Beneath the forest eaves

Highlands - Dunland <>

Mean, moody, and magnificent. Such words might describe the forested highlands of Caerdh, the foothills of the Misty Mountains. This is a land of wild, silent places, of huge skies and magnificent landscapes, of challenge and adventure. The mountains and harsh climate can make this an inhospitable place, yet there are many who call these hills and valleys their home.

Here the looming forest dominates. A mass of living green that rises to mantle the steep mountain slopes to the east, rolls and dips to fill steep-sided valleys to the north and south, and flattens to the west, in the direction of distant Kierkgard. The trail meaders southeast, towards a large hill topped by a stone fortress.

Save for the well-worn, rutted track that cuts the forest from north to south, there are few visible paths or roads in this area. A few game trails spin off into the trees, but they seem seldom used.

Obvious exits:

East leads to Waterfall <>.

North leads to Valley - Dunland <>.

Southeast leads to Southern Misty Mountains - Dunland <>.

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Dunland Time and Weather Forecast

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Real Time is: Sat Feb 21 00:13:17 2009

IC weather is: Wind: fresh - Clouds: sparse - Rain: moderate

IC Moon is: Not visible

IC time is: Mid Morning

IC date is: Sunday, Day 2 of April in the year 3046.

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It is a grey morn. Snow has turned to rain, and out here in the forest the track underfoot has turned from frost-packed earth to a river of mud. Scarce wonder, then, that some do not choose to use the path. Beneath the boughs of the trees there is a faint rustling, separate from the drip-drip-drip of the rain. Underneath one tree crouches a young man. A scrawny rabbit is slung over one shoulder, but it is ignored for now, his gaze fixed solely on the shifting of the pine needles where some large bird scratches for food.

His cloak, for those who can see it, is grey.H

[Verge(#32426)]

Further down southward on the muddy and scarcely-travelled path, a tall cloaked figure meanders its way through the pinewood forest at a slow pace. It seems to be carrying a small sack under its cloak and from the small and thin size of its arms one may be able to tell that it\'s a woman who travels the road on this gloomy day. She keeps her face hiden, gazing downwards at the ground. The woman does not seem to pause to look around for any signs of danger she merely continues trodding along, sometimes winding off the road and then back onto it. For now, Verge makes no indication that she is aware of the other Bear\'s presence.

Perhaps it is the sound of soft footfalls in the mud, perhaps it is merely that sixth sense that all birds and beasts seem to possess to warn them of the coming of mankind whatever the case, the blackcock scutters off into the undergrowth with a harsh shriek.

The man crouching beneath the trees lets out a single, harsh expletive then, sighing, straightens and turns to face whatever the road may bring. \"Seems you\'ve frighted my last target. Going to find me another?\" The words, softly spoken, sound more challenge than greeting.

[Verge(#32426)]

The approaching cloaked figure raises its head slightly upon hearing the shrieking cry of the blackcock. She keeps on walking for the next few moments, however stops in her tracks when the man\'s swearing reaches her ears. The woman arches a brow, however she does not raise her eyes to gaze in the direction of the hunter\'s voice. \"Ah, I hadn\'t seen ye were there. I apologize if I scared off yer prey,\" she states, now continuing on down, towards where she thinks the man sits. \"So, I take it yer a hunter?\" Noting that she has questioned the obvious, Verge then adds, \"Of the Bear clan, I assume?\"

The man eyes the woman gravely. \"Apologies won\'t fill my belly,\" he states solemnly - but then his lips begin to twitch. A pity that the visual cue cannot be seen. He pushes through the last of the trees to meet the woman, the motion sending branches rustling and twigs cracking, for all that he tries to walk softly.

At the other question he turns his head, glancing down at his rain-darkened cloak which is still, unmistakeably, grey. \"And I am many things - but for today, at least, hunter is one of them. Of Bear, aye. Oh - this?\" The reticence in his words is clear as he twitches at the cloak, but then he snorts. \"I was up north, amongst the rocks. Only a fool wouldn\'t wear a garment that blended with his surroundings.\"

[Verge(#32426)]

The woman straightens her posture, and turns her head, gazing in the direction of where she estimates the hunter may be. She follows the rustling sound of the leaves and crackling of twigs on the ground, looking up to where the hunter\'s face may be, trying to give off the impression that she has normal vision. Nodding once at the statement regarding his cloak, she comments, \"Aye. So ye come from Mathain, I take it? I don\'t think I\'ve ever seen ya b\'fore.\" The young woman clutches the sack she carries a bit more closely, although she tries to be as discreete as possible. \"-I- need to sell as many o\' these furs as possible, otherwise I m\'self can\'t afford t\' eat. Usually only have t\' travel between Creatrach an\' Kierkgard, though business has been hard t\' come by, lately,\" Verge states, lifting up the bag containing the furs so that the man may see what she refers to.

\"Kiern! Now, that\'s quite the accusation to make. Are you /trying/ to anger me? Out here I wouldn\'t recommend it.\" The man\'s tone is faintly mocking. \"Told you I was Bear, didn\'t I? I serve Ranich.\" He jerks his head south and east. Verge\'s guess at the location of his features seems to have been correct, for he gives no sign of noticing that anything is amiss with her.

As the sack is hefted, he eyes it sourly. \"Fripperies,\" he comments with a snort. \"I\'ve got little use for such things.\" Then he seems to relent, for he adds, without the hostility of before, \"Might be that some in Ranich do, though.\"

[Verge(#32426)]

Perhaps the woman was not discreet enough in securing her grasp on the bag, for she notes the man\'s verbal acknowledgement. Loosening her hold on the sack slightly, Verge takes a half-step backwards, figuring the man may be best left alone from the tone in his voice. \"Ah, Ranich. Must have connections with the Fian, then.\" The fur-seller mentions this more as a mental note to herself, although she states it outloud. She blinks, and shifts her gaze a bit further down, appearing as if she is examining the man. A small \'hmmph\' sound is offered after hearing his comments on the wares contained in the bag. \"Aye, but, on a day like this, wouldn\'t fur do better at keepin\' ye warm?\" She questions in a half-serious tone, already knowing that the man isn\'t interested in buying such things. It\'s worth a try, though. \"Mm.. guess I could stop on by Ranich, then. Though it delay me by a day or two on my way t\' Mathain. I don\'t got time t\' waste, y\'know.\"

The man\'s lips twitch wryly at Verge\'s \'inspection\', and he chuckles harshly. \"There\'s no need to twitch like a frightened rabbit, woman. Fortunately you\'re not my type.\" He grunts. \"And wool and leather work well enough for me. Not getting any drier, is it?\" He tilts his head briefly to the sky.

\"If you want to head to Ranich, you need to backtrack a little, then there\'s a path heading off east. I could set you on your way, before I return to those I travel with.\" The hesitation is perhaps a heartbeat, but it is there none the less. \"Do -not- mention the name of Mathain, not if you wish for a welcome. But, if you wait a little ... it may be that you find what you seek.\" The cryptic words end in a shrug that sends wet wool rustling, and a jerk as he hoists the sodden-looking rabbit back on his shoulder.

[Verge(#32426)]

The woman\'s posture relaxes a bit, but only after Bref has pointed out her insecure twitchings and movements away from the man. Her lips droop downward a bit, erasing anything that was left of a smile perhaps a vague physical indication that she has been insulted by one of his prior comments. \"Ah, you don\'t need t\' guide me there if ye have other commitments,\" the woman says, noting the subtle hesitation in his tone. An expression of slight uncertainty sweeps over her face upon the man\'s final words. \"Well, you lead the way, then.\" Perhaps she would rather somebody accompany her on the way there, or perhaps she figures that the man has made up his mind already, after hearing the very soft sound of the rabbit colliding with the man\'s wet clothing.

Brev eyes the woman doubtfully, and lets out a snorted breath. \"This way, then.\" He extends a hand to help her back on to the muddy road.

Oddly enough, he doesn\'t enquire as to her name - nor offer his own, either.

[Verge(#32426)]

Verge offers an affirmative nod, and, to ease the awkward moment where she can hear no sound of footsteps moving forward or any sort of rustling noises while the man stands there with an extended hand she cannot see, the woman proceeds to take one, and then two steps forward and closer to Brev. Doing this, she inadvertently leads herself back onto the road without any assistance. Her gaze all this time has been focused back down towards the ground, although it seems a little un-coordinated with her movements. Another step to the side, and she inquires, \"Well, if I\'m to be travellin\' with ye, I should at least know what name ye go by.\" Even if her words may seem somewhat aggressive, her tone is relaxed and nonchalant.

Brev drops his hand, shrugging. \"As you will. My name is Breveg.\" He pauses a little as though debating whether to offer more, then adds, flatly, \"Barseg\'s son. And what of you, woman? What name do you go by?\" Even as he speaks he is moving down the road, the slight fading of his voice no doubt indicating that.

[Verge(#32426)]

\"My name\'s Verge. Daughter of Ochierne.\" It takes her a moment to acknowledge the fading of Brev\'s voice as he moves forward, after which she hurries to catch up to his side. \"Oh.. did you say Barseg, the former Ceann?\" Her brows raise slightly on the realization of this fact. \"I didn\'t know he \'ad a son. Never made any mention of ye.\" The woman does not seem to care whether this insults her companion or not, which may seem a bit unusual. Perhaps she simply doesn\'t believe in the validity of the man\'s claim. But then again, Barseg has lost power, so what does it matter?

Breveg\'s cheek twitches briefly, and he lifts his free hand to rub at his cheek. \"Oh, and I expect you and he were great friends? Somehow I doubt that - you look to have no more summers than I.\" He chuckles, not nastily, and moves onward. \"Anyway, enough talk. Come on, time\'s wasting.\" With no further ado moves down the road and toward the side track, watching Verge to make sure she follows.

Soon the forest is silent again, the rain easing off, and the blackcock returns to claim its rightful place as lord of these parts.

=== Verge\'s DESC =============================================================

Thick black hair falls down in waves over this young woman\'s shoulders, and ending slightly above the waist. On some days, her hair may be somewhat mangled in some places, although overall her image is largely unaffected by this. A pronounced jawline, having grown out of the round and youthful baby-face it once belonged to, now rests below thin, somewhat naturally red lips and cheeks to match. Her eyes, a dull light grey color if viewed from up close, rest below dark, uncurved and straight eyebrows which give her a sort of boyish appearance. Slightly tanned and youthful skin can be seen on her unweathered hands and face.

A thin long-sleeved shirt is worn under a slightly heavier cloth tunic dyed in a dark shade of the Bear clan colors. Strapped around the waist securely is a lightweight leather belt with a square brass buckle, keeping the bottom half of her slightly oversized tunic in place. A skirt, or perhaps it\'s just a long shirt worn under everything, falls over the upper part of her legs and down to slightly above her knees, from which a pair of trousers are then visible. Thick black leather boots ending just above the ankle are worn on her feet, with a filthy cake of mud on the shoes\' soles and sides.

If you take just a few seconds to examine her clothing, perhaps one may notice that her belt is slightly askewed, or that it is buckled in an awkward way. Her eyes, as well, never seem to focus on anything specific, and nor do they seem to explore the surroundings oftentimes they seem fixed on a certain unchanging direction, as if gazing at some far, invisible object.

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