On Golden Wings [May 3010] {Open}
May 19, 2018 19:33:29 GMT -5
Post by Gwaihir on May 19, 2018 19:33:29 GMT -5
There was motion upon the high mountain pass... too much motion. Gwaihir was still over a league away when he spotted what appeared to be a skirmish upon the mountainside. Mounted orc and wargs... "Yrch..." he cackled to himself as he soared high.
Foul beasts, always damaging the forest. Making a stench upon the land. Everything about them was an unnatural. Not even worthy of meat to take back to the eyrie for his mate and eaglets.
Once as a young eagle... very young. His first fly over the passes, he had taken down one of the foul beasts, and in pride he carried that creature in talon back to the nests. It was not long before every eagle in the vicinity knew what he had done, for there was screeching and cursing, and his mother made him carry the beast far, far away to drop in the forest where the fell, rotted meat would not reach the beds of branches and grasses. Never again did he presume that every kill was meant for nourishment!
Golden plumage rustled in the breeze as Gwaihir began his descent. He would knock these beasts off the mountain. Talons outstretched it did not take him long before he came near enough for the assault, and only seconds before his talons dug into the first orc, and his beak snapped the second in two. With a flip of his neck he tossed them down the mountainside tumbling. A black object glinted in the air and Gwaihir realized there was still but another! The great eagle screeched. "Blood on you, foe!" and it was only moments before talons pierced the creature's eye and he shook the creature dead, dropping him where he lay.
As the golden eagle looked about now he smelled the stench of warg, but only saw the dead mottled heaps. None living. But then... a movement and a smell. The sound of boot on mossy rock.
One still was still clinging to the cliffside! Pitiful creature. Gwaihir would finish him quickly. But no, the scent. Not an orc, but something else. Was it man or elf? He could not decide. Gwaihir clacked his beak. They must have been the one to kill those wargs. A large task for one alone, but some were powerfully fierce in battle and Gwaihir would offer them his respect for that. Wargs were a blight upon the mountain passes.
Gwaihir drew his wings in and crouched down, huffing. Then he pushed off from the ground, feathers moving the air like a gale. "Jump," he chuckled, flying beneath the figure as they held to the cliff face, waiting for the weight of a rider upon his feathered back.
Foul beasts, always damaging the forest. Making a stench upon the land. Everything about them was an unnatural. Not even worthy of meat to take back to the eyrie for his mate and eaglets.
Once as a young eagle... very young. His first fly over the passes, he had taken down one of the foul beasts, and in pride he carried that creature in talon back to the nests. It was not long before every eagle in the vicinity knew what he had done, for there was screeching and cursing, and his mother made him carry the beast far, far away to drop in the forest where the fell, rotted meat would not reach the beds of branches and grasses. Never again did he presume that every kill was meant for nourishment!
Golden plumage rustled in the breeze as Gwaihir began his descent. He would knock these beasts off the mountain. Talons outstretched it did not take him long before he came near enough for the assault, and only seconds before his talons dug into the first orc, and his beak snapped the second in two. With a flip of his neck he tossed them down the mountainside tumbling. A black object glinted in the air and Gwaihir realized there was still but another! The great eagle screeched. "Blood on you, foe!" and it was only moments before talons pierced the creature's eye and he shook the creature dead, dropping him where he lay.
As the golden eagle looked about now he smelled the stench of warg, but only saw the dead mottled heaps. None living. But then... a movement and a smell. The sound of boot on mossy rock.
One still was still clinging to the cliffside! Pitiful creature. Gwaihir would finish him quickly. But no, the scent. Not an orc, but something else. Was it man or elf? He could not decide. Gwaihir clacked his beak. They must have been the one to kill those wargs. A large task for one alone, but some were powerfully fierce in battle and Gwaihir would offer them his respect for that. Wargs were a blight upon the mountain passes.
Gwaihir drew his wings in and crouched down, huffing. Then he pushed off from the ground, feathers moving the air like a gale. "Jump," he chuckled, flying beneath the figure as they held to the cliff face, waiting for the weight of a rider upon his feathered back.