(Archive) Skulking in the marshes

A convenient coincidence ...

Overgrown Trail - Dunland <>

The trail itself is little more than a narrow path beaten amongst tall grass, weeds, and brush. The path begins to head down from the highlands and into a flatter, and yet still inhospitable and rocky terrain. Clay and mud are thick here, as water tends to wash down from the Old South Road and the rest of Dunland and wash away grass and soil. The trail itself disappears rather quickly in a western direction amongst the dense forests and flat wetlands of western Dunland.

Only the moon grants any sort of light here, being so far from the Dunlending hamlets to the east.

Obvious exits:
West and East

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                      Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================

Real Time is:       Mon Jan 04 17:15:56 2010
IC weather is:      Wind:  - Clouds: dense
IC Moon is:         Not visible
IC time is:         Dawn
IC date is:         Hevensday, Day 10 of November in the year 3048.

===============================================================================

Dawn has come to Dunland. The peaks of the Misty Mountains away to the east are rose-tipped closer at hand, though, the sky is obscured by sullen grey clouds, scudding across the sky from the northwest. The wind is bitter, and if it shifts round a little more it will likely bring snow with it.

There is movement in the brush. Two figures moving quietly and swiftly from cover to cover, ever one looking ahead whilst the other looks back. Should an observer be close enough, he would hear the faint murmur of conversation.

".. in Kiern's name has that bloody Feas got to? Should have caught him by now."

And the other hisses back, low-voiced. "I don't like it. What if he's decided to betray us to Iron Jaw, eh?"

The second speaker lifts his head cautiously to his surroundings. Dark curls, amber-hued eyes - it is Brev. But clearly he is not alone.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon has been waiting uncertain of just where Brev would come or how closely he would be followed - or indeed /when/ he might come. So each day the boy has come to the top of a small rise where he can see a little ways around - and now, the trembling of the branches catches his attention and he starts to sneak towards it. There is a head, it is Brev and the Breelad almost stands up, only to be halted by another voice - unknown. Brev speaks too, but Gidon doesn't know the words and can't tell if it is safe to show himself. Uncertain, he hesitates.

The first speaker returns some curt answer in muttered Dunael, too low to carry, but with a threatening ring to it.

Brev, still peering this way and that, takes a moment before he responds, scowling. "Kiern, no! I'd prefer a whole skin. And we'll manage without, he's not the world's only tracker." The scowl fades, and for a moment he essays a smirk, but it is swiftly gone. "Going to check the path ahead. Cover me, will you?"

The words - and indeed, most sounds from him - cease as he eases his spear into his hand and begins to work his way up to the top of the rise. Likely he, like Gidon, is seeking a viewpoint.

The other man remains behind, but his bow is in his hand and an arrow nocked to the string. Whether he intends it for as-yet-unseen ambushers or for Brev himself, should the latter's actions prove not to his liking, is hard to say.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon sees flashes of movement among the branches, hears the voices. Then a glance of profile... "Hsst!" he says, not moving, voice low enough (he hopes!) to be unheard by any but Brev as the man nears his hiding spot.

The sound is heard by Brev himself - the momentary tensing of his shoulders is evidence enough of that. But the person or persons who made that sound cannot yet be identified ... after a moment he moves on, to the next clump of brush. The spear in his hand is clearly visible less clear is his left hand, which is busy pulling a stone from his pouch. He crouches in place, his gaze sweeping his surroundings warily.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon scuttles sideways, glancing warily down hill - he doesn't want to be seen by that man, no matter if he is a friend. And so he makes a bit of a circle, until he can pull apart a few branches and let Brev see him.

The bushes move - just a little, but Brev has seen it. Already his left arm is drawn back, ready to hurl a stone and flush the quarry ... Then he halts. Perhaps it is Gidon's very stillness that identifies him. After a moment he speaks, the merest breath of sound - but it is in Common. "Gidon." And then, "Alone? You've not been watched?"

[Nob(#16122)] "No," Gidon replies, equally quietly. "Nobody's come near. Da's back, with th'stuff." He jerks his head towards the bottom of the hill. "Him?"

Brev relaxes just a little. "That's something," he murmurs, keeping to the Common. He does not follow the direction of Gidon's glance, but shrugs. "An .. acquaintance. Been working together." The words are innocuous enough, but something in his glance speaks a warning: take care around this one.

Suddenly he gets to his feet and turns round, his back to Gidon and his face toward his companion the archer, whose shadowy form is part-concealed by the brush. "You can save that arrow. This one's mine. An old friend." His words are slow, perhaps in the hope that Gidon will pick out one or two.

[Nob(#16122)] The boy does recognize a few, frowning at Brev's sudden movement, he hears the word 'friend' and 'you' and 'arrow'. Hesitantly, staying behind Brev in case he is misunderstanding, he stands up.

The archer's aim does not waver, nor does he slip the arrow from the string. Brev regards him steadily, shifting to make sure Gidon ramains behind him. After a moment Brev says irritably, his Dunael more rapid now, "Oh, for Kiern's sake. Not about to betray Varens - or you. Done what I said, haven't I? It's Feas that split and run. Lucky I've got someone handy to take his place."

And then, addressing the words to the youth behind him, "Gidon, this is Salud. A .. friend of mine." Some friend.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is silent for a moment, then his voice says, in clear though somewhat accented Dunael, "Salud. Hello." He doesn't move into the open, and his own hand remains on his sling, a rock in the pouch and ready. His spears are slung over his back. "I am hunting," he adds carefully. "You..?"

The archer's features are in shadow. Still his arrow remains nocked its direction, though, shifts a little, so that it is aimed at the horizon and not at the two figures silhouetted against the brush. He scans it, carefully, ever with half an eye on Brev and Gidon.

At the query, Brev himself is quick to answer. "Hunting too." He switches to the Common tongue for the rest of his speech. Except we ran into a spot of trouble over .. ownership, lets say. Lands being what they are."

From somewhere downhill comes a bark of guttural laughter.

"So now we need to be elsewhere." All nice and simple-sounding.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon nods, glancing around Brev to see that the arrow is no longer directed at him. He remembers what they have discussed, but is unsure what to do or say now. "Going south?" he asks, reverting thankfully back to common.

"No," comes the response from the archer, swift and sullen.

Brev's answer is more ambiguous. "For now, we're simply headed out of harm's way. You'd best stay with us, you know - these lands aren't safe. We can keep each other company." He adds an aside for the archer, in Dunael. "Safest. Lad's a fine tracker. Has other uses too - which he won't if you put an arrow through him. Best think of Varens, eh?" So easily can another man's intentions be twisted in their absence ...

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon shrugs. "Safe enough," he says, but nods finally in agreement. "Alright." His eyes dart to Brev questioningly, but he says nothing more.

Perhaps Brev's words in Dunael have done their work. Perhaps the archer is merely biding his time, trying to find out more about this oh-so-convenient stranger who's clearly an Outlander - why else speak to him the barbarous Common tongue? In any case, he grunts, and mutters, seemingly directed at Gidon, "Come on then."

Brev, for his part, turns to Gidon and gives him a barely perceptible smile. "We need a path away from prying eyes," he directs in Common, once more scanning his surroundings. His gaze pauses, troubled, as he looks east. "North or south? It's your call." Gidon, of course, is no more alone than Brev is that subject he does not yet broach. It will have to come out soon enough.

[Nob(#16122)] There is no hesitation it is clear Gidon has been scouting the land. "North," he says. "A bit. Ain't been no one there a bit. Plenty of cover."

Brev's lips twitch at that. "Perfect. You show us the way - I'll just go and have a word with Salud." He slips back downslope as carefully as he had come, and a muttered conversation in Dunael ensues. The rise and fall of the voices suggests some argument, whether over the missing Feas or the not-so-missing Owain, who can say? In the end, though, Brev appears to prevail.

It will be an interesting journey.

Skulking and spying ...

Wilderness - Dunland

The forests begin to wain and flatlands begin to dominate. The ground is extremely soft here, overly so, in fact, and is not suitable for much agriculture. Reeds begin to rise from the ground, along with tall grass, covering the landscape of the entire area.

The wilderness is quiet, except for the sound of the plethora of wildlife that makes this place home. The moon above is the only source of light, depending on the weather, that guide any footsteps that might fall here.

Obvious exits:
NorthWest, East, and South

===============================================================================
                      Dunland Time and Weather Forecast
===============================================================================

Real Time is:       Sat Jan 09 00:09:31 2010
IC weather is:      Wind:  - Clouds: moderate - Rain: drizzle
IC Moon is:         New
IC time is:         Late Night
IC date is:         Trewsday, Day 23 of November in the year 3048.

===============================================================================

Raindrops trickle from a heavy sky: slow, dull, persistent. Here in the wild lands to the west of the Old South Road there is little in the way of shelter, and by now travellers are soaked to the skin. They do not stop, though, nor do they risk a fire. Earlier in the day, where the woodland fell away and the reeds began, Brev had left the track, ploughing on alone westward into the marsh with no attempt to hide his trail. The trip-cord, though, tied taut between two bushes and woven cannily between swaying reeds above the glittering water, that was hidden - and his return passage, slow and careful, left little evidence behind. Since then the group has been working their way northwards through the marshes, using every trick they know to conceal their tracks.

Currently Salud and Owain are the ones tasked with hiding the backtrail, whilst Brev and Gidon range ahead to spy out their path. There is a rise in the ground ahead, a whin-crowned hummock standing clear of the waterlogged marshland below. Brev glances at Gidon, then murmurs, "Someone should work their way up there, see what there is to see."

[Nob(#16122)] The boy gives the hillock a comprehensive glance. "I c'n go," he says. And without anything further, he slips off, testing each step in the quivering marsh with care - 'solid' ground can be deceptive. The reeds barely stir as he slides between them, vanishing from sight.

A sudden gust of wind shakes more rain from the clouds. Then the boy is back. "Folk up there," he murmurs. "Seen a man..."

Brev is waiting quietly, patiently. At Gidon's report he gives a startled frown and hisses, "Where?" He has his spear with him, and he shifts his grip slightly to ready it.

The terrain around them is not the most habitable. To the east, sparse woodland that thickens further away into full-blooded forest, and beyond it the jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains, black now against a darkening sky. To the south, whispering grasses rustle in the emptiness. Here and there piles of stones lie scattered about, suggesting to the eye that this place was once inhabited - but there is nothing to be seen there now. To the west, more flatlands stretch into the distance. The wind is from that direction, and it carries with it a salt tang. To the north the marshes continue, as evidenced by the long skiens of ducks and geese silhouetted against the sky. In one place, where the bog gives way to stands of malnourished-looking trees, the skyline is broken by a thin thread of smoke.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon nods his head towards the northwest. "Ain' close," he says. "Likely's a feller huntin'." His eyes go briefly to the geese. There is plenty to hunt, for sure.

"/Could/ be Feas." Brev does not look convinced. "Or could be trouble. Show me." He moves toward the rise himself, ignoring his sodden cloak and the smurr of rain blowing into his face.

[Nob(#16122)] "Not there!" Gidon says, his voice rising with urgency. He reaches to grab Brev's cloak to pull him back. "You'll bog." He points to the temptingly smooth and greenly-solid looking spot the Dunlending was heading towards and leads him instead around it, stepping on clumps of rotted old grass.

Brev's brows arch, but the rebuke that might have been offered to any other is kept back for Gidon. He places his feet carefully also.

He does mutter quietly, under his breath (though Gidon is close enough to hear something of it), "Sooner we're out of these bloody bogs the better."

[Nob(#16122)] A rare grin lights up Gidon's face at Brev's complaint. "Nice place," he replies, "Most as good as home." His tone is light, teasing the man, but his eyes as he looks around are deeply content.

Brev snorts. "Kiern! Heard the tale of the frog that turned into a Fian? Reckon you must be going the other way. All this mucking around in water - it'll be croaking and swallowing flies next." He falls silent as they reach their vantage point.

Gidon's 'man' is indeed some way off, and as they watch he swings a fowler's net, bringing some fluttering, flapping thing back to earth. "Not Feas, then," Brev comments drily. "Never could hit anything smaller than a man." The frown on his features eases slightly, but nevertheless he scans his surroundings carefully, lest there be others.

And there is something else. To the north, but near at hand, a pale lump lies at the edge of a patch of bog. At first one might take it for a sheep, but on straining the eyes to look closer one would recognize the stained white of a woolen undershirt. And those two brown objects are not tree-trunks, but legs, though they do not end in boots. The man, if such it is, is sprawled face-down with his head in the water. He is not moving.

Brev's jaw tenses, and he touches Gidon's shoulder lightly to draw his attention. This time he has no words.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon stares, then ducks his head, shamed. "Din't see it," he mumbles. "Sorry..." But there is little time for self-recrimination, and he looks up again, studying the area with renewed intensity. "Don' see nobody else," he says finally. "Y'think it's your friend." It isn't a question.

Brev lets his breath out slowly, Gidon's amphibious tendencies forgotten for the moment. "Could be." The words are abrupt, slightly hoarse. He swallows to clear his throat, then murmurs quietly, "Need to take a look. You'll cover me?" He scrutinizes the ground again, trying to identify the best path through the morass. "And you saw the main threat." He jerks his head northwest. "Where there's one there might be others."

[Nob(#16122)] The boy nods, lifting a hand to check the spear slung over his shoulder, and setting a stone in his sling. "That way," he whispers, a thin brown finger thrusting past Brev's shoulder.

Brev considers that. "Or maybe you should just lead, eh?" His sling remains at his belt, but his spear is in his right hand and he pulls a slender dagger from his boot to fit his left. Just in case.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is pale, and he swallows, before nodding, a little jerkily. And taking even greater care than usual, he creeps down towards the body. It is slow going, especially in the incessant rain, but it is time well-taken, for there is no sound of his passing, and even the low shrubby bushes that move as he goes by seem only to do so as blown by sodden winds.

Brev mimics him as best he can. The man lacks Gidon's uncanny ability to move almost unseen, but he /is/ a hunter. The movement of grey cloak against grey-green bog is subtle.

At length they have reached the place, with no alarms raised - yet. "Watch," Brev murmurs to Gidon, his jaw tight again. He squats gingerly on a tussock of grass with the aid of a spear-haft for balance, sheathes the dagger and tries to turn the body.

It is hard work, and the reason soon becomes apparent - a heavy quern-stone has been tied round the man's neck, dragging his head beneath the surface of the bog-pool. The front of the shirt has been slashed, and sticky blood pools beneath the corpse. It wears neither weapons nor money belt - even the boots are gone. Whatever this man's possessions in life, now only the filthy trews and coarse woollen undershirt remain.

[Nob(#16122)] The boy is watching the swamp around them, but he can't help sneaking a look now and then at what Brev is doing. At the sight of the stone, he goes dead-white, and jerks his eyes away - but for a little while, it is doubtful if he sees much, even though he is staring out at the marshes, every appearance of a faithful guard.

Brev is not looking at Gidon either. "What do your eyes tell you?" he queries, still that odd hoarseness to his voice." Gidon's sharp gaze should have little difficulty discerning the trampled trail from the north along which the unfortunate must have been dragged. Of the perpetrators there is no sign.

Brev's focus is elsewhere. A glimpse only does he get of the dead man's face - coarse, broad features, with a straight scar across one cheek, marred now also by heavy bruises. It is enough. "It's Feas." The words are flat, heavy. "Kiern! Poor sod. If he did try his luck with Iron Jaw, he paid the price. Ach." His hand releases the corpse's shoulder so that its head falls back into the water and the contorted features are hidden again by mirk. Some small thing tumbles out from the shirt to lie glinting pale in the grey light.

[Nob(#16122)] There is a moment of silence. Gidon is shaken back to awareness by the man's rough voice, and he draws in a deep shuddering breath, then swallows to be sure of his voice before saying in a subdued tone, "There's a - a trail, north." Dragged despite his will, his gaze returns to the dead man, wincing away from where the head lies under water and fixing on the small pale spot. "What - what's that?"

North. Brev looks that way, his gaze clouded. "Maybe - huh?" He follows the direction of Gidon's glance, and blinks. Then, shifting the spear to aid his balance, he leans forward to lift the object, which he holds out on his palm. It is a silver ring, a woman's. "Feas always did have a liking for shiny things. Take it, if you want. Good luck charm, eh? Now, we need to get gone before-"

His speech cuts off suddenly. From the north, still some distance away but not nearly far enough, comes the sound of barking. It is followed by curt human speech with the ring of command. The monosyllabic word in Dunael that Brev utters now will be unfamiliar to Gidon, though the youth can likely guess at its meaning.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is shaking his head violently. He wants nothing to do with anything from this dead body, ring or not. The sound of dogs brings his head up abruptly, and he darts a panicked look at Brev. "What - how - are... they chasing.. but we din't come from that way!"

Brev's hand closes about the ring, and he shoves it blindly toward his belt pouch. His answer to Gidon's query is a shrug of one shoulder. Then he hisses urgently, "Back! If we're lucky they /might/ not spot us ..." His tone is doubtful.

That doubt might be justified by the group that comes into view amidst rotten stumps and spindly trees. Six men in all, armed with axes, bows and boar spears, and a large, savage-looking hound that runs ahead then lifts its head for another flurry of barking. The men confer with each other, then come on, one gripping the collar of the huge beast. Clearly they believe it has found something.

[Nob(#16122)] The boy is already scrambling back - not quite the way they had come that is up the hill where they will be more visible - but around its base. His boots slip into and out of peat-colored water. It is well that it is raining the small sounds he makes may be covered up by the splat and splash of raindrops.

Brev, following in Gidon's wake, pauses in the lee of a stunted willow-bush and risks standing to get a better look at who or what is approaching. What he sees causes him to set his jaw. Then, looking to Gidon, he points at the boy and then to the left round the little hillock, to himself and then to the right. "Split up," he murmurs. "We'll meet up later. Don't worry about any disturbance you hear - got an idea or two. Oh," he pauses to force his lips into a mirthless grin, which quickly fades, "and this time we go /south/. No more bogs!"

With that he is off, working his way back at an angle, his progress marked by the occasional squelch of mud.

[Nob(#16122)] Gidon casts a wild look behind them, a panicked one after Brev, and says fiercely, "Don' get caught!" And then he is bent low, running along the semi-solid land.