Post by Sir Caedric Moore on Sept 10, 2015 15:47:41 GMT -8
My Restricted entry for the Secrecy category 
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The night was as quiet as it ever was in the vast forest of Lenfald. Crickets chirped amongst the grasses, owls hooted mournfully, and bullfrogs croaked to one another in the little riverbed as it cascaded down the hillside from a culvert low in the city's curtain wall. Stonehedge was a small town between Falkenborg and Stoneborough - nowhere near as grand as its neighbors to the north and south, but large enough to boast a decent populace and it had become a bustling center for trade since Baelion Fromire had taken command of the city. But the captain was absent, this night; it was his second-in-command, Lotho Birch, who walked the worn cobbled path as it wound around the base of the hill that the southern wall was built atop. A grizzled veteran of numerous wars, Lotho had boasted the proud green of the Lenfel Scout Snipers for many decades; it went without saying that he would go unnoticed should he choose to. This night he chose to be a ghost to all... all but the man he had been told would be here.
THE HOUR OF THE WOLF. RORAN'S RUN. COME ALONE.
YOUR FRIEND IN THE NORTH,
ARCHER
"Hmmph... More like Roran's Trickle...," he thought with a wry grin. The note was simple enough, scrawled in large heavy letters of black ink - his captain had assured him it had come from Castle Valeguard in the south of Garheim, from the hand of Sir Caedric Moore, and he never questioned the word of Baelion. But the hour of the wolf was passing into the hour of the cat and Lotho was beginning to doubt that the man was going to show when he heard a faint rustle in the ferns to his left, just beyond the little bridge that spanned the rivulet. As stealthy as one would expect from a ranger, a shape seemed to resolve itself out of thin air as the man stepped out from the shadows, his outline barely visible in the flickering light of hundreds of torchbugs - but this man was garbed as a Scout Sniper of Lenfald, not as a bowman of the Valeguard.
"Baelion was right; you are a big one...," Lotho mumbled as he stepped forward from beneath the apple tree he had been leaning against, dry leaves crackling softly beneath his leather boots. "What does a Loreesi eat for breakfast?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Sand, I would suppose," replied the shadowy figure, stepping close enough now to make out his features.
"That armor suits you well, Northman. You could almost pass for a Lenfel - if you weren't so tall."
"Aye, tall I am," the big man laughed, extending his hand. "There's many a low door frame that could attest to that. Peake. Hollander Peake, Captain of the Wulfguard."
"Lotho Birch. You've come alone, as well?"
"Eh, not quite," the Garhim shrugged. "I've got an escort, but I can't say as to where she is - I really don't know, to be honest, but she's close. Heh. Jus' be glad I didn't bring my wolf along in her stead."
"I see," Lotho replied gazing around at the dark of night, now feeling far less alone than he had a few moments before. He had heard stories of the Wulfguard before - of their skill at stealth and tracking - but if even their captain had an escort... it could mean only one thing. "Greyshadow." He had heard little and less about the shadowy assassins of the north but he knew they put even the most skilled woodsman to shame when it came to stealth and secrecy.
"Sir Moore means no offense to your captain, mind you; he just feels this meeting too important to leave up to chance." The big ranger reached down and pulled a sack of silver coins from his waist and tossed it over to the Lenfel.
Lotho sighed, producing a parchment scroll from a hidden pocket in the sleeve of his jerkin and unrolling it. It turned out to be a detailed map of the coast of Lenfald and Garheim and the waters beyond it - which, until recently, were known to be treacherous and empty, though now they were dotted with numerous islands. "Well, let's get to it, then."
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As always, comments and criticism are welcome and appreciated!
Ronin
-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-Torchbugs and Treachery-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-
The night was as quiet as it ever was in the vast forest of Lenfald. Crickets chirped amongst the grasses, owls hooted mournfully, and bullfrogs croaked to one another in the little riverbed as it cascaded down the hillside from a culvert low in the city's curtain wall. Stonehedge was a small town between Falkenborg and Stoneborough - nowhere near as grand as its neighbors to the north and south, but large enough to boast a decent populace and it had become a bustling center for trade since Baelion Fromire had taken command of the city. But the captain was absent, this night; it was his second-in-command, Lotho Birch, who walked the worn cobbled path as it wound around the base of the hill that the southern wall was built atop. A grizzled veteran of numerous wars, Lotho had boasted the proud green of the Lenfel Scout Snipers for many decades; it went without saying that he would go unnoticed should he choose to. This night he chose to be a ghost to all... all but the man he had been told would be here.
THE HOUR OF THE WOLF. RORAN'S RUN. COME ALONE.
YOUR FRIEND IN THE NORTH,
ARCHER
"Hmmph... More like Roran's Trickle...," he thought with a wry grin. The note was simple enough, scrawled in large heavy letters of black ink - his captain had assured him it had come from Castle Valeguard in the south of Garheim, from the hand of Sir Caedric Moore, and he never questioned the word of Baelion. But the hour of the wolf was passing into the hour of the cat and Lotho was beginning to doubt that the man was going to show when he heard a faint rustle in the ferns to his left, just beyond the little bridge that spanned the rivulet. As stealthy as one would expect from a ranger, a shape seemed to resolve itself out of thin air as the man stepped out from the shadows, his outline barely visible in the flickering light of hundreds of torchbugs - but this man was garbed as a Scout Sniper of Lenfald, not as a bowman of the Valeguard.
"Baelion was right; you are a big one...," Lotho mumbled as he stepped forward from beneath the apple tree he had been leaning against, dry leaves crackling softly beneath his leather boots. "What does a Loreesi eat for breakfast?" he asked, in a low voice.
"Sand, I would suppose," replied the shadowy figure, stepping close enough now to make out his features.
"That armor suits you well, Northman. You could almost pass for a Lenfel - if you weren't so tall."
"Aye, tall I am," the big man laughed, extending his hand. "There's many a low door frame that could attest to that. Peake. Hollander Peake, Captain of the Wulfguard."
"Lotho Birch. You've come alone, as well?"
"Eh, not quite," the Garhim shrugged. "I've got an escort, but I can't say as to where she is - I really don't know, to be honest, but she's close. Heh. Jus' be glad I didn't bring my wolf along in her stead."
"I see," Lotho replied gazing around at the dark of night, now feeling far less alone than he had a few moments before. He had heard stories of the Wulfguard before - of their skill at stealth and tracking - but if even their captain had an escort... it could mean only one thing. "Greyshadow." He had heard little and less about the shadowy assassins of the north but he knew they put even the most skilled woodsman to shame when it came to stealth and secrecy.
"Sir Moore means no offense to your captain, mind you; he just feels this meeting too important to leave up to chance." The big ranger reached down and pulled a sack of silver coins from his waist and tossed it over to the Lenfel.
Lotho sighed, producing a parchment scroll from a hidden pocket in the sleeve of his jerkin and unrolling it. It turned out to be a detailed map of the coast of Lenfald and Garheim and the waters beyond it - which, until recently, were known to be treacherous and empty, though now they were dotted with numerous islands. "Well, let's get to it, then."
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As always, comments and criticism are welcome and appreciated!
Ronin
