them, a stilted tower offered excellent vantage over the clearing of the camp.  Bolan had saw to removing all of the trees near the camp in order to eliminate cover for any approaching golyn incursion.  Though defensible, the camp was also obvious.  Easily spotted by any scout, they would be able to hold their ground but never hide.  Not a tactic Cranic favored.

‘Hobok… your bear is eating your bedroll.’

Cranic smiled, knowing that Felsyrlus had a knack for stating the obvious.  The Syrlian Jerule was neither subtle nor tactful, and this was on purpose.  Felsyrlus intended to be seen and heard… and honest.  Cranic found him always to be honest, even when it was inconvenient.

‘I think he appreciates the flavor.  It was a well-seasoned bedroll.’

The Jerule didn’t return the smile.  He never did, but with few in the camp who spoke the Created tongue, Cranic took his opportunities to express himself when he could.

‘Jerule… How are the dwarves?’

With no knowledge of Darian or Geonomic languages, Cranic suffered from both a curse and a blessing.  Bolan had tried several times to command the beastmaster.  The elder son had come to him with the Northwinds, no doubt as a show of authority.  He bellowed in a stern timbre and pointed to the forest.  Cranic took this to mean he was not welcome in the camp and had moved his tent further north.  Felsyrlus informed him after that Bolan had wanted him to scavenge roots and berries from the woods.  Not wanting to be the dwarves kitchen servant, the two had agreed to ‘play dumb’ regarding their shared communications.  This seemed to pain the Srylian, but he seemed to also appreciate being able to confide in someone.

‘They work hard building the camp.  They clear trees and raise walls.  Bolan has denied them any drink but water till the camp construction is complete.  Seems he believes they are more productive sober.’

The nod from the Jerule suggested he felt the same about the productivity, but the concern still shown through his scaled grimace.

‘I watched the woodsman shouting at the tanner this morning.  They were legitimately angry this time.  I thought they may come to blows until Drauk stepped between them.  I also saw young one, Fardal, crying.  He hid over by those trees from the others.’

Cranic gestured to the eastern woodline, not that the dwarf was still there.  Stress was building in the camp, and he feared that it wouldn’t be long before that young dwarf decided to test his luck in the forest.

‘No one is to enter the woods alone.  If Fardel continues, Bolan may make an example of him.  I believe it is only a matter of time before he requires a scapegoat to display his authority.  This one will not be able to stop it if the Nine Hammers declare their judgement.’

It was an odd sort of law the Jerule adhered to.  The Srylian respected strength and lineage.  It was one of the reasons they worked well with the Covalian Nobles… lineage was everything to them.  As the Nine Hammers were the ‘aristocracy’ of this camp, and technically they funded everything, their will was the law.  Cranic feared that in time, Bolan would need to demonstrate his power.

‘If Bolan possesses this authority, why did he let Ironsbane run the camp for so long?  Why would this noble dwarf from a strong house not wish to wield power from the very beginning?  He seems to be enjoying it now.’

The Jerule stiffened, and Cranic observed what he believed to be a sense of pride.

‘Because Ironsbane comes from a greater house.  He is not the servant of Talanik Nine Hammers… he is Talanik’s uncle.’