Around the area of Bronze Lake, a light sprinkle of rain began to fall, heralded with a rumbling peal of thunder that called for perhaps further rain. Stout held out a gnarled hand, palm up, from the safety of an overhang of rock and wood, and smiled grimly. He may not be able to deal with this threat of marauding musicians until his turn at watch was ended, but perhaps the Twelve themselves were moving to intervene against this debacle.
Of course, the Roegadyn would still head on that way to esnure a complete subjugation of these roguish misfits. And, apparently, whatever malcontents they had attracted as well. Any coming through to Camp Bronze Lake bearing one of those Twelve-forsaken slips of paper would get the stoniest of glares from him. He'd let them pass, of course, he had gotten a stern talking to before about waylaying potential spa-goers for such paltry reasons as their musical preferences. So, dismissals and tirades had been subdued into withering looks and silent judging.
Surely the nobler of hearts would be corrected from their erroneous ways by a curt glaring at, Stout thought with a curt nod, his steely gaze falling upon the latest arrivals. "Ho, travelers, and welcome to Camp Bronze Lake."
Further away, the light rain was having other effects. The most notable was the rousing of the local salamander population, the beasties venturing out further from their murky pools thanks to the added protection of rainwater on their slick skin. In fact, one particularly hefty one had decided to settle itself across the path leading to the ruins of the Palace proper and seemed fit to not budge. Should he not be dealt with, any of those seeking the concert itself would have to detour through the very marshes the salamanders had emerged from.
A few such concert-goers were caught in such an impasse, looking on at the dozing hunk of flab from the safety of some ruin overhangs. They seemed content enough to try and wait the giant hunk of flab out, rather than get swamp muck and Twelve-knows what else seeping into their boots. Not to mention they did not seem to keen on touching the slimy thing either.
Of course, the Roegadyn would still head on that way to esnure a complete subjugation of these roguish misfits. And, apparently, whatever malcontents they had attracted as well. Any coming through to Camp Bronze Lake bearing one of those Twelve-forsaken slips of paper would get the stoniest of glares from him. He'd let them pass, of course, he had gotten a stern talking to before about waylaying potential spa-goers for such paltry reasons as their musical preferences. So, dismissals and tirades had been subdued into withering looks and silent judging.
Surely the nobler of hearts would be corrected from their erroneous ways by a curt glaring at, Stout thought with a curt nod, his steely gaze falling upon the latest arrivals. "Ho, travelers, and welcome to Camp Bronze Lake."
Further away, the light rain was having other effects. The most notable was the rousing of the local salamander population, the beasties venturing out further from their murky pools thanks to the added protection of rainwater on their slick skin. In fact, one particularly hefty one had decided to settle itself across the path leading to the ruins of the Palace proper and seemed fit to not budge. Should he not be dealt with, any of those seeking the concert itself would have to detour through the very marshes the salamanders had emerged from.
A few such concert-goers were caught in such an impasse, looking on at the dozing hunk of flab from the safety of some ruin overhangs. They seemed content enough to try and wait the giant hunk of flab out, rather than get swamp muck and Twelve-knows what else seeping into their boots. Not to mention they did not seem to keen on touching the slimy thing either.
~