Ennrion, Tareq


Tareq is back and Ennrion drifts by to voice his displeasure… and a firm warning



It is sunset of the sixteenth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Tomb Reliquary, Kurkar Hold

OOC Date 13 Jan 2018 05:00



Tomb Reliquary

What is death but a beginning? Intermittently for centuries, this cave system was a final resting location for nomads and Lords alike. Thick brown rock, rough to the touch, and sometimes capped with the light of glows, expands in narrow corridors. The dirt underfoot is coarse and actions tend to echo. Dry here, the dead desiccate and have layered over the Turns, though theyre not in any real abundance. Creative in their macabre entertainment, youths will sometimes manipulate skeletons in various positions, 'Karl' being a titular favorite.

Time seems to flow just a bit differently when you can't see the sun, but the Underground still has it's own daily routines that can serve as a clock of sorts, even with the disruptions that have come with all the rush of crafters and Weyrfolk that have been poking about lately. Somewhere, smells of dinner the womenfolk have spent all afternoon preparing waft to greet the hungry families. Meal time commences with gossip being traded about just who all else has shown up today and other more common worries. But not everybody has family with a dinner waiting for them or even wants to be around people. There have been far too many people around for Tareq's liking lately. Might be why the man has sought a bit of a reprieve in this corner usually reserved for the Hold's dead. It's at least one corner that isn't of interest to outsiders and so the man is lounging not too far from Karl's current position. On first glance, it might even look like there are two men in that corner having a conversation, but alas. It's just one and a skeleton and Tareq is ignoring the skeleton to focus on the bit of whittling in front of him. Anything to pass the time, right?

Oh, how the times have changed! That the smell of dinner is one of them would very well be a shock to most; there was a time the Hold had very little in the way of supplies. Not all change is bad! All those visitors though? Now they could all up and leave, as far as Ennrion was concerned. While he hasn’t taken to being openly vocal, enough know him down in these depths to know that he’s less than pleased. Now that the day is ending, it should be of no surprise that he is venturing where few go. With the Crafters and others venturing to their proper homes or temporary camps elsewhere, he has no reason to lurk and brood over their intrusion. “Well, well…” he drawls in smoky tones, low and gruff as ever when he spies Tareq whittling away. “Look who came crawling back.” No doubt word trickled down about the other man’s stint in the brig; another piss off for Ennrion to needle at. His lack of love towards the Weyr is no secret.

Tareq is not exactly thrilled to have his peace and quiet disturbed by the arrival of another. He was quite preferring the company of the dead, but he does relax just a hair when it becomes clear the newcomer isn't one of the newcomers. The knife will continue to be used for its intended purpose, slowly taking away a bit of wood there and some more there. The project is too newly started to be clear what the end result will be. It's a moment before Tareq deigns to respond to Ennrion, focusing more on the work in front of him than any barbs that are thrown his way. But respond eventually he does, on his own time. "Crawling's all that's expected of us, right?" Just cause he was at the Weyr, doesn't mean he was happy about it. But marks gotta be made someway.

So far, many of the newcomers haven’t had the stomach to venture to this place. When the Underground was first uncovered, it was a bit of a marvel. Beyond that? Not much. So is it any wonder that it’s now a preferred meeting spot for the less than savory chat? Ennrion scoffs, barely more than a grunt as he settles to lean against one wall across from Tareq, but at an angle that he can still keep a wary eye on the tunnel ahead and behind. “That’s why I’m confused as fuck as to why you — and some of the others,” he points out grimly. “Would care to go. It never ends well!” Meaning he knows damn well it was for marks and still he disapproves. Other ways to gain them, for men such as they are. “Just going to bring more of ‘em down on us.”

"Someone is going to profit off of it all. Ya rather it be the dragonriders?" Tareq gives a rather derisive snort as he mentions the weyrfolk. Thread is much less of a concern for those living Underground with no fields of crops to protect and so what use exactly does Tareq have for them? The knife is set aside for the moment as he crosses his arms to stare at his fellow. "It don't do sharding all but glow." He'll be the last one to believe in a 'miracle' cure for anything. Least of all a miracle that lands in his lap.

They may have little crops to call their own, but their food has to come from somewhere! Which is why, dislike and hatred aside, Ennrion grudgingly accepts what the dragon riders do. Doesn’t mean he has to agree with the Weyr or like them. Tareq will earn himself a cold glare from the man. “You know as well as any other worth their salt down here that is the last thing I want,” he growls under his breath. “And if we could have it my way, without Asemra and her lackeys interfering, I’d have those invaders chased out of here.” As for the glow itself? He makes a dismissive sound through the click of his tongue behind his teeth. “Sharding waste of time. Stuff was only an old wive’s tale even when Baham was leading us. Y’think they’d listen, eh? But no. All this over some stupid lost girl.” Who would’ve died had the Underground remained as it was a scant few Turns ago.

Are you trying to tell Tareq that man can't live on cave fish and mushrooms alone? The horror! But yeah, he'll begrudgingly accept the Weyr existing while complaining about it the WHOLE TIME. Tareq just shrugs off the other man's glare. "There was an opportunity. I took it. You weren't complaining when I came back with that meat goat, yeah?" Eyebrow raises towards Ennrion. There was plenty of curry made and shared amongst those that had been living in Kurkar for turns the day after his return from the brig. Apparently his endeavor wasn't a complete disaster even with the scuffle with the guards. He also has a snort for Asemra's more political approach to the interest the blue glow has received. "If we can't chase them out, maybe we can encourage them out…" Although how exactly he intends to do that well, the idea is just starting to form now. As for the glow comments, Tareq'll nod along. "Bound to figure it out in a sevens or months eventually, but wish that meant we weren't stuck with them until then."

ONE meat goat,” Ennrion points out gruffly. Sure, he wasn’t complaining then but he’s going to now! “Which now we have none. And we’ve probably burned yet another possible trade agreement once gossip spreads. It breeds as fast as the damn Weyr does, I swear…” Despite his lack of love towards Igen, the Bazaar has some use to it and he’s trying to covertly win some favour there, when he isn’t sending his more trusted men into that business. Tareq among them, though from the way he’s eyeing the older man, he may be having second thoughts on allowing him roam so far and freely. “Any level of messing with them will be bound to lead to investigations,” he mutters while scratching a thumb along his bearded jawline. “Even tainting supplies in the mildest form is too risky.” Yes, he just suggested poison. “And if Asemra and a few others of her ilk and mindset get their way, this whole sharding place will become a “proper hold”.” He sneers the last few words, heavy sarcasm as bitter as anything.

"It woulda been more meat goats if I had someone looking out for those fucking guards," Tareq's staring back at Ennrion. It definitely wasn't easy to try and find someone willing to go along with any possible plan of selling stuff in the bazaar when most folks knew how against it the other man was. He's still not willing to call his last project a complete disaster considering he came out with at least one goat, even with the stupid fine he had to pay after his night in the brig. But he will nod that the tainting of supplies probably isn't a good idea. "So no tampering, got it. But we can't let Asemra get her way. It's bad enough we lost Baham. But now having to deal with her trying to 'civilize' everything?" He snorts at the thought. Although the Underground is indeed much more civilized than it was a few turns ago, not that everyone is happy about that.

Ennrion knows full well what game is afoot here and though his gaze fixes on Tareq and his eyes grow hard and cold, there’s a certain note of dark humour there. Could be that he has some shred of respect for the man or he happens to have SOME use that keeps him from… removing him, as it were. “And maybe if someone listened to my warnings about the fucking Bazaar, he wouldn’t need the extra men!” he counters gruffly and stiffly nods to the later observations. “So as much as a piss off as it is, we ‘play nice’ for now. Feel things out, wait to see if Asemra or any of her followers make a move first.” It’s not how he enjoys to approach this scenario but with how delicate things are at the time being? Far too simple to screw up!

Tareq just shrugs at Ennrion's counter and mutters, "Still got a sharding goat…" Except for they ate the goat, so he doesn't really 'still have it' now. But the getting it and using it was more the principal of the matter. Goats > Strange blue glowing stuff. Known fact. Imagine the horror on the man's face if he knew that the some of the healers and herders were conspiring to smear some of that blue glowing stuff on some perfectly nice goats. "Play nice." Tareq bristles, but nods. Apparently willing to tolerate the order for now. "So we wait… you know if this goes on too long, our folks are going to start trickling out. Looking for greener pastures. Every day that goes by, we're getting more outnumbered."

Oh, that’s bound to trickle down eventually and Tareq won’t be the only one muttering about the stupidity and waste of perfectly good meat (because seriously, does anyone want to risk actually eating the stuff?). Ennrion’s face draws into a grimace, as displeased as the other man when he bristles. “I don’t like it either but we can’t go charging in. Not when the Weyr’s meddling as much as they are. Already dealt with ‘em once.” Not something he wants to go through again! They were ruthless enough to throw that dust down into the tunnels, after all. Choke them all out of hiding. Granted, they hadn’t known of the innocent folk… “Don’t remind me of shit I don’t already know, Tareq!” he growls, pushing to stand.

At least it will probably be some lowly apprentice herder that will be the guinea pig to try to see if glow treated goat is still consumable. Tareq still won't trust it. But he'll nod in agreement with Ennrion. Having coughed up the lyme once before, it's not an experience he's willing to repeat again if he has any choice in the matter. As the other man stands, Tareq picks back up his whittling. He's not going to be go anywhere anytime soon. "I won't keep reminding you of the shit you already know if it ever seems like you're actually going to do something."

“Careful.” Ennrion’s temper is rising even if it doesn’t outwardly show; it’s all in the voice, in the steel that is suddenly there and the cold, dangerous warning behind such a simple word. He didn’t get to where he is here, by being ‘nice’. The Maw has probably seen more than enough of his ‘disagreements’. “Something will be done. And if you’re wanting to be around to see it,” And not very much dead or worse. “You do as I say. A few more days, wait and see if Asemra pushes ahead with her agenda and then we’ll work out how to strike.” Even if by force. He’s not wholly against it, but there needs to be solid ground to begin that.

Tareq holds up his hands as if to show he means no harm. It'd probably be a more effective gesture if he didn't have the whittling knife in one hand, but it's still very much a whoa, whoa, whoa type. "Well, I'll be here. When needed." No more unauthorized trips to the bazaar planned in the near future. One night in the brig a month is enough for him. "Few more days. Until then, I'll just be here with ol' Karl."

Ennrion pins Tareq under a heavy glare, not quite believing he won’t be up to something at some point. Eventually he relents and with a low scoff, nods. “Fine. If anything happens,” Worth coming to harass him, that is. “Come find me.” As for Karl? There’s glance to that favoured skeleton and a twisted smirk. “Just make sure those damn kids don’t go twisting him obscene like again.” As much as Ennrion enjoyed the shocked reaction of some of the braver vistors, even HE has some respect for the dead. He’ll keep that as his farewell too, choosing to slip back into the shadows after that last comment.

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