Build a Camp Part Something

The wall takes shape, and Dolan has applied himself with a will, working in relative silence while the others talk and sing. Now, though, he pauses for just a minute, thrusting his shovel into the dirt by his feet and flexing gloved fingers. Just because he's been quiet, though, doesn't mean he isn't listening, and he proves it by looking at Cavarim. "All right, I'll bite. Care to explain that one? I'll admit I'm not up on sil humor."

Dirk chunks his shovel into the dirt as well, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looks over at Dolan and Carvarim with a rumble of laughter. "What? Elves have -humor-? Well, color me surprised!" He tosses Patch a knowing grin. He knows -she- can be humorous when she's in the mood. But stereotypes exist for a reason. He's a dwarf, he knows all about the stereotypes that many tallfolk apply to -his- people.

Patch gives Cavarim a strange glance at his words, shaking her head in dismissal as her magics and songs have come to an end. "That seemed popular." she muses at something, inclining her head to Dolan. "I'll listen." letting her own interest be known.

Dirk Earns a grin, Patch offering a subtle shrug. "I can't speak for the Mythwood, but I know home isn't fond of it." she teases of the Dwarf, closing her case, and standing from her perch of earth. "Someone said drinks, right?"

"Well, drinks would be nice, but we probably shouldn't get tipsy this close to the Felwood. It's dangerous, after all."

The line for the fencing reccomended by Dolan is taking shape, at least, at this point.

Cavarim winks at Dirk at his comment, then nods to Patch.

"It's an old story! Perhaps we'll share it tonight."

"Then let's be about it," Dolan answers at once, wiping sweat from his own forehead, and flexing his fingers one more time before picking up his shovel again with a grunt. "Cavarim's right. We're too damned close to the Felwood. We could have a mess on our hands if the perimeter isn't up by nightfall, because the gods only know what'll come out of there wanting to know what's going on."

With that, he sets back to work, this time switching hands on the shovel to work offhanded. It's a bit less efficient, but it keeps the workload balanced so that one side is not getting overworked.

Dirk doffs his tricorne and wipes his face off with a cloth produced from his hip satchel. He stuffs it back into storage and sets his hat back atop his head. Taking up his shovel, he sets to work once more. "Dolan's right," he grunts as he slings aside a shovelful of dirt. "Faster we get these walls up, better off we'll be. At least we're nae havin' tae go -into- the Felwood, right? Och, I -hate- that bloody place!"

"I'd not entertain a hangover if it meant a demon might slip into my bed." Patch agrees, grinning to Cavarim as she stores her hurdy-gurdy in a place safe from the mess of work. "It doesn't seem to be the only tale you have, but we'll see."

"Do we need more hands on the fences, or can I help elsewhere than handling logs?" Patch asks of Dolan, flashing him a flat glance. "It was a joke, Dolan. I didn't expect there to be drinks, and was talking about merry making." sighing and offering a shrug. "I'm just hoping it'll be secure enough to have a fire."

GAME: Dolan rolls fortitude: (3)+12: 15

GAME: Patch rolls fortitude: (20)+5: 25 (CRITICAL SUCCESS)

GAME: Dirk rolls Fortitude: (20)+10: 30 (CRITICAL SUCCESS)

"You might be joking, but I'm not." Dolan doesn't seem to be fazed by Patch's flat look, and he doesn't look at her. Another shovelful of dirt goes flying - he seems quite intent on finishing.

As the afternoon wears on, though, he slows down, more and more, and towards nightfall, finally shoves his shovel into the dirt and leans on the perimeter they're creating, sweating heavily and flexing his fingers a few more times. He's clearly about spent.

Dolan, who had taken point on the fence line earlier before the elves arrived, is simply going to tire out. It's been a long day, and it's even into a longer night. While the work is shared work, and the rest are able to cover for his growing fatigue, the make-shift pallisade is the first thing done, leaving the elves available to start preparing the tends for people less accustomed to sleeping under the stars. They are being neatly spaced out between the fencing.

Dirk chunks his shovel into the ground and plants his other hand on his hip. He puffs up his burly chest with a broad smile creasing his snowy-bearded features. "Now -that's- a fence we can be proud of!" he booms confidently. "Pretty as a picture, that one!" He looks over at Dolan as his friend starts to waver. He trundles over with a worried frown. "Oy, Dolan. Go take a break. Set yeself down an' have some water, eh? Yer nae good to anyone if ye keel over from exhaustion."

"I know, Dolan." Patch says, sighing after that heavy labor, sweaty and bare on the arms as she'd taken off her jacket. She'd dug, and handled wood, lots of it. "I think somewhere in here we accidentally buried your sense of humor, and I'm sorry." The bard's coy words coming with a laugh as she barbs at Dolan again. "I am here to help, and I am taking it serious. I swear, Dolan." her amused tone bleeding with some sincerity. "But, if I let the seriousness of some situations get to me all the time, I'd run out of dry trousers. I'm pretty sure none of us want that." her humor a deflection of her feelings, her apology sincere, even if she struggles not to giggle at the argument. "I respect you, I do. But, I need to be me." she explains, flumping to find a place and rest, looking skyward as stars begin to peek. The tail of a wagon being a perfect spot. Something simple for the moment. "Dirk's right. Let's be proud of the bullshit we just did. You worked far harder than most of us. Me included."

GAME: Patch rolls perception: (8)+10: 18

"Not much to laugh about lately from where I sit," Dolan mutters. "You're fine, Patch. I don't mind. Just - not much to laugh about lately." He's still leaning against the palisade, but finally, and very much with an effort, straightens up and looks around the rest of the camp to see if water and a place to rest are in the offing. "Just trying to make sure we can all sleep in peace. Me included."

As he does so, he loosens the scarf tied around his neck against the cold, to reveal a bandage wrapped around his neck, padded on one side. He winces and puts a hand over that pad, but he adjusts the bandage a little bit and it seems to help.

Dirk's eyes get wide as Dolan loosens that scarf. "Beards o' me fathers, Dolan. Ye shouldn't be workin' so hard when ye got a nasty wound like that!" he gasps. "Ye need tae rest an' recover!"

Patch says, “I am going to overlook that, because I know if it had been Mourner Verna, she'd of been mighty peeved." Patch says, thinking of that woman now that an injury has been brought to her attention by Dirk's words. "If you needed to be tended, I have some skills. A bit of magic, and... another trick." her glance falling from what she was doing, and hoping off the wagon. "No lectures. Not today." she assures, offering Dolan truce on things as she moves to inspect this wound, glancing to Dirk as she passes him. "Now I feel a little like an ass teasing." she huffs at the dwarf with a grin.”

"I am going to overlook that, because I know if it had been Mourner Verna, she'd of been mighty peeved." Patch says, thinking of that woman now that an injury has been brought to her attention by Dirk's words. "If you needed to be tended, I have some skills. A bit of magic, and... another trick." her glance falling from what she was doing, and hoping off the wagon. "No lectures. Not today." she assures, offering Dolan truce on things as she moves to inspect this wound, glancing to Dirk as she passes him. "Now I feel a little like an ass teasing." she huffs at the dwarf with a grin.

Dolan quickly shakes his head. "Don't bother. It's Dream Realm stuff. Magic won't work, I've tried." He tilts his head so that Patch can peek under the bandage, but doesn't explain, and when she's seen it, replaces it. "Just got sweat in it, is all." He offers her that cheeky grin one more time, ragged around the edges. Truce accepted.

He looks around, then, scarf in hand, and wraps it around his gloved hands, entwining them together as he looks to see if anywhere to sit or eat has been built yet.

"...huh," is what Cavarim says as he observes Dolan. Dream realm stuff? That piqued his interest. The Mythwood and the Felwood are a land of dreams and nightmares, perhaps.

"Come on, then," he s ays to his elven buddies, "We'll get the fire started, and I'd like to request each of you to share a story from your life, we will do the same."

The elves have finished digging the latrine a small distance from the camp, as is needed, and have done their work.

"After that, we'll share our meal, fade back into the trees, and we'll do it all again tomorrow. Your relief will be here in the morning. All you have to do is make it through one night this close to the Felwood."

"Dream realm stuff." Patch confirms to Cavarim as she ceases her inspection, sighing. "You're right, Dolan. Well out of my ability to treat." she admits, taking a step back and raising a brow at the Mythwood man's words. "I'm all for sharing a tale, but I could of done without that last bit though, Cavarim." she notes, laughing. "The last time someone told me to hang in there just one night." a glance tossed to Dirk. "It didn't end well." she nots, laughing towards the Dwarf. "Please don't invite the ominous. Between the local demons and fey, we're already pushing our luck."

Dirk makes a face like he'd just bit into a sour lemon. "Dream realm stuff. Ergh. I liked it when me dreams were about endless kegger parties, all ye can eat buffets, an' all me best friends gathered together," he grumbles. "But... so long as yer sure yer all right, I'll stop bein' a mother hen. Yer a big lad, ye don't need me tae change yer nappy." He pauses. "Not that ye -wear- a nappy. Just a turn o' phrase." He trundles over to join the others with a rumble of laughter. "I'm all fer eatin'! An' I could share a tale, I'll warrant."

Laughter escapes Dolan at Patch's remark about demons and fey. "She isn't joking. You know, the three of us ought to find a quality inn somewhere upscale and spend a night somewhere where our lives aren't in danger," he offers, turning to Patch and Dirk. "Maybe when we get back." Slowly, he walks over to where he'd leaned his sword earlier and picks it up by the harness. "Maybe that's the story we ought to tell this lot." He sobers, then shakes his head. "Nah. Let's keep it happier than that. I could definitely eat."

"Unfortunately, there are no quality inns for miles around, and despite the union, there are a number of us who aren't thrilled with the idea. We do not count ourselves amongst that number. Together, we have faced the dangers of this world so many times. Why," begins Cavarim, prdding the fire he's been bringing to life, "when the Illuminated Order attacked Alexandria, the Mythwood Elves provided their support. When the ghost, Whitefoot, attacked Alexandria, we provided our support, when the Cannibal Queen's dreadful spirit took hold of the minds of the Alexandrians, we offered our support..."

He seems like he could go on for a while with this.