Beorning -- A brief pause
Mountain Pass Ascent
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The footing on this wind-dried and cold slope continues to be treacherous. The mists that give these mountains their name are bitter and freezing in the thick fog of day.
The pass splits into three directions here, one climbing higher, one leading down the western slope, and one which cuts straight through a divide in the peaks before you. The upper path leads up through the clouds, almost to the fringe of the mountains snowy caps. Heading west will take you down into the mist enshrouded lower reaches of the pass, and southwest leads around a jumble of rocks and along the foothills adjacent to the mountains.
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Between the western and southwestern passes a steep mountain with sheer faces rises, split in the middle as if by a giant's ax. The rising slopes of the mountain overlook this deep bay between high cliffs, and close it off from view. Only a narrow trail penetrates the cliff face where the two halves of the mountain join, passing between two upraised crags through a crack only thirty feet wide.
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Stormy clouds darken the day, the gale whines and howls, restlessly gnawing at cliffs and boulders, whirling up a hail of small pebbles. The early morning spring air is biting and breezy.
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Obvious exits:
Narrow Trail leads to Sheltered Canyon.
West leads to Mountain Pass Ascent.
Southwest leads to Ascent to the Pass.
East leads to High Pass, Twisting Trail.
Middle-earth time is:
Early Morning on Trewsday, Day 11 of April.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
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Real time is: 13:53:37 MDT on Mon Jun 16 2008.
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Somehow, someway, this trip across the Misties has been uneventful. With Mobeorn leading the way, the wagons filled with goods from the Beornings and woodsmen have slowly and ever so carefully made their way west up and into the High Pass, braving ice, snow, and cold, even in the spring. Perhaps that is what has kept the orcs away from the caravan, though Mobeorn's presence certainly helped as well. The man has spent most of his time in bear form, in fact--rarely if ever shifting back, and only doing so for a few minutes at a time. Likely he is nervous, given that Grimbeorn has never asked him to escort the humans across again. And so, Mobeorn has driven the group hard--making them walk without rest up the steep trail, stopping only for a few hours at night. They are on the last of the slope downward now, and he has allowed a brief rest period, given that the day is darkened by a howling wind and the air is freezing. Even the ponies complain--and that the beijabar is not insensitive to. He shifts back to human form to adjust saddles and straps on the ponies.
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The ponies are not the only ones looking unhappy. Men huddle beneath their hoods, or drop to the rocky ground to try to find some nook out of the wind - alas, shelter is distinctly lacking in these parts. Halla, shoulders hunched, chews rhythmically on a piece of leathery journeycake. "Bah," she grumbles aloud to whoever happens to be within earshot. "Much longer here an' I'll be an icicle. Even the bread's frozen."
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"Not my fault," Mobeorn grumps. "You're the insane ones who wanted to cross the pass this early in spring. And the Laird"--meaning Grimbeorn, of course--"agreed to it. Why, I'll never know." It's the most words the shapeshifter has said all journey. He leans down to check the back hoof of one of the ponies. "We'll soon be done with the pass. Good thing--can't drive these ponies much harder."
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"What about driving us?" Halla protests, then shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Back in the village, with an ale or two to aid the persuasion ..." The hand holding the half-gnawed bit of journey bread drops to her side and she gives up on the attempt at chewing for now. Peering at the ponies, she enquires dubiously, "Are they all right?"
Mobeorn pats the pony on the rump and stands up. "A little worn, but they're hardy fellows. And used to this weather. They just want over this pass as fast as all the rest of us. And..." he stops, sniffing the air. "Goblins," he frowns. "Likely tailing us and goign to try to hit the stragglers at the end of the caravan."
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Halla jerks upright, the piece of journeybread falling from her hand. "Here? Now?" Her fingers curl round to feel for the haft of her axe, the discarded breakfast (or lunch, even) completely forgotten. She squints into the gale with watering eyes.
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"Not yet, not now," Mobeorn says, eyes looking back from where they just traveled. "By tonight, likely. Unless they're particularly brave in this weather. We'll rest a short while. The ponies need a break."
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"Oh." Halla's hand doesn't leave her axe. "Shouldn't we look for somewhere more .. uh, defensible? I don't fancy rocks dropping on my head. Or goblins, either," she adds as afterthought, still staring into the wind. "Only place for them's on the end of something sharp."
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Mobeorn scans the area, nodding slowly. "Don't want to get off the path here, though. Better to spend your time hurrying out of the mountains when there's this many wagons and folk slowing you down. Because while' you're looking for a defensible spot, the goblins will strike."
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Halla swallows and ducks her head. "Ach, let them come. We'll be ready for them," she boasts, the veneer of bravado barely covering the fear beneath. "Not that I'm objecting to the hurrying, mind," she adds hastily, bending to pick up her dropped bread.
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Grinning at that, Mobeorn next moves to make sure the ponies have been or are being brushed, watered and fed. He leaves the humans to fend for themselves. "You'll have plenty of orc to kill before the day is out. Or you can run the ponies to Imladris while I hold off the orcs."
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Halla raises one eyebrow. "And miss all the fun? Never," she replies stoutly, then leans toward the nearest pony, holding out a small piece that has broken off the journeybread. "Hey, you. Think this would help you do some of that hurrying?" she queries softly, not giving the Beijabar another glance. Yes. She /is/ nervous.
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For his part, Mobeorn doesn't show any outward sign of nerves--unless you know him well, and catch his frequent glances around this place. Still, none of the Beornings know him very well, given that he is somewhat reclusive and young. Once he has finished checkign the ponies are taken care of, he slips off up the path again, sleek bear form shimmering in the wind as he shapeshifts.
