Shenanigans [June 3010][Captains]
Oct 8, 2017 19:21:19 GMT -5
Post by Wyn on Oct 8, 2017 19:21:19 GMT -5
When you occupied the bottom rung of the food chain in a land full of monsters and beasts, amusement was rather hard to come by. Thankfully for Wyn, although stealing from and harassing orcs was an excellent way to get oneself killed, it also happened to almost be fun--at least when it went well. Few things compared to the spiteful glee of filching weapons from an uruk camp as they dozed in a post-grog stupor, then tossing those weapons into the nearest pond or crevice. It was amazing how quickly a hunting or scouting party could be set against eachother--a broken weapon here, a missing grog barrel there, rations vanished into thin air, and the accusations started flying. Before you knew it, they were at eachothers throats, while she would watch the chaos unfold hidden nearby, before going on her merry way.
Of course, these ploys backfired on her just as often as they worked, and the ability to make a speedy getaway remained one of her most important skills. She knew the wilds well enough that she could usually throw off a pursuing band, or at least outlast them in a chase. Sometimes she got away with a scratch, other times she would be hounded relentlessly and eventually cornered, forced to fight for her life. She rarely stuck around to finish those fights, however--the moment she spied an opening in the brutes surrounding her, she was out and away once more. Trying to catch her was like trying to catch a rabbit as it darted in madcap fashion across the moors.
She had been watching a possible mark for some time now, hunkered down on a rocky hillside. With her mottled cloak wrapped about her, she blended into the boulders and grass well, though she remained as still as the stones around her, just in case. A cool, misty rain was falling, though she paid it little mind--in fact, she was glad for the falling water, knowing it would help mask her scent. Below her, a handful of ragged hide tents were pitched beside a muddy road. The smell of roasting meat made her mouth water, and the sound of uruk voices growled up from around the cook-fires. She had been following this group as they hunted, finally succeeding in killing a pair of small, wiry caragors. They had made camp to butcher their kills, and it was now that Wyn would make her move. Just as the smell of blood drew crows to the camp, so too did the opportunity to ruin some orcs' day draw Wyn. Hidden within her cloak was a clump of dark-green, rather unsightly leaves. As far as poisons went, it was a fairly nonlethal one, but it could still cause an unlucky fellow to spend the next few hours ejecting the contents of their stomach from any orifice possible (something she had learned the hard way during her first year as a fugitive). A bit of that crushed and stuffed into the carcasses, and the oils within the leaves would do their dirty job once ingested by an unfortunate uruk.
Now she just had to sneak into the camp without being spotted and put on the menu herself.
Approaching from behind the largest tent so that she would remain out of direct line of sight, she kept low to the ground, almost upon all fours. There six, maybe seven orcs present, milling about the camp. The average Mordor orc may have been able to see in the dark easily, but the general sharpness of their vision left much to be desired, and it was this weakness she would exploit. As she drew up to the back of the tent, she spied a hole in the leathers and peered through, only to grin with glee when she saw the two carcasses laying in the dust, shielded from the rain. They were unguarded, at least for the moment, most of the orcs present gathering around the fires to feast on pieces already cut from the bodies.
As quietly as possible, she drew her knife and set to cutting a gash into the leather of the tent, just big enough for her to wriggle through. Her heart was pounding the entire time--all it would take was one orc to come back to the carcasses for another helping, and she would be found out. Speed would be of the essence here. When the cut seemed long enough, she slipped through, wincing slightly as the dried leathers rasped noisily against her. Drawing in a steadying breath, she reached into a satchel tied to her belt for the leaves, though not before cutting a small strip of meat off and stuffing it into her mouth. Raw meat wasn't pleasant to eat, at least for a non-orc, though she had to take whatever nourishment she could get. Hoping the caragor's butchered body would shield her from view as she crouched, she took the leaves in her hands and began grinding them up, preparing to lace the carcass.
Of course, these ploys backfired on her just as often as they worked, and the ability to make a speedy getaway remained one of her most important skills. She knew the wilds well enough that she could usually throw off a pursuing band, or at least outlast them in a chase. Sometimes she got away with a scratch, other times she would be hounded relentlessly and eventually cornered, forced to fight for her life. She rarely stuck around to finish those fights, however--the moment she spied an opening in the brutes surrounding her, she was out and away once more. Trying to catch her was like trying to catch a rabbit as it darted in madcap fashion across the moors.
She had been watching a possible mark for some time now, hunkered down on a rocky hillside. With her mottled cloak wrapped about her, she blended into the boulders and grass well, though she remained as still as the stones around her, just in case. A cool, misty rain was falling, though she paid it little mind--in fact, she was glad for the falling water, knowing it would help mask her scent. Below her, a handful of ragged hide tents were pitched beside a muddy road. The smell of roasting meat made her mouth water, and the sound of uruk voices growled up from around the cook-fires. She had been following this group as they hunted, finally succeeding in killing a pair of small, wiry caragors. They had made camp to butcher their kills, and it was now that Wyn would make her move. Just as the smell of blood drew crows to the camp, so too did the opportunity to ruin some orcs' day draw Wyn. Hidden within her cloak was a clump of dark-green, rather unsightly leaves. As far as poisons went, it was a fairly nonlethal one, but it could still cause an unlucky fellow to spend the next few hours ejecting the contents of their stomach from any orifice possible (something she had learned the hard way during her first year as a fugitive). A bit of that crushed and stuffed into the carcasses, and the oils within the leaves would do their dirty job once ingested by an unfortunate uruk.
Now she just had to sneak into the camp without being spotted and put on the menu herself.
Approaching from behind the largest tent so that she would remain out of direct line of sight, she kept low to the ground, almost upon all fours. There six, maybe seven orcs present, milling about the camp. The average Mordor orc may have been able to see in the dark easily, but the general sharpness of their vision left much to be desired, and it was this weakness she would exploit. As she drew up to the back of the tent, she spied a hole in the leathers and peered through, only to grin with glee when she saw the two carcasses laying in the dust, shielded from the rain. They were unguarded, at least for the moment, most of the orcs present gathering around the fires to feast on pieces already cut from the bodies.
As quietly as possible, she drew her knife and set to cutting a gash into the leather of the tent, just big enough for her to wriggle through. Her heart was pounding the entire time--all it would take was one orc to come back to the carcasses for another helping, and she would be found out. Speed would be of the essence here. When the cut seemed long enough, she slipped through, wincing slightly as the dried leathers rasped noisily against her. Drawing in a steadying breath, she reached into a satchel tied to her belt for the leaves, though not before cutting a small strip of meat off and stuffing it into her mouth. Raw meat wasn't pleasant to eat, at least for a non-orc, though she had to take whatever nourishment she could get. Hoping the caragor's butchered body would shield her from view as she crouched, she took the leaves in her hands and began grinding them up, preparing to lace the carcass.
