Elendor
Trespassers
A rag-tag band of travellers is discovered in the Faol lands
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Old South Road - Dunland
Game Date: 29 of July in the year 3046
IC Time: Dawn
Weather: Rain
Description:
Old South Road - Dunland <>
Grasses wave in ceaseless motion, whispering and rustling, and between them the broad ribbon of beaten earth that is the road stretches away into the darkness. A sudden disturbance in the grasses nearby hints at the passage of some nocturnal animal, and away to the east you hear the harsh cry of some winged hunter, a reminder that the jagged spires of the Misty Mountains lie in that direction.
Contents:
Hawk Camp
Obvious exits:
�SouthEast leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
�North leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
===============================================================================
��������������������� Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is:������ Thu Apr 02 00:00:52 2009
IC weather is:����� Wind: breeze - Clouds: moderate - Rain: drizzle
IC Moon is:�������� Not visible
IC time is:�������� Dawn
IC date is:�������� Sunday, Day 29 of July in the year 3046.
===============================================================================
Summer it may be, but from the weather one would hardly know it. A steady drizzle falls from the paling sky, turning dusty earth and bowing grasses to a slippery, squelching sea. Not the best weather for concealing tracks, however much one might wish it.
Soft sounds carry on the grey dawn air as the world wakes to another wet morn. Somewhere to the west a cock crows. Over to the east, a hunting owl hoots its lonely farewell as it seeks its roost among the mountain peaks. And now, from the north, comes another sound - that of a horse. Or perhaps even two horses.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac, as has been his want of late, sits in the entryway of his shelter pouring over the scrolls discovered in the south. His brow furrowed in pained concentration, a single finger moves beneath the lines of faded, spidery writing as his lips move silently. So intent upon his attempts to find something of value contained within, he does not hear the owl, the cock, or the sound of horses.
[Saffron(#15443)]
"Horses approach!"
Saffron, who had been outside splitting wood with her axe, looks up from her work to call towards the camp, stirring some into action.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos plods wearily along, wiping the water from his eyes. He carries a wet, cloth sack over his shoulders. The sack bounces and sways with every step, showing evidence that the woodcutter's burden is fairly light indeed.
He wanders into camp, seeking an already lit cooking fire. After a few moments searching in the jaded light of dawn he spies the bright orange glow, indicating that at least someone else is up and about. Rathos gratefully wanders over.
�"Horses approach!"
Rathos looks up at the call, then to the fire a few feet away. The shelter is angled in a way that he can't see who tends the fire. "Damn it all." The woodsman mutters to himself before heading in the direction of Saffron's call.
Now sound is joined by sight. Two riders come into view, silhouetted against the skyline. The are seemingly in no hurry, for their pace is leisurely. Hunters, maybe, for the broader figure carries a spear, while the slighter has a bow across its saddle, and a quiver of arrows slung at its knee.
They pause, scanning their surroundings, and the broader rider gestures with his spear. Fragments of conversation drift back as that slighter figure speaks, sharply. "Send the men to check it out, then. In Bledrann's absence such things fall under your jurisdiction." Their focus would appear to be slightly east of the place where Carac's camp lies hid.
The thread of smoke from the cookfire is smothered beneath the drizzle's grey cloak, but as the camp stirs into action some small sound must rise, for suddenly that pointing spear swings southward, and the rider's free hand rises in warning.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac's eyes rise from the scroll at Saffron's cry and the srolls are placed deep within the shelter before he emerges, with longbow in hand. He scans the horizon and the approaching riders as he moves towards Saffron and Rathos.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos turns his head at Carac's approach. "Riders apparently. Though I'm none to sure of their numbers." He drops his sack to the ground with a wet, dull thud. Almost as swiftly he pulls a small axe from his belt and couches down. The woodsman quickly scans his horizion for decent cover, slightly alarmed to find little.
A low rumble of speech comes from the broader spear-carrier, which brings on another sharp burst of speech from the slighter figure. "Scouting .. .. Gap, I ..lieve." Again this one's words carry further. The broader figure's next suggestion is answered by a shake of the head. "Not yet. We need to be sure." The sharp speech is replaced by silence as the slight rider sets an arrow to the string and nudges the horse forward, though the beast seems reluctant. The broad one, fingering the horn slung at his shoulder, gives some sharp exclaimation and follows.
[Carac(#32384)] While Ratho pulls free his ax, Carac pulls three of the yard long arrows from his quiver and plants them head first into the soft ground before him. Like the approaching rider a fourth is knocked to the string of his longbow, but he does not draw, instead he picks one of the approaching figures and follows them with the tip of the knocked arrow.
"Make sure the scrolls get to Harthunn, no matter what befalls us here," he says to Ratho.
[Rathos(#19023)]
A grim expression upon his face, Rathos nods, drawing the blade of his axe slowly across his forearm. "I swear it," the words almost a whisper as blood slowly seeps from the thin cut. He quickly scuries away from Carac, staying low and moving in a parralell between his leader and the horsemen. After he gets a dozen yards or so distance away from Carac, Rathos stands to his full height and slowly walks in the direction of the horsemen, looking around carefully to avoid being trampled in a charge.
As the Hawk camp comes into view, the slight rider checks, with an exclamation. The arrow remains nocked, though the bow is still held at hip level. As Ratho emerges into view it shifts so that its tip is aimed toward him. "Trespassers on Faol lands, state your name and purpose." The words are slightly muffled by the helm - for hunter or no, this one wears helm and ring-corselet. The cheeks and chin visible beneath the helm are beardless, surely this one can be no older than a youth?
The broader companion, the spear-carrier, moves up to murmur something in the slight one's rider's ear, wet leather creaking with every move. His own face is gnarled and grim, and his spear-tip rises as he scans the camp for signs of other figures. Where there is one there may be many ...
[Carac(#32384)] "I see you Wulf!" Carac calls from where he stands, with longbow held ready. "We are not here to make trouble," he continues. "We've come from the village near Crebain, guiding a kinswoman north towards the refugee hold of Harthunn." He still does not draw back the arrow, but keeps its tip trained on the rider.
"As you can see we are but few and carry nothing of value, but if pressed to fight you might find our bite more than you wish to suffer."
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos comes to a halt. He estimates his years to be maybe tripple that of the man challanging him. Although the rider's equipment seems to make up for any short coming in experiance. With a shrug Rathos lowers his axe to his side, "My purpose is survival, young one. What is yours?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
As if to prove their point, Saffron emerges, with a shawl thrown over her body to make her seem, well, more feminine. "He speaks the truth." She says, softly.
The broad rider turns his horse, and the spear-tip, tucked beneath his arm, slides to point toward Carac. "Loose e'en a single arrow 'gainst the Faol and you'll be dead troublemakers," he growls. "Ye don't have the look o' the Crebain." His other hand, the free one, lifts the horn to his lips, and he sends the young one a questioning glance.
The younger, slighter rider, gives a barely perceptible shake of the head. "My purpose is order," comes the response to Ratho. "The way is blocked - you will go no further on these lands. Unless, that is," the rider's head swings toward Carac, though the cold gaze remains fixed on the approaching Ratho, "you should find you have something of value after all." The approaching Saffron is clearly noted, for the rider's head dips a little, but no words are spoken to the woman.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos emits a hearty laugh, "value? Ye'd be lucky." The Hawk shakes his head and begins a slow, meandering walk towards the riders. He makes an effort to keep the point of the axe low and facing the ground. "If we can truly go no further than perhaps you can offer a better path?"
[Carac(#32384)] "What I have of value is your lives," Carac replies.
"Quiet!" he then barks turning towards Ratho.
"Blow that horn if you wish," he says turning back to the riders. "But before your help arrives the land will drink your blood. There's no horse that can outrun a Hawk longbow." Now he does draw the string of his long bow.
"It is your choice, Wulf. War with the Hawk, and do not think they are too far away to harm you, or simply allow us to pass. You may even accompany us to the border of your land if you wish, to see that we make no trouble, but you will get nothing of value from us save your life."
[Saffron(#15443)]
"All we want is passage." Saffron says quietly. "We have suffered enough losses from our hated enemy just days before. Can we not pass without bloodshed?"
The young rider's head lifts again at Ratho's words. "Perhaps. Honest travellers keep to the road, and do not take to the fields. My br-" the words check, "the Fian would be glad for the heads of those who have been stirring up trouble with the Forgoil this past season." The speaker's light tones, already sharp, raise in apparent anger.
Then it is that Carac speaks. "Nor no bowman that can outlast this spear," growls the broader horseman.
The young, slight rider gives a shake of helmed head. "The Faol wish war only with the Forgoil," comes the slightly muffled response. "They do not, however, take kindly to threats." The sharpness is now little short of a whip-lash. A pause, during which the rider seems to be considering - perhaps Saffron's softer words are what merit this - then speech comes again. "For now, you will remain here. You are watched, do not try to leave. Later, a representative of the Faol will speak with you. What happens then .. is on your heads." And then the young, slight rider wheels about a dapple-grey steed and departs, leaving the older, broader one to follow after, grumbling as he goes (and with many a wary glance back at the Hawk camp it seems he, at least, fears an arrow in the back).
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos turns to face Carac, merly shrugging his aquisence. He spins around to face the horsemen, using the momentum to carry himself a little further to the younger rider. The few steps seeming to take an eternity.
[Rathos(#19023)]
With the departing horsemen Rathos stops in his tracks, an embarassed smile upon his face, "Prolly never woulda worked anyway." He starts back towards Carac, "are we really gonna hang around and wait for those two meatbags in uniform to return with friends?" His tone indicating that either way, he'll comply.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac frowns and cusses beneaht his breath as the horseman gallops off. "More delays," growls as he begins to collect the arrows before him and return them to his quiver. "If it is not Bear it is Wulf," he continues, seemingly speaking to none but himself.
Finally he turns to face his companions. "We shall see," he replies to Ratho. "I do not intend to wait here long, but neither do I wish to have the Wulf chasing us all the way to Laeg. We'll give them a day or two, and then decide."
Lastly he turns to Saffron. "If we must fight I want you to talk the scrolls and flee north. The key to defeating the forgoil may be in those scrolls, and that is of more value than all our lives."
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos nods, "aye, sir." He returns the axe to his belt in one carefull, fluid motion and backtracks to his damp, cloth sack. A hopefull gleam in his eye as he stares in the direction of the camp.
Old South Road - Dunland <>
Grasses wave in ceaseless motion, whispering and rustling, and between them the broad ribbon of beaten earth that is the road stretches away into the darkness. A sudden disturbance in the grasses nearby hints at the passage of some nocturnal animal, and away to the east you hear the harsh cry of some winged hunter, a reminder that the jagged spires of the Misty Mountains lie in that direction.
Contents:
Hawk Camp
Obvious exits:
�SouthEast leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
�North leads to Old South Road - Dunland <>.
===============================================================================
��������������������� Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================
Real Time is:������ Thu Apr 02 00:00:52 2009
IC weather is:����� Wind: breeze - Clouds: moderate - Rain: drizzle
IC Moon is:�������� Not visible
IC time is:�������� Dawn
IC date is:�������� Sunday, Day 29 of July in the year 3046.
===============================================================================
Summer it may be, but from the weather one would hardly know it. A steady drizzle falls from the paling sky, turning dusty earth and bowing grasses to a slippery, squelching sea. Not the best weather for concealing tracks, however much one might wish it.
Soft sounds carry on the grey dawn air as the world wakes to another wet morn. Somewhere to the west a cock crows. Over to the east, a hunting owl hoots its lonely farewell as it seeks its roost among the mountain peaks. And now, from the north, comes another sound - that of a horse. Or perhaps even two horses.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac, as has been his want of late, sits in the entryway of his shelter pouring over the scrolls discovered in the south. His brow furrowed in pained concentration, a single finger moves beneath the lines of faded, spidery writing as his lips move silently. So intent upon his attempts to find something of value contained within, he does not hear the owl, the cock, or the sound of horses.
[Saffron(#15443)]
"Horses approach!"
Saffron, who had been outside splitting wood with her axe, looks up from her work to call towards the camp, stirring some into action.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos plods wearily along, wiping the water from his eyes. He carries a wet, cloth sack over his shoulders. The sack bounces and sways with every step, showing evidence that the woodcutter's burden is fairly light indeed.
He wanders into camp, seeking an already lit cooking fire. After a few moments searching in the jaded light of dawn he spies the bright orange glow, indicating that at least someone else is up and about. Rathos gratefully wanders over.
�"Horses approach!"
Rathos looks up at the call, then to the fire a few feet away. The shelter is angled in a way that he can't see who tends the fire. "Damn it all." The woodsman mutters to himself before heading in the direction of Saffron's call.
Now sound is joined by sight. Two riders come into view, silhouetted against the skyline. The are seemingly in no hurry, for their pace is leisurely. Hunters, maybe, for the broader figure carries a spear, while the slighter has a bow across its saddle, and a quiver of arrows slung at its knee.
They pause, scanning their surroundings, and the broader rider gestures with his spear. Fragments of conversation drift back as that slighter figure speaks, sharply. "Send the men to check it out, then. In Bledrann's absence such things fall under your jurisdiction." Their focus would appear to be slightly east of the place where Carac's camp lies hid.
The thread of smoke from the cookfire is smothered beneath the drizzle's grey cloak, but as the camp stirs into action some small sound must rise, for suddenly that pointing spear swings southward, and the rider's free hand rises in warning.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac's eyes rise from the scroll at Saffron's cry and the srolls are placed deep within the shelter before he emerges, with longbow in hand. He scans the horizon and the approaching riders as he moves towards Saffron and Rathos.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos turns his head at Carac's approach. "Riders apparently. Though I'm none to sure of their numbers." He drops his sack to the ground with a wet, dull thud. Almost as swiftly he pulls a small axe from his belt and couches down. The woodsman quickly scans his horizion for decent cover, slightly alarmed to find little.
A low rumble of speech comes from the broader spear-carrier, which brings on another sharp burst of speech from the slighter figure. "Scouting .. .. Gap, I ..lieve." Again this one's words carry further. The broader figure's next suggestion is answered by a shake of the head. "Not yet. We need to be sure." The sharp speech is replaced by silence as the slight rider sets an arrow to the string and nudges the horse forward, though the beast seems reluctant. The broad one, fingering the horn slung at his shoulder, gives some sharp exclaimation and follows.
[Carac(#32384)] While Ratho pulls free his ax, Carac pulls three of the yard long arrows from his quiver and plants them head first into the soft ground before him. Like the approaching rider a fourth is knocked to the string of his longbow, but he does not draw, instead he picks one of the approaching figures and follows them with the tip of the knocked arrow.
"Make sure the scrolls get to Harthunn, no matter what befalls us here," he says to Ratho.
[Rathos(#19023)]
A grim expression upon his face, Rathos nods, drawing the blade of his axe slowly across his forearm. "I swear it," the words almost a whisper as blood slowly seeps from the thin cut. He quickly scuries away from Carac, staying low and moving in a parralell between his leader and the horsemen. After he gets a dozen yards or so distance away from Carac, Rathos stands to his full height and slowly walks in the direction of the horsemen, looking around carefully to avoid being trampled in a charge.
As the Hawk camp comes into view, the slight rider checks, with an exclamation. The arrow remains nocked, though the bow is still held at hip level. As Ratho emerges into view it shifts so that its tip is aimed toward him. "Trespassers on Faol lands, state your name and purpose." The words are slightly muffled by the helm - for hunter or no, this one wears helm and ring-corselet. The cheeks and chin visible beneath the helm are beardless, surely this one can be no older than a youth?
The broader companion, the spear-carrier, moves up to murmur something in the slight one's rider's ear, wet leather creaking with every move. His own face is gnarled and grim, and his spear-tip rises as he scans the camp for signs of other figures. Where there is one there may be many ...
[Carac(#32384)] "I see you Wulf!" Carac calls from where he stands, with longbow held ready. "We are not here to make trouble," he continues. "We've come from the village near Crebain, guiding a kinswoman north towards the refugee hold of Harthunn." He still does not draw back the arrow, but keeps its tip trained on the rider.
"As you can see we are but few and carry nothing of value, but if pressed to fight you might find our bite more than you wish to suffer."
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos comes to a halt. He estimates his years to be maybe tripple that of the man challanging him. Although the rider's equipment seems to make up for any short coming in experiance. With a shrug Rathos lowers his axe to his side, "My purpose is survival, young one. What is yours?"
[Saffron(#15443)]
As if to prove their point, Saffron emerges, with a shawl thrown over her body to make her seem, well, more feminine. "He speaks the truth." She says, softly.
The broad rider turns his horse, and the spear-tip, tucked beneath his arm, slides to point toward Carac. "Loose e'en a single arrow 'gainst the Faol and you'll be dead troublemakers," he growls. "Ye don't have the look o' the Crebain." His other hand, the free one, lifts the horn to his lips, and he sends the young one a questioning glance.
The younger, slighter rider, gives a barely perceptible shake of the head. "My purpose is order," comes the response to Ratho. "The way is blocked - you will go no further on these lands. Unless, that is," the rider's head swings toward Carac, though the cold gaze remains fixed on the approaching Ratho, "you should find you have something of value after all." The approaching Saffron is clearly noted, for the rider's head dips a little, but no words are spoken to the woman.
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos emits a hearty laugh, "value? Ye'd be lucky." The Hawk shakes his head and begins a slow, meandering walk towards the riders. He makes an effort to keep the point of the axe low and facing the ground. "If we can truly go no further than perhaps you can offer a better path?"
[Carac(#32384)] "What I have of value is your lives," Carac replies.
"Quiet!" he then barks turning towards Ratho.
"Blow that horn if you wish," he says turning back to the riders. "But before your help arrives the land will drink your blood. There's no horse that can outrun a Hawk longbow." Now he does draw the string of his long bow.
"It is your choice, Wulf. War with the Hawk, and do not think they are too far away to harm you, or simply allow us to pass. You may even accompany us to the border of your land if you wish, to see that we make no trouble, but you will get nothing of value from us save your life."
[Saffron(#15443)]
"All we want is passage." Saffron says quietly. "We have suffered enough losses from our hated enemy just days before. Can we not pass without bloodshed?"
The young rider's head lifts again at Ratho's words. "Perhaps. Honest travellers keep to the road, and do not take to the fields. My br-" the words check, "the Fian would be glad for the heads of those who have been stirring up trouble with the Forgoil this past season." The speaker's light tones, already sharp, raise in apparent anger.
Then it is that Carac speaks. "Nor no bowman that can outlast this spear," growls the broader horseman.
The young, slight rider gives a shake of helmed head. "The Faol wish war only with the Forgoil," comes the slightly muffled response. "They do not, however, take kindly to threats." The sharpness is now little short of a whip-lash. A pause, during which the rider seems to be considering - perhaps Saffron's softer words are what merit this - then speech comes again. "For now, you will remain here. You are watched, do not try to leave. Later, a representative of the Faol will speak with you. What happens then .. is on your heads." And then the young, slight rider wheels about a dapple-grey steed and departs, leaving the older, broader one to follow after, grumbling as he goes (and with many a wary glance back at the Hawk camp it seems he, at least, fears an arrow in the back).
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos turns to face Carac, merly shrugging his aquisence. He spins around to face the horsemen, using the momentum to carry himself a little further to the younger rider. The few steps seeming to take an eternity.
[Rathos(#19023)]
With the departing horsemen Rathos stops in his tracks, an embarassed smile upon his face, "Prolly never woulda worked anyway." He starts back towards Carac, "are we really gonna hang around and wait for those two meatbags in uniform to return with friends?" His tone indicating that either way, he'll comply.
[Carac(#32384)] Carac frowns and cusses beneaht his breath as the horseman gallops off. "More delays," growls as he begins to collect the arrows before him and return them to his quiver. "If it is not Bear it is Wulf," he continues, seemingly speaking to none but himself.
Finally he turns to face his companions. "We shall see," he replies to Ratho. "I do not intend to wait here long, but neither do I wish to have the Wulf chasing us all the way to Laeg. We'll give them a day or two, and then decide."
Lastly he turns to Saffron. "If we must fight I want you to talk the scrolls and flee north. The key to defeating the forgoil may be in those scrolls, and that is of more value than all our lives."
[Rathos(#19023)]
Rathos nods, "aye, sir." He returns the axe to his belt in one carefull, fluid motion and backtracks to his damp, cloth sack. A hopefull gleam in his eye as he stares in the direction of the camp.
Players: Brev, Carac, Rathos, Saffron, Faol
Located in: Dunlending
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