The sunlight glares harshly, like lances from the heavens piercing the gloom of the forest canopy. Massive trunks wreathed in shadow and ivy stand like the columns supporting a colossal cathedral, the whisper of the wind through the leaves like a sylvan chant. The peaceful and serene appearance of the forest is wrecked by the harshe sounds from the trees, where massive bodies climb and leap from limb to limb, speaking in crude language, and with phsyical blows when language fails. Like some swarm of ants or evil squirrils, the orcs travel through the limbs, untill they reach the edge of the forest, where their blood-shot eyes squint at the bright light and the glare.
The forest flow has given way, as if some great blow had shattered the floor of the cathedral. A cliff falls away, steep and forbidding, with the ruins of the old trees pinioned between boulders, or strewn below on the valley. And from this vantage point, the orcs can see. They see a long valley nestled between the mountains, dotted with numerous villages, from which distant plumes of smoke rise into the sky. And a large town by the stream that flows through the valley.
The orc tribe parts, as a massive example of the species pushes to the edge, the very edge of the cliff, and looks down. His face, green and gray streaked flesh with scars from old battles, twists into a tusk-filled smile. This is what he has come for. This sight, to look down upon the valley, that valley that will very soon be filled with the screams of man, filled with smoke from the pyres of the dead. And he will have his throne. Built upon the skulls of those who are foolish enough to face him.
_
Down in the valley, a sheperd looks up from his flock, to the towering mountains that hemm the gentle hills and forest in. The Walls of the Gods, some call them. Mountain upon mountain marching away into the distance. Beyond those mountains, the village priest tells stories of a great kingdom, his kingdom. Val Alur, the land of valour and bravery. But here, it's only the fiefdom of Baron Karl Mendelson. The sheperd shrugs, and turns back to his flock, leaning upon his crook.
_
Peasents look up from the fields of barley, flax and wheat as a Knight and his retainers pass. Clad in richer clothes than they, the Knight and his men look over the fields as they ride down the road, which disappears into the woods. Some of the men adjust their helms, or place a hand on swordhilt or axebutt, gaining what reassurance there may be. The peasents talk of ghosts among the forest, though a dour woodsman suggests it's naught but some band of brigands, preying upon commerce. Still, one is never sure.
_
And over the mountains, a caravan rolls to a stop as dusk approaches. The road, a muddy trail through field and bough made only by the passage of so many, continues into the mountains, winding up a precipitous face, before disappearing into the narrow gorge of Hessen Gap. Outriders return to the main body of the caravan, bringing chilling news. A battle has been fought in the gorge they say. You can see the bodies piled atop each other, strewn across the road. Care must be taken, for they have traveled long from the relative peace of the Southlands, and this is a no-man's land betwixt the kingdom of Val Alur and it's rival, the Goblin Empire of the Iron Throne.
Guards look at each other wearily, it has been a long march for footmen of this caravan, and they do not relish the coming night, with the stories that will be told over the camp fires. Many a guard wishes only for the swift conclussion of this buisness, so that he may spend his hard-earned wealth in a hostel or tavern in the next valley. Many a face that the caravan started with is gone now, buried along the way, victim to strife or disase.
_
Gathered around the largest fire, the caravan members listen as the council of Merchants address the people. Arguements break out among the head of the Guard, Kamoun, a scarred warrior and the representative of the Calie family, Lewis. Kamoun still wears his muddy leather jack, studded with bronze rivets, while Lewis is dressed in clean brocaide and camehair. The two are nearly at each other's throats over caravan's planned route.
"The gorge is NOT safe i say! By Madim! You surely can not intend to -"
"And what would you do? Go around the mountains? Every day we are in this wilderness is chance for some brigand army to come upon us! Or worse, a dragon! I will not st-"
"Fool of a money-changer! I only ask for you to give me time. Time to scout the gorge ahead! We are not starved for provisions! You may sta-"
"And everyday you waste of our time, we lose precious goods. I daresay that no other family feels so cavileer about our wealth as you! And what if the Goblins should come? Did you not hear the people of Marchaven? They say that the goblins have already lay siege to Orinton. We have not the time!"
"Just give me three days, three days Lewis! Three-days to make sure that there is no army encamped within the gorge!"
"Very well...I will give you three days. But on the third day, we move, with or without you Kamoun!"
Lewis turned in a flourish of his robes, his gold and silver jewelry catching the light for a moment as he stormed back to his pavilion, muttering darkly. Kamoun shook his head, and turned to the crowd around the fire.
"This will be dangerous work. I will not demand any to come with me who do not wish to. We must leave soon, tonight if possible, and make all-haste. Go, eat, then come to my tent when you are prepared."
And Kamoun turned, walking away into the night.
[D&D]Twisted Roads
[D&D]Twisted Roads
Allahu Akbar