@Jorimel

"A vithira." Alo said to Avrielle without looking at her. He started to a brisk walk towards the ship.
"Where are they? In the ship?"
He stepped inside and started to look for the tools, rummaging through stuff in the ship.
"I also need materials, blast it. Where am I going to find the proper materials..?" He said to himself while searching in a rush.

Lysandriax returned the gaze of her fellow warrior without comment or complaint - after all, she wasn't a shy Eldar. The life of a Corsair had given her a supple musculature, well-toned, and few scars. It was rare that any of the Children of Isha scarred at all, but the life of the space-lanes was a wild one, and one may have reasons other than vanity to keep those that come. Lysandriax had a small tattoo on her left shoulder, a serpent biting its own tail, at once a symbol of wisdom for the Eldar and one that held connotations of immortality.

"They are -" Avrielle was about to reply, but the mood to create was on Alo. Strong emotions rule the Eldar, if they do not constantly keep them in check, and the desire to make can be as strong as the desire to destroy, as Vaul the Smith God knew. The Winterheart was already striding into the Chance.

The small lockers of the ship held a number of items useful for survival: rations, preserved and also some that just lasted well, such as jerky from an unidentifiable beast, and half a bag of nuts from the setharin tree; a stock of items for the small washroom; spare blankets, mostly used last night but a few remaining folded and neat -

- glitter fell down in a gentle rain, coating the immediate area in a heart-shaped bomb of little particles of light and, alas, now misplaced revenge.

- continuing the search, kitchen utensils; an inflatable pillow missing its cover; a book on the customs of the Exodite world of Enalishan; a tube of some kind of paint; a stack of pyramidal buttons; a visor from a Tau battlesuit; a battered copy of the seventh issue of the paper episodal comic Tech-Queen of Mars, in curiously unofficial-looking Imperial Gothic; a folded map of the Ultramar system, inscribed on the underside of a promotional poster from some kind of Human social event; several tablets of wraithbone, holding most of a saga telling of lost Kurnous and Isha; a fire-starting kit without the striker; one and a half sets of playing cards; a shirt; a smallish ball of yarn (as yet unfound by Llyr). In short, junk. The Chance of Cegorach had been a Pirate shuttle belonging to the free-spirited Arcadia for a while, and it showed.

"... can you do nothing wrong?" the silver-tongued Corsair asked the little radiotech outside, but Avrielle didn't get much chance to reply. Iktomi was on a roll. He took in the small fireside party and the surroundings with a carefully studied nonchalance that fooled few people who knew him. But then, who really knew the Felarch? Avrielle nodded her thanks and stood up and followed Alo into the shuttle, the better to let him know where her tools could be found.

"I keep them with me, in my pack," she explained, mildly, looking over at Alo as he searched frantically or what he needed. "A crafter never leaves their tools lying around."

@Uriel1339 @kanila @MetalDog4 @DaKaptin @BadDo9 @Avenging-Angel @matt23 @Wata @ItsTime

- darn, forgot this.

Faenkon knew that the crag cat could not see him, though its keen senses must have picked up a strange scent in its territory. Its nostrils flared. All things have a scent, after all, even the rocks on which they both crouched, even the thin forest soil, scarred by frequent frosts. The Ranger took careful aim. He breathed out. The slightest impulse from his mind, and the trigger of his long rifle picked up the order to fire.

Time stood still. The surrounding silence stretched into long moments, the heartbeat in his own chest seeming to thunder. The beast made as if to turn, as if at the last some secret hidden warning had alerted it, but too late. The shot pierced its heart, and without a whimper, the crag cat fell heavily forward. Its great golden eyes glazed, its last breath condensing in the cold air.

A bird flew up in alarm. The sounds of the forest snapped back into focus, a dozen panicked flights of tiny things, and one last shudder from the crag cat as it perished.

@kanila

Faenkon surveyed the surrounding area to ensure nothing else was nearby before chancing to move. When all seemed clear he walked over to the crag-cat which was still warm to the touch as the life left it. Hoisting the beast onto his shoulders he made the trek back to camp. Killing the crag-cat was not necessary, but at the same time it was. Any loss of life echoed through all living beings, but with its life gone it would ensure that it would not stalk them or their campsite.

Entering the clearing of the campsite, Faenkon laid the beast down a medium distance from the fire pit. "Where is our young radio tech at? Now seems as good a time as any for a lesson." He looked around the camp seeing that everyone was finally rousing from their slumber. "As a plan been made for our journey today?" As he asked the question he began gathering materials from around the area to use for tanning the hide as well as cooling the meat prior to cutting. With enough time he could potentially make a small stone smoker to allow the meat to be turned to jerky while they were out for the day.

@Jorimel

Alo tapped on the Tau visor with his finger, curious look on his face, listening to the sound it made.
"Nothing useful. Damn it." He let out a ponderous sigh, his lips pursed in pensive thought.
He put the visor back where he had found it and walked next to Avrielle. He was not hostile but when Alo set his mind on something it was easy for others to interpret his manner as such.
"Show me, quickly now. Please." He looked past Avrielle for a moment, and then back into her eyes. "I...may need your help."

Avrielle looked back at Alo in slight but momentary confusion. Then she nodded. Kneeling back beside the fire, she opened her back pack and carefully took out a small case of tools, plus a roll crated from some tough leather. These were less delicate, more used for rough work. With a slight hesitation, she handed them over to Alo.

"Please be careful with them," she said, looking a little nervous - after all, this was a man who nearly slit his own throat yesterday to illustrate his point. But Avrielle was a good-natured soul, and she wanted to think the best of people. "If you want me to help, I'll do what I can, but I'm better at circuitry than, well, anything larger scale. I am not a Bonesinger."

That said, she did look around - perhaps some of the wood could be used, or there was something on the Chance that might be of use?

@DaKaptin

For some reason Yareli was quite glad that Iktomi didn't take further interest in Lysandriax' nude body. Then again perhaps it was because he was so used to seeing corsairs act this way? She didn't dwell on that thought. And his genuine question about her health was very welcome, too. Especially considering he was the first to wonder ever since the incident.

"It has healed perfectly, I would say. The deep sleep might have helped as well. Not even you coming back to rest after your watch seemed to have interrupted me." The Noblewoman offered with a warm smile. She also took the liberty to rise from her seat and reposition herself next to her Felarch, rubbing over his exposed back, in case he was a bit tense.

Alo took a good look at the tools to determine if they were usable, these probably weren't enough. After a moment of thinking, suddendly his gaze darted back up and he shoved the tools back at Avrielles' hands. He didn't mean to be rude.
"Look for something in the ship I could use for strings, or anything to use for the instrument."
Without waiting for reply he darted towards the forest in search of proper wood for the hull and other parts for the instrument. Perhaps he could carve a crude one and improve upon it later with proper tools. He was practically running, and didn't even notice how all the worries in his life had, at least for a moment, faded away. No matter the quality of this project of his, it would be done with care and skill. This mattered much for Winterheart, and he did not even properly know why.

Avrielle took the strings with a startled look, but she didn't react beyond a small yelp of surprise. It was clear that the mood was on Alo, and he had a mission. She stepped out of the way and, while her hands re-rolled the tools without conscious thought, her mind raced on what he could use for strings.

"Strings ..." she said, aloud, thinking on her feet. "Some kind of thread from the blankets - no, that would be too weak. Does any of us have long enough hair to spare a few strands? That might be a little macabre ..."

Lysandriax looked up as Faenkon returned with his kill.

"Literal catgut?" she offered. She stood up and walked over to the place where the Ranger had laid down the dead crag cat. Crouching, she ran a hand through its soft fur. The last of the warmth was leaving its body.

"It seems a shame," she said, softly, but without malice. She paused, then looked up at Faenkon. "But such is the way of the worlds. Good hunting - this one will have been no fool."

As Faenkon looked around for things to start tanning, the young Exodite spoke up. "You could use some bark from the trees," Talis suggested, quietly. "Or - well, you know that the brains can be used to tan the hide. But, uhm ... that ... might be a bit much for some to start with," he added, almost in a whisper, as Avrielle came over in response to Faenkon's summons.

"I'm here. What do you want me to do?" she asked, half her mind on strings, half on the sudden arrival of a rather large and very dead normally apex predator.

"As for a plan, I think we all go out again after breakfast. Though if it's a proper start this time, not scouting, then we should take blankets and provisions. We can't guarantee finding anywhere to stay."


Running into the woods took Alo further from the fireside and its conversation, and between the focus of his mind and the distance he heard none of it. There wasn't much apparent in the little forest at first, but he was not to be deterred. Seasoned wood would be better. If he couldn't find that here ... The cold meant that the trees would be slow-growing, close-grained. His hand alighted on the peeling bark of a dead tree, its crown blasted by long-ago lightning. The wood underneath was silvering with age, but solid. If he could get a large enough section ...


@Uriel1339 @kanila @MetalDog4 @DaKaptin @BadDo9 @Avenging-Angel @matt23 @Wata @ItsTime
I will be moving you on once we have a consensus IC (and quite possibly a vithira in progress )