Post by Wyn on Oct 10, 2017 13:47:27 GMT -5
Summer had risen up with one final gasp, bringing a wave of unseasonably warm and humid weather from the south. She had always liked storms, being grateful for both the fresh water and the opportunity to clean off a bit of the travelling grime that living in the wilderness tended to bring. The rains washed her scent from the ground and air as well, making it all the harder for predators, orc and beast alike, to track her down. For the moment, however, the storm seemed to be withholding itself, for though the clouds overhead were dark and roiling with thunder, no rain yet fell. Wyn watched the clouds with a baleful eye, wishing the downpour would come at last and obscure both her and the handful of escaped slaves she was escorting.
She had slipped into the small labor camp one day, when the guards were too busy drinking to notice an extra slave constructing their barracks. Leaving her cloak, armor, and other gear behind, garbed in only a worn slave tunic and leggings, she had spoken to the bravest-looking of the thralls and explained her intentions to free them. Simply making a run for it would be suicide, but with an adequate distraction, perhaps they had a chance. That distraction had come in the form of a toxic herb sprinkled into the guards’ grog barrels, one that would put them in enough of a stupor for the slaves to make a break for it. At dusk, the guards had taken a round of drinks as usual, but shortly afterwards had become sluggish and slow. The unlucky sentry on duty that evening didn't hear Wyn sneaking up behind him until her knife was slashed across his throat.
Now, she and five escapees scuttled across the moors, making desperately for the distant crags. They could hide there for a bit, giving her enough time to scout ahead and find a possible route to the mountains. Her years of wandering had led her to discover several precarious but relatively-safe passages through the peaks, where a small group could slip through without falling prey to spiders, wargs, or any other of Mordor’s horrors. Getting there would be a trial in itself, but one she had undertaken before.
Wyn remained at the back of the group, keeping a watchful eye out for pursuit. Little attention was paid to the sky until she happened to glance forward, noting that one of the escapees was looking skyward with a fearful expression. She followed his gaze, but saw nothing but the stormclouds. Concerned, she quickened her pass to catch up with him and tapped his shoulder. “What is it?”
He started at the touch, but gestured at the clouds again. “I-I thought I saw something just now, in the clouds. It looked like a bird but...bigger.”
"Buzzard, maybe. We need to keep moving.” She pushed her to catch up with the others, looking up warily at the sky again before following after him.
She had slipped into the small labor camp one day, when the guards were too busy drinking to notice an extra slave constructing their barracks. Leaving her cloak, armor, and other gear behind, garbed in only a worn slave tunic and leggings, she had spoken to the bravest-looking of the thralls and explained her intentions to free them. Simply making a run for it would be suicide, but with an adequate distraction, perhaps they had a chance. That distraction had come in the form of a toxic herb sprinkled into the guards’ grog barrels, one that would put them in enough of a stupor for the slaves to make a break for it. At dusk, the guards had taken a round of drinks as usual, but shortly afterwards had become sluggish and slow. The unlucky sentry on duty that evening didn't hear Wyn sneaking up behind him until her knife was slashed across his throat.
Now, she and five escapees scuttled across the moors, making desperately for the distant crags. They could hide there for a bit, giving her enough time to scout ahead and find a possible route to the mountains. Her years of wandering had led her to discover several precarious but relatively-safe passages through the peaks, where a small group could slip through without falling prey to spiders, wargs, or any other of Mordor’s horrors. Getting there would be a trial in itself, but one she had undertaken before.
Wyn remained at the back of the group, keeping a watchful eye out for pursuit. Little attention was paid to the sky until she happened to glance forward, noting that one of the escapees was looking skyward with a fearful expression. She followed his gaze, but saw nothing but the stormclouds. Concerned, she quickened her pass to catch up with him and tapped his shoulder. “What is it?”
He started at the touch, but gestured at the clouds again. “I-I thought I saw something just now, in the clouds. It looked like a bird but...bigger.”
"Buzzard, maybe. We need to keep moving.” She pushed her to catch up with the others, looking up warily at the sky again before following after him.
