Return to the Shepherding Village

Shepherding Village

This is the home of a small, proud, and independent people who live primarily by herding sheep in the open lands south of the Great East Road. Once driven from this region by troll depredations, they have returned and appear to be prospering, perhaps because they can also profit by trade on the Great East Road.

Or rather.... we should say it /was/ the home of these people. The many sturdy houses and smaller huts clustered on a hill here have mostly been burned. Some are yet standing, more are nothing more than charred timbers. Once, they were safely ensconced behind a deep ditch and wall. The ditch is filled with the ashy ghosts of thorn bushes ... and the gate hangs crookedly, black as charcoal.

A long, low, smoke-stained building, sprawling along the hillside below the caravanserai, appears to the south. Its thatched roof has miraculously escaped burning - though there are black patches across it. Thick lead-paned windows are dark. There is no one here.

Obvious exits:

Gathering House, Caravanserai, and Great East Road

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Dunland Time and Weather Forecast

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Real Time is:       Thu Nov 12 16:22:57 2009

IC weather is:      Wind:  - Clouds: moderate - Rain: drizzle

IC Moon is:         Not visible

IC time is:         Before Dawn

IC date is:         Sunday, Day 5 of June in the year 3048.

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Shadows creep in the Trollshaws. It has been another sunless day, and a light drizzle mists the air now the light is fading, as twilight deepens slowly into full night. The small group of Breefolk picking their way slowly through the twisted woods has been lucky so far - despite this land\'s ill reputation, they have encountered neither goblins nor anything worse. Likely the Elves known to be scouting the path ahead have had something to do with that. Now, though, they need to find a place to set their camp, and the Shepherding Village would seem to offer that.

Brev is walking at the head of the group, his spear gripped firmly in his left hand - the right arm is still sling-bound, though he does seem to be making some clumsy use of the fingers - and his dun cloak hanging limp and muddy from his shoulders. This path is remembered, and his steps are swift. They slow, though, as a whiff of something acrid carries on the moist air.

[Prym(#16815)] The Blacksmith is on foot, leading his mare and cart along to the side of the main party. He keeps an eye to the side and to the front, with the oft glance back. His nervousness is barely held in check, but he makes himself stay calm and continue on. The fine drizzle has been going for long enough to plaster his hair to his forehead, and he tugs at his cloak wrapped around him. He watches as Brev leads the way - despite his injury - and wonders to himself just what the man is thinking. He clearly did not want to go this way when they last spoke. As Brev slows, so to does Prym. For a brief moment the Blacksmith wonders why, but then the smell reaches him too, and alarm bells start ringing in his mind. He hands the reigns of his mare to one of the other camp members and trots to catch up with Brev. \"What is it?\" he asks as he comes up beside the injured man.

Brev turns his head to peer at Prym, as though he were weighing the man up. \"Don\'t know,\" he says at last. He sniffs suspiciously at the air, his jaw tightening, then moves forward cautiously, a jerked motion of his spear-holding arm indicating that Prym should do likewise. A muscle has begun to jump in his cheek. And then the view opens up through the trees ahead, and Brev stops dead, staring. A ditch full of blackened thornbrush. A timber palisade marked by ragged gaps like missing teeth. A gate half-ripped from its hinges creaking softly in the wind ...

\"Kiern.\" That single word is softly spoken, conveying no emotion - why then are his swarthy features bleached to pallid grey? Speech is forced out. \"Looks ... old.\" And then, with another of those level looks in Prym\'s direction, \"You got a weapon? Someone should go in to check things out.\"

[Prym(#16815)] %RThe Blacksmith nearly knocks into the stock-still Brev as he looks the other way. \"Wha..\" he begins to say before he notices what has drawn the fighters attention. The usually jovial man\'s jaw drops, and, like Brev, he stands rooted to the spot, shocked by the sight assaulting his eyes. \"Sweet heavens...\" he mutters softly.

Jerked out of his shock by Brev\'s question, the big man gathers his wits for a moment before he says. \"Sure. I\'ve got some of the weapons I\'ve recently crafted in my cart. I\'ll go grab one.\" He turns and jogs back to his cart, throwing back the tarpaulin and rooting around. Eventually he pulls out a sturdy two-handed axe and hefts it in his hands. Throwing the tarpaulin back over the cart he moves quickly back up to Brev\'s side. He looks at Brev and there is concern and worry in the Blacksmiths eyes. He seem to wait for Brev to take the lead.

Prym\'s trip to his cart gives Brev plenty of time to recover his composure. He scrubs irritably at his cheek, and by the time Prym returns with the axe his features are still, his voice calm. \"Glad someone round here\'s got something more useful than a hairbrush to defend themselves with.\" A dig at Honora?

He glances back toward the remnants of the village and pulls back one side of his mouth in a mirthless smile. \"I don\'t like the look of yon place, but I like the thought of spending a night sitting outside it not knowing what\'s at our backs even less. \"Past the gates you go right and I\'ll head left. And quietly - don\'t want to disturb anything.\" That said, he moves off, passing through the broken gate with soft, wary steps. A single crow rises from its roost nearby, its caw uncannily loud in the gloom.

[Prym(#16815)] A quick nod from Prym shows that he understands. His grip tightens on the axe-shaft, his knuckles white. He clenches his teeth, and clearly doesn\'t look particularly comfortable - after all, he\'s never really been in a situation like this before, and although he\'s sparred with weapons before, he\'s no Gondorian Knight. He doesn\'t let this stop him though, and he follows Brev through the gate, trying to be as light-footed as possible. Once through the gate he gives a glance to Brev, watching the man move off in his specified direction. Moving off to the right as instructed, he picks his footing through rubble and charred wood. An awful sense of wrong is filling him with dread, yet he forces himself to move ahead.

Brev\'s shadowy form moves off, hugging the remnants of the palisade. His progress is slow every few steps he pauses to glance around warily, and several times he pauses to poke at piles of debris with the tip of his spear.

To the right, charred buildings loom up in the poor light to block Prym\'s path. There is blackened ground coated with a thick layer of ash there are piles of half-burned timbers and reeds. Here and there tracks criss-cross the ash, as though someone - or some/thing/, for the marks differ in kind, some of hobnailed boots and others, bootless and flat-footed, show the marks of clawed toes - had quartered the burned buildings. In one place some heavy object has been dragged away. Judging by the blurred state of the tracks, and the fact that in some places they are covered by bird-droppings and leaf-litter, they are not fresh. There are no signs of any human bones.

From one particular building, where a sagging roof leans drunkenly against a pile of jagged timber, comes a sudden rustling.

Prym looks around, both shocked by the state of the place, and confused by what exactly has happened. He treads lightly, still cautious to pick his footing through the debris. He notices some of the track marks and his eyebrows raise at them. Not exactly an outdoor-type, and certainly no woodland tracker, he can nevertheless pick out the clawed footprints as not being of human origin.

The Blacksmith\'s head and axe come up suddenly at the sound of the rustling. He turns to his right and picks out the building that the sound originated from. He looks back at Brev and quirks an eyebrow, indicating with his head the offending building. He seems reluctant to move ahead first, but forces himself to take slow tentative steps in the direction of the door, hoping Brev will move over quickly.

Brev, focused as he is on his own search, nevertheless glances up as Prym halts, his gaze meeting the man\'s own. Lips tighten as he begins to move back toward his companion alas, he is not swift, for he continues to move methodically and is keeping his steps soft and quiet.

The rustling comes again as Prym nears the part-roofed building. Whatever is in there, one would surmise it does not wish to be seen.

Prym, realising that Brev is not about to hurry to catch up, takes a deep breath to steel himself. He steps towards the entranceway - or whats left of it - to the building, his axe held firmly in two-hands off to the side of his body. He leans through the entrance slowly, waiting for something to leap out at him. When nothing does, he glance from side to side slowly, and seeing nothing in the shadowy corners, steps through.

Almost as soon as his foot touches the ground inside the building, another, sudden, sharper rustling comes from the left. As he jerks around, he thinks he sees a shadowy dart across the edge of his vision. A strange, quiet, low nattering comes to his ears, but he\'s unsure as to whether it\'s a figment of his imagination, nervous as he is. \"Hello?\" He manages in quiet, semi-strangled tones. \"Is anyone in here?\"

And his words are answered. Right beneath Prym\'s feet a large grey rat bounds up, chittering, before with a flash of its tail it disappears into the dark between two soot-smeared stones. That, of course, sets off the bats - half a dozen small forms that swirl past the man\'s head and out into the twilight.

Brev\'s slow, careful steps quicken at the burst of movement, and the spear in his left hand is drawn back, as though ready to hurl. He waits one heartbeat, another ... After a while he lets out a slow breath he\'d been unaware of holding, and risks soft speech. \"There\'s no bodies.\" Surprise colours his tone. \"Nothing at all save burned wood.\" And what that puzzle means he does not venture to say. \"We should check out that building over there,\" he jerks his head toward the long, low building to the south. \"If it\'s undamaged, might give shelter for the night. Kiern knows there\'s nowhere else.\"

Prym leaps backwards as the bats flutter past his head. He swings his arms about to knock them out of the way, cursing as he does so. As the bats clear, he comes up straight, panting heavily, looking rather flustered. He takes a slow deep breath to gather his wits and calm, and moves out to Brev. Hearing his comments about the bodies, he suddenly realises that he\'s right. Not knowing what to say, he refrains from doing so. As the injured fighter indicates the southern building, Prym nods. \"Right. Let\'s go take a look.\" He hefts his axe back up and follows Brev towards the most untouched building out of the lot.

Amazingly, the long, low building that had formerly been a gathering-house is almost watertight. There are damp puddles in the earthen floor, but compared to the rest of the ruined village it\'s positively inviting. There\'s even an overturned wooden table still in one piece.

Brev looks round it, sighs softly and forces a grin. \"This do you? Looks about welcoming as last time. Least we don\'t need to pay their bloody caravan fees, eh?\" He pauses, leaning his spear against a wall to rub an arm across his face, then suggests, \"Get the others moving. I\'ll have a word with Owain about setting up a guard ...\" Then, retrieving his spear, he ducks out into the gloom and is gone.