Chapter Two: The Hippocampus on the Cracked Lintel

Felor rolls his eyes at Mordred's display of minor magicks, but says nothing.

Zangua will sleep outside and allow the party to take advantage of the shelter provided.

Given the Fisher's apparent lack of concern, Leth decides that whatever it was, it was probably not a terrible threat. He relaxes a bit and returns his attention to what little bit of food he has left to eat.

Leth will sleep inside as long as there is enough room for him, but if there is not, he has no problem sleeping outside, having done so on many occasions on hunting trips through the years.

Mordred stays outside as well, and suggests trading off keeping watch to Zangua. Mordred will take first watch, if that sounds good to the fighter.

Vad will make some space inside and roll out his bed roll.

Zangua looks a bit concerned at being alone with Mordred, but decides it's likely as good chance as any. "So," he begins, as the night settles in. "What the hell are you? I mean, what's with this and this?" he adds, placing two fingers against his forehead and then swishing his hand out from his backside.

Mordred is taken aback for a moment. He knew his kind was rare, but had yet to meet someone who was completely unfamiliar. "Hell, indeed. I am a tiefling. Somewhere in my ancestry is an infernal being of great power, and the ripples are felt down unto my generation. It was on my father's side, and I never knew him, so the source of my..." he does the finger horns like Zangua, "is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. My mother died when I was very young, and I was orphaned, so never had the chance to find out more. There are others like me. A few on Bload, and more in the rest of the Werld. I'm told there is a sizeable community in Hafer, but it's just a rumor." He pauses, understanding finally what Zangua was really asking.

"You can trust me, Zangua. I'm no angel, as is obvious, but I am honorable and I keep my word. Especially where Zora Kells is concerned. She saved me from a life of torment when I was a young orphan, and I will do anything to keep her safe."

Back in the countryside, Felor felt more at peace than he had been during their time in the hustle and bustle of Sthombo. Taking a few minutes as the others prepare for bed and Zangua and Mordred talk outside, Felor walks about 20 meters away to the edge of the swamp. He kneels down, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds around him. The slap of water against the fisherman's boat, the chirp of unseen insects, the rustle of a breeze in the trees. Taking a deep breath he smells the swamp, the faint fragrance of salt-lettuce, a whiff of fish from the boat.
As he kneels, he murmurs a prayers to Fjorgyn, reasserting his service to Her and asking for Her continued blessing on his journey.
When his meditations are done, he retires to bed inside the hut.

Zangua listens, impassively. After a moment of seemingly indifferent silence, he grunts. "Huh. Well, I just spent several months with a pack of dogs, so a... teeth-ling?... isn't that far out of the ordinary. I guess." With that, he tucks into his bedroll for rest until his watch.

Well, shit.

"My good man," says Zangua, calling out to the fisher in a normal volume (the same used when speaking to Mordred), "out of curiosity, what sort of catch do you get at night?"

So we were audible enough for their ears, and they didn't respond to gender. Oh well, nothing that can be done about it now.

Zangua nods after his momentary thought process. He turns and sleeps with one eye open.