Snippet #1416659

With a sullen yawn, Marcelle stretched his fatigued muscles, leaning against the roots of the cavernous mushroom tree that towered over the small group. The Altmer and Warrior had devolved to bickering now, stood in the open for all to see, voices raised above the soft lapping of the river, and the calls of various birds. The sun gleamed bright orange in the evening air, as its wayward tracking across the sky took it down below the hills that framed the riverbank. The soft shadows began to spread like oozing treacle, creating gloomy pools of blackness under the tree, almost swallowing the glow from Marcelle’s fire entirely.

He turned his head to the three sizeable fish propped at his feet, ignoring the others entirely. Extending his scarred arm, Marcelle yanked the largest fish from the pile, dropping it onto a gnarled tree-stump beside him. Hopping to his booted feet, the ring around his neck catching the fire-light, he grabbed the slight curve of his sabre, and used it to neatly lop the head off the fish. The blade came down with a soft thump-squeltch, a noise sure to attract the attention of his partners-in-crime. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the toothed maw of the fish into the black waters of the river with the flat of his blade, turning his attention to the carcass itself. He slid his dagger along the spine, opening the fish like a butterfly’s wings. Using the point of the weapon, he scraped away most of the offal, and cut a trio of good sized fillets from the bone.

Carrying the fillets in one hand, he padded over to the fire, dropping the strips onto a flat rock which was glowing an angry volcanic red in the heart of the flames. There was a rush of sizzling, as the fish settled on the rock, the white flesh creasing and shrinking in the heat. Wisps of aromatic smoke rose from the fire, carried by the wind out towards the river.
And now for the incredibly distasteful task Marcelle had been putting off for several minutes now. He pulled the thick canvas shirt over his torso, examining a rip down the side, caused by the barbed point of an arrow in flight. He slipped the blade of the sabre into its sheath and slipped over to join Por and Crow. He hadn’t had much time to fully take in the barbaric appearance of the warrior before, but in the evening gloom, it was clear that this man was no noble. Marcelle did not fight to repress the status-related prejudice that reared its ugly head within his fatigued form. He yawned again, scratching the red-raw surface of the crescent shaped burn on his cheek.

“We don’t have time for introductions. I suggest we wait-.” Marcelle paused for dramatic emphasis “-quietly till nightfall, and then continue down the river.” The Imperial’s extensive knowledge of the area came as a result of the crippling insomnia he suffered every night, forcing him to take long walks down the Odai, staring into the cool waters, in the hope that the nightmares of fire and destruction would be purged from his form. He turned to Por, passing a cursory glance over the arrow wound. “I’d go and eat before we leave. Regain your strength.” As he spoke, he nodded in the direction of the fish, still sizzling and spitting in the fire.

As it would seem, this gesture was incredibly out of character for the deranged, fire-haunted Imperial slaver, but it was clear that it was in his best interests to keep these people alive, and the innate sense of survival present within his ravaged for would extend to the group for as long as they were useful.
He flicked his scarred face around to Crow, injecting a note of scorn into his hoarse voice. “Clear the ground. Make it as if no-one was here.” At this, he turned and stumped off in the direction of the fire, and the smell of cooked fish.