[closed]

[slipshot]

WHO: Gavin, Zevran and Bruce
WHAT: Zevran, Bruce and Gavin take a supply run back to the mire.
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: On the road to the Fallow Mire
NOTES: Ridiculousness? probably ridiculousness.

Supply runs were never the most fun. The baggage train inevitably meant that the pace was not even a third of what Gavin would keep on his own, even though they were mounted, and they had to spend a good deal of their time making sure the animals carrying the supplies didn't somehow wander off. Usually it bored Gavin to absolute tears until he just sort of started making up reasons to go scouting ahead.

This time, though, there were only the three of them - so he really couldn't afford to take his eye off the bags - and the other two happened to be friends, so it wasn't nearly as bad a journey as it could have been otherwise. That didn't stop Gavin from being as restless as all hell, from being unable to sit in his saddle or to keep him from singing (badly) to himself to just past the time, but it helped.

It would take two days, to march down there, leaving just after dawn on the first day, camping just after nightfall, and leaving at dawn again. That would see them getting in to the camp in the Fallow Mire just a few hours after dusk.

When they camped for the night, Gavin was all too happily to be doing anything other than riding a damned horse, so set up the tent all too happily and then dragged a bunch of dry wood back for the fire.

"We should probably take some of this wood with us - there's so little dry stuff in the Mire."

Comments

[amygdalae]

Bruce doesn't say anything - not that he could say anything, he supposed - and so simply lets Zevran have his way out of the area. He waits until the elf is wholly gone and he's assured that there's nobody else around then does Bruce actually start to divest himself of his clothing layer by layer.

He can feel his skin prickling with each layer that he gets out off, and at the last one he can feel the old ache coming in. He pointedly ignores it and takes off his undershirt, revealing a lean and somewhat built upper figure that could have once been admired by others. Once, because across his skin were a collection of old scars and scab marks that are decorated both front and back, with particular attention to the latter half.

There were marks that traced down the entire length of his back, jagged scars that looked like they came from weapons of some sort and a great deal more variety that never seemed to end. The most prominent scar, however, was one on his front - an old one that ran from right below his chest to before his hip, cutting down his entire stomach and leaving huge mark there.

Bruce stares down at that particular scar and runs a hand down through it, only giving himself a moment to sigh before he starts to wade through the river with the needed items in hand to start giving himself a much needed wash.