The Woods Just outside of town. Ashes to Ashes.

[cole45]

The was a sound in the woods of tree branches cracking under weight. The sound of the forest lashing out at an unwelcome interloper. It was morning, just before the sunrise. Dew clung thick and heavy to the leaves, even as they began to change color. It smelled of mold, and dirt. The uneven clank of metal scrapping against bark sent shivers up one's spine.

A muffled grunt could be heard, and if one listened carefully, one might glean bits of broken dwarven language. If you speak dwarven, you might be able to suss out what seems to be a whispered string of the foulest language anyone may have ever heard in their life. The grunting, inexorably tied to the cursing continued to get louder as Chargoth made his way towards the place he sought.

He came upon the location that Olan had given him. It was the place that Derek's body had been burned. The ground was still covered in a thick oily ash. Chargoth knew enough about burning the corpses of the dead to be able to recognize it. Most of it had been carried away by the wind and water. But there was enough here for what Chargoth wanted.

Cursing, the iron clad dwarf lifted his steel visor and took a breath of the fresh morning air. It was cold, and his breath looked ominous so deep in the forest. The forest was for fairies and apes, not stoners, not dwarves like him. He preferred the cool touch of stone. But it wasn't about him. He knelt, making seven kinds of hellish noises as he did so. His armor rubbed together and dug into the moist earth. The ashes of a something clung to the outer skin of his armor like a Macabre decoration. Finally finding what he was looking for he pulled it free. It was a leather pouch. It it, was a deck of drunken stones playing cards. He took the cards out and laid them down in the ashes.

Chargoth swept his hand through the ash and cupped it. Once he had a handful, he filled his leather pouch with a tiny pinch of the remains of Derek Sandoval. Then he put it carefully into his belt pouch. Then he laid the cards out, turning over the death card face up. Then he reach for a horn filled with ale. It wasn't just any ale, but fine dwarven Grog. It was a clear liquid that tasted of fire and salt. He dumped it onto the cards. He stood up and pulled out a single alchemical match. Striking it against the corner of his helmet, he set fire to the grog.

The fire enveloped the parchment cards in a heart beat. Then it went out. Ash was hard to burn, all the fuel having been used to burn the body. After the fire died, Chargoth stood and walked back towards town. They had fought so hard to make it through the wastes. They thought that once they made it here, everything would be okay. Seven of them had made it through teamwork and trust. Now There were only six.