It goes without saying that in the wilderness, you can't afford to let your guard down. Traveling from forest to forest, city to city, one's likely to meet all sorts of unsavory folk and beasts, and the two trollesses in question, tonight, have already had an encounter or two that luckily turned out pleasant enough. Tonight, on the edge of the forest, Wyxt hugs herself in her sleep, lying on a thin mat not so far away (but far enough!) near the low embers of a dying fire. Soothing the sleeping trolless, unknown to the both of them, is a very odd, tiny floating mass of glossy green tentacles, a large red eye peering down at Wyxt as it pets and soothes the lavender trolless. Sia is on watch, not so far away.. it's her turn to watch for trouble. Of course, no one can blame her if one or two of their kids slip by.**
Sia is peering into the darkness quietly, leaned back against a tree comfortably, though not too comfortably so as not to accidentally drift off to sleep. She doesn't really like guard-duty, but then again, it's part of the traveling life and truth be told, sometimes, a little time to think was not even bad. Tonight though, she doesn't think much, not much coming to mind. The days of traveling have dragged on and on by now and there is not much to think about except of how they got here and where they were going and that topic was slowly exhausting itself as a source for interesting thoughts. So her crimson gaze just looks out into the night, peering, alert, watching for signs of trouble.
Brigands are known to frequent the edges of these woods... hoping to catch travelers on the outskirts, to mug and run under cover of the trees. Even now they shift through the brush and trees, the faint wisps of smoke and light still drawing them like moths to the flame as they approach from the east. Not too many, two mounted brigands and three on the ground. Two men, an orc, and of all things, a murloc and a gnoll. The murloc looks to be some sort of shamanic type, clad in heavy, thick leathers, bright yellow eyes darting here and about. Some distance away, the scent of troll, of female troll, causes the murloc shaman to pause. His hulking guard, a gnoll clad in grisly blood stained armor and holding a massive poleaxe, comes to a stop, raising an eyebrow. The brigands don't seem to much care for each other, being a motley crew.
The murloc, however, seems to be the leader. Clutching a stave in one three fingered claw, a long, alien tongue running along its 'lips' as it glances up to the human glaring down at it from atop his saddle, the murloc puts a finger of its free hand to its lips. The gnoll leans down, and the murloc, whispering in their bizarre, crazy language, says something to the gnoll guard, who stands, and grins faintly. "Women." said in a husky, very low whisper. Horses are held still and quiet, the brigands all exchanging glances. Everyone knew what that meant. The murloc slips forward, the gnoll quietly, at least, as quiet as he can be, following behind.
Sia is still watching, and she feels a faint tingling as though she should see something, or as if something was watching her. Her attention is piqued. She knows about the bandits in this area, knows that there are quite a few who stalked traveling people, such as Wyxt and herself, but then again it might just be another traveler, or just an animal, maybe even a pack prowling the woods. She shifted a bit, but remained seated against the tree, her crimson gaze staring into the darkness ahead, trying to see if there was anything she could make out, any kind of shape that would be an explanation for that strange tingling sensation. Her large breasts rise and fall slowly with her steady breathing, pressed together tightly as usual by her crimson dress, one leg drawn up to her chest and thus exposed to the night's air.
The gnoll splits from the shaman. At a nod from the murloc, along with a grotesque (as most things are with the fish men) wink, the gnoll shambles towards the camp, the shaft of his poleaxe clasped in both hands. Grunting, growling, the bandit is easy to spot as the light flicks off his armor, drawing close to the sleeping Wyxt, who has wisely started sleeping in her thong, at least. ...At the sight of the curious little demon tending to her though, the gnoll blanches. Males have learned the hard way that the dream stalkers don't particularly 'have' to use females. Backing away, the gnoll glances over his shoulder towards the humans, shaking his head quite firmly. Hell no. The murloc on the other hand, waits, watching, eyes narrowed. One hand on its staff, the other fingers ingredients in his pocket, waiting. Waiting for her to attack the gnoll that seemed to think himself sneaky. Was she a warrior, or a caster, was the question.
Sia shifts fluidly into a standing position and her eyes seem to be ablaze suddenly with inner light and fire. Shadows seem to dance over the trolless' skin as she calls forth her power, the power of the shadows. Eyes gleam with dangerous fury at the thought of anyone trying to attack her beloved while sleeping and from her fingertips a bolt of shadow lurches, hurtling through the night's air towards the gnoll even as she prepares yet another shadowy attack. She is focused on the gnoll, not having seen the murloc yet and not intent on detecting any more threats until this one would be out of the way.
The murloc grins. If not for the thick, shaggy hides and leathers, one could see the firelight play off its glossy, pointed teeth as Sia reveals herself. The murloc 'could' drop his totem, and save the gnoll a stinging lash of pain, but the murloc is elitist. Maybe a lash of fire will teach the gnoll to be a little more watchful for sentries, instead of blindly assuming there were none about. Ah well. The gnoll yelps as he's hurtled to the ground, his ax falling in the dirt and one hand going to his shoulder, at the strangely 'cold' pain of the shadow pulling at his soul. The murloc, though, naturally has other plans. A totem is dropped, corrupting powders of fel origin sprinkled over the vile totem as the murloc gurgles and chants. "Mrrrrrgggglllleee..."
Abruptly, the totem fills with a dark power, a corrupted twist to the magic absorbing but wholesome totems often used in the horde. When Sia goes to cast her next spell, the totem draws the very spell from her lips, and the trolless would find herself, at least when trying to cast magic, mute and numb, the totem feeding off the shadowy energies. Of course, it's not permanent, the murloc eying the bag of fel dust as the brigands look on with faint disgust (but fear and admiration.). Abruptly, the orc would appear at Sia's side, clad in black leather, one thick fist reaching for her arm, the other holding a dagger in hand. "Ye ain't got much, don't give us no trouble troll bitch, or we'll gut ye an' have ya f'r dinner!"
