"If we divide then we can have a Scout that can tell us whether or not we are heavily outnumbered."
"All right. Someone who will remain unseen then. Who do you propose?"
"I will go." Moklik speaks in a normal tone. "If you wish it."
"I agree Moklik is probably the best. The Mammoth Rider can stay near enough to hear if Moklik gets in trouble."
Moklik steels himself and heads out into the night, covering his face and exposed skin with black mud.
Moklik takes point, heading out into the dawn gloom with the rest of the group following at a respectable distance. After the events of the previous night, all are weary, and the dispiriting drizzle does not help. Even Elenid is unusually subdued, although she sticks close to Caedmon, shooting poisonous glances occasionally at Wheatbeard.
The trail of the orc party is not difficult to follow, despite the intervening rain - they were obviously making no attempt to cover their tracks.
The trail leads further down the valley and follows the sweep of the terrain around to the northeast, heading ever lower. The sulphurous stench on the breeze is stronger now, and small whisps of steam and fog occasionally drift past, dissipating in the rain. The ground becomes increasingly boggy and waterlogged, with the thick mud adding yet more discomfort for the travellers.
Moklik darts from cover to cover; a bush here, a boulder there. But there is no sign of danger - hardly any wildlife is visible at all, with the world seeming cowed after the great storm.
Following the rocky stream that has formed in the valley, Moklik finally turns around one final outcropping, and sees the broad expanse of the Mudpits spread out before him. A low, dank mist hangs over the flat, open ground, limiting vision. However, his impression is of a vast open area, several miles across. The stream he has been following flows into a large, yellowish pool that steams quietly. Beside it, a lazy plume of steam emerges from a crack between two rocks. Beyond are more pools, some steaming, some bubbling, with occasional small hills of land, or great boulders thrust into the ground offering the only cover. It is like nothing he has seen before.
The trail of the orcs heads directly into this hellish land, following what seems to be a slightly raised spit of higher ground. Far ahead, vaguely through the mist, he can see what seems to be a ramshackle wooden pallisade - crudely hacked treetrunks thrust into the muddy ground, which stretches across the width of the spit of land. Peering, Moklik can make out a pair of orcs rather unenthusiastically attempting repairs to a section of the pallisade that seems to have been collapsed from the inside.
Moklik heads back to the others and relates what he has seen in short clipped sentences.
Asheru nods, eyes narrowed, as Moklik quickly relays what he has seen. The whispering in the shaman's ears seems to be growing louder and more agitated here, making it difficult for the man to concentrate. He can feel that knot twisting in his stomach, however, as Moklik mentions the pallisade.
"Perhaps we should return to Chief." Asheru proposes, already gauging that others seem to be thinking the same. "We have information that does no good if it dies with us. And the voices warn me that should we go further, we may join their ranks."
"We shall then proceed back."Caedmon begins readying for the travel."We will head back as quickly as possible. We must hasten to get this information to them."
Bonewright nods
"Soonest started, soonest finished." he responds in a surprisingly grounded homily.
"Bampfwick must die, but we too few to win. Go back, warn others is good. Get rid of princess, she don't belong in war."
"Agreed." Wheatbeard did not not to see twenty Orcs to know they did not belong here. Queer steam columns, lakes of mud and silt ... this was no good place, doubly so for them. Besides, the sooner we leave, the sooner we are rid of the Elf-woman...
Puzzing though was why the Orcs needed a wall around them. From what would they need protection? No tribes of Dwarves or men Wheatbeard knew made a habit of venturing to lands like these. Perhaps her people? Also doubtful; she would have said something. This was a mystery better left unsolved until a proper group could return though. They weren't it.
With merely the briefest glimpse of the Mudpits, the group turns and begins the long trek back to the human lands.
The storm has made the ground heavy going, and there are many slips and falls on the way, with Pikkuveli struggling with the soft ground. However, there is at least more fodder for the mammoth, with the plantlife everywhere taking advantage of the short growing season to shoot up. The waving grasses are brightened by patches of flowers.
Unfortunately this change in the weather also brings out clouds of biting insects, who make the group's life a misery. Smearing the skin with mud offers some protection, but makes the members look even more bedraggled than they already were.
Fortunately the storm does not reoccur, and the group makes good time, passing over the brow of the line of hills that they passed, and where they encountered the spiders in the tower.
As the land descends again into the rolling landscape littered with boulders, there is even the occasional hint of sunlight from behind the thinning clouds.
The group has reached the forested hills, close to where the battle with Garrilk's group occurred, when Moklik, scouting ahead as has become his custom, comes across some fresh footprints in the still wet ground. A group of humanoids - possibly orc, possibly heavy humans - passed this way barely an hour previously.
Bonewright looks to Moklik.
"Which way do they travel? Towards the human lands as we do?"
Damned bugs! Wheatbeard understood like the other animals, the insects had to eat too. So bothersome about it though. Rather I just cut off a piece of my fat and leave it to them instead of this constant biting. He offered no qualm about covering himself in mud, for even though he was removed from a tribe, no Dwarf was afraid of the earth, liquid or otherwise.
His attention drawn to some tracks suddenly by Bonewright, Wheatbeart pointed out the direction of the human lands to aid them. "We are headed to their lands this way," he pointed, making crystal clear the difference between the tracks and their bearing, if any.
"If they're as recent as you say" Asheru says with a nod, "Then we should follow. I trust your direction, Wheatbeard."
"Hope we not find everyone dead."
"Hope we not find everyone dead."
"No," says Wheatbeard wryly. "They will surely take some slaves."
With a swift pace, Wheatbeard and Moklik set off after whatever it was that made the tracks, with the rest of the group hanging back to avoid blurring the trail.
The tracks, still fresh, lead down into a small valley between two ranges of rolling hills. Gradually, harsh voices, raised in anger, can be heard on the breeze.
Slowing to a crawl, the two scouts hug the ground, and dart from boulder to boulder, attempting to be unseen.
Almost at once, they come upon the source of the disturbance. The valley splits three ways, with the southern branch continuing towards the human lands, while the eastern branch leads to the open plains that stand south the Mistwoods. It seems that there is some disagreement amongst the dozen or so orcs at the crossroads about which way to go, and the matter is about to be democratically resolved, orc-style.
Two large orcs are squaring up to each other, each making great display of waving their arms and stamping their feet. One waves his bone-bladed double-headed axe menacingly, while the thumps the ground repeatedly with his iron studded wooden club.
The rest of the orcs have formed a rough circle around the two, although they have started to drift towards one side or the other, backing up whichever beligerent they prefer.
"If we're lucky, we can pick-up the pieces when we're finished. Maybe there will be some clues as to why they're here."
The harsh voices in the valley have caused the bulk of the group to stop, while the scouts pursue up ahead. Asheru mumbles to himself, speaking with the voices that continue to whisper about him. Occasionally a nearby stone launches a few feet into the air as if on its own.
He awkwardly looses the club from his back, nervously shifting the grip in his hand as he awaits the return of the scouts or the sound of conflict over the hill.
"Aye. Let them fight then we clean up mess."
With a sudden burst of violence, the combat begins, and it soon becomes clear that the axe-bearer is the stronger of the two. Despite the other's swings of his great club, he is soon on his back in the mud, with his head split open with an axeblade. The orcs shout their exaltation at their new leader, with those who had been edging towards his opponent shouting all the louder as they scramble to regain the victor's favour.
After a few moments, the new leader re-establishes order, and the raiding party is reformed, heading south towards the human lands.
When the scouts rejoin and report Bonewright looks worried
"It is imperative to warn the human lands - but how can we get ahead of the orcs? If we see their tracks, will they not see ours?"
When the scouts rejoin and report Bonewright looks worried
"It is imperative to warn the human lands - but how can we get ahead of the orcs? If we see their tracks, will they not see ours?"
"The only way would be to make them turn aside for a bit - long enough for us to get ahead. A good rain would cover our tracks."
"There are many ways the spirits may distract..." Asheru speaks, as if speaking to no one in particular--his eyes absently glued to the horizon. "But as they work through me, I must get much closer than I am comfortable doing." His mind seems much more present as he expresses that second thought.
"If we wait, however," the shaman continues, looking to the Bonewright who is most likely to accept such a concept, "we may speak with the perished orc. His body has fallen, but his spirit lingers..."
"What question do you think to ask?"
"We might discover where they are going and what they are doing... it is clear they're headed toward the human lands, but this one did not wish to. I fear there may be more here than meets the eye."
"Yet you're probably right, Asheru. It's the safest way. If you're willing, Bonewright, consult the greenskin's spirit."
"Asheru's skills in this are unsurpassed." Bonewright acknowledges reluctantly
The shaman pauses, realizing that the likelihood of being able to speak with the orc depends on it's capacity to speak the same language. Regretfully, he retracts the option. "I'm mistaken," he admits, shrinking in stature, "I have forgotten that it is unlikely I would understand the spirit. Most spirits I encounter are those of our own kind."
Tupilek frowns. "Boneman has make-fast magic. Can cast on Piku? Attack orcs then run away? Orcs follow. Others can sneak by and head for camp"
Bonewright shakes his head sadly "That magic is inside magic. Piku would need to become Bonewright. It is a good idea though."
He considers
"Perhaps we can just make for the human lands at best speed? We need only get there, but the orcs must then fight. We can be more tired than they."
"If they find our tracks and follow them then there will be a problem, but the humans can move, and they will be found anyway."
Listening to Bonewright carefully, Wheatbeard heard the truth in his words. "We must be careful not to be found then. We're weaker than Orcs, and the humans will not stand well against then. They must be warned." Though harboring no particular affection for the tallfolk, Wheatbeard thought they were okay as trading neighbors - unlike marauding Orcs. "A path apart from them we should take, running alongside; a mammoth would be easily seen if we went on the same route."
Asheru nods solemly as Wheatbeard and Bonewright propose pursuing an off-trail route, whispering himself to the spirits about him to aid their travel and to frustrate that of the greenskins.
"If that is our action. Then we must go quickly. I believe it is wise."
"There is no time to waste. Moklik - will you lead?"
Moklik nods. "I can lead."
Caedmon suddenly speaks up after remaining quiet all that time."One man can carry a message. The three fastest of us can leave and rush towards the human lands. The rest can attack the Orcs as a distraction. The fastest will be the Messanger. The other 2 will be a bodyguard group to take on any Orcs that happen to catch up or attack. Such as a forward scout."Stopping Caedmon sighs."It would most likely cost us our lives. The main thing we need to think of is the fact that our sacrifice could mean saving many lives."
"Perhaps you see no trouble in letting them take you, but I see the value in my own hide. The only distraction I'll be making is to save my own beard."
"Can one person distract a group of orcs like that longer than for a few seconds? Let us travel now and try to put some distance between us. Hopefully a snowfall will cover our tracks."
Bonewright doesn't sound particularly helpful
"Nosoi can help us keep track of where they are"
Nosoi's head swivels to look at Bonewright
Caedmon scoffs."We are warriors whether we want to be or not. Our mission comes first. There are plenty of us to where this plan could work IF we work together and fight smart. We can attack from Ambush. The Majority will fight the Orcs. The 3 man team will push on to Human Lands."
Asheru sighs. "I am not a warrior. And the spirits remain quiet at the moment. I will trust your judgement, though I am not eager to become a spirit myself just yet."