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Date Posted: 12:18:27 12/05/01 Wed
Author: Isobel
Subject: Of bad smells and bad memories
In reply to: Marz and co. 's message, "Sitting around the campfire, betting on Isobel" on 10:11:15 12/05/01 Wed

Isobel sheathed her father's sword and nodded to Erlic as she turned to head over to the campfire, where Marz was waving at them. As she arrived yet another stench assaulted her nostrils and it was all she could do not to gag. She looked in disgust at Justin. "There is a small thing called a bath. You should acquaint yourself with it."

She made a great show of putting those scented herbs up to her nose as she looked around for the java. Ah! The pot was on the fire and she poured herself a cup, the rich brown liquid filling her tin cup. She lifted it to her face and inhaled deeply, the steam wafting around her eyes. The aroma of fresh java was one of her favorite smells. She sipped the liquid despite the heat and looked around at the others.

Most did not seem to be injured too badly now, thanks to Valhorek's ministrations. He was a good field medic, she thought approvingly. As she looked at the others she had to admit to herself that they had fought well and none appeared to have any problems with courage. They do not make the worst compadres, she thought to herself.

She spotted that strange floating skull cuddling in Tia's lap and made a face. Who would wish to pet such a hideous creature? The thing was amusing, but it looked like it thought Tia was about to perform some form of sex on it. Isobel couldn't imagine what kind of sex a disembodied skull could have, but that did not seem to stop the thing from acting as if it was constantly in heat.

Isobel rubbed her shoulder absently. It already itched. And... merde! Her shirt was of course torn and she did not have another. She chose a large rock and sat down near the fire, setting her cup on the sand near her feet. She dug into her small travel pack and took out needle and thread. She pulled the material of her shirt outward to look at the slice. It was ragged and covered in blood. She sighed. There was little purpose to stitching up something that would best serve as a rag, and she shoved the sewing kit back in her pack.

Picking up her java, she sipped it as she sat staring at the crackling flames. She could not help but think about the lost caravan. Who had attacked them and why? She knew it was sand worms, but they were obviously ensorcelled by some mago. Suddenly she considered that perhaps this mago would not like to know that someone had gotten away... she looked around as if making sure that the group wasn't being stalked. No... that was foolish. The mago had been after the contents of the main wagon, she was certain. She had never known what was in it. She rarely knew what was being transported by the caravans she guarded - mercenaries did not need to know such things. They merely needed to know how to protect them. Again she squirmed slightly. She did not like losing, and while she had escaped with her life, she had most certainly lost her charges. Ay, she would never live this down.

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