Out of the Castle, Into the Fire
by Dave

From late Kawani 10 through Kawani 19, 997

Day 1

Dunbridge Castle, by Dave

The journey away from Dunbridge Castle is a rancorous one. The pary members find their tempers rubbed raw by lack of sleep, as well as the long discussions on where to proceed now. Some want North to Landsrue Town, some South towards Morgraine-Hel and others to push on into the southern barrens and thence to the town of Kesh-Nicht.

The small scattering of houses that are Dunbridge are passed by in the dark, down across a small series of meadows, fields, pastures and byres. A dog barks fitfully.

For a while there is no talk at all, and only the evenly-spaced sounds of horses plodding fills the night. The sky is awash in a great swath of stars, the sickle, the ruined castle, the three maidens, and there low on the horizon the Great Wheel, which will slowly rise as summer ripens.

For now, the sharp eyes of Ash are needed to find the trail in the gloom.

Day 2-4

Several days of travel pass now, with the only signs of human habitation being a few scattered hunting huts here in the hilly fastness, seen days ago and last occupied in the fall. The forest is more... healthy here. There are numerous windy streams that rush across the path, and the trail is now one of woodcraft and navigation. There are nobby hills that seem to erupt at scattered intervals from the forest, and their rock faces, old and worn stare down from the heights. Pools of dark water and small woodland clearings dot the creeks that tumble down from them.

The fishing isn't bad. Occasionally, from a small crest or knoll, a glimpse or two of the river is gleaned, a river now winding through a vast marshy fen. The river is quite far to the south.

Sometimes there are bats now.

Day 5-8

Several obstacles happen. First is a huge snarl of crushed and battered trees, old and filling the trail, remnants of an avalanche perhaps. The next is a small series of box canyons that lead to dead ends and little else. After some little discussion, the sea-elf finds a way around them. Or the ford where there should only be deep fast water running swiftly in a stony channel at the base of a tottering granite cliff. Or the game trail that skirts a huge treacherous shale hillside. Ash's eyes spotted it, invisible until one stood right over it.

This is the first time the party hears a familiar sound.

Day 9

Here we are as we pass another jagged hilltop, and there is another small clearing which angles through a brook.

The sound again, it pricks Armiger's ears up. The deep, hoarse shouts that echo around the hills.

An Ogre? Here?

And then another rolling bark, different in timbre from the first, from the west side of the mount.

Ah, two of them then.

They are hounding something through the woods here. They are hunting something, and nothing can run like an Ogre.

Armiger is as taut as a bowstring, his eyes are riveted on the vale down there. He is in the zone, now. The other horses are skittish to say the least. Thistle climbs frantically onto Mariam's head, growling under her breath and searching for even higher ground.

A squirrel flattens itself against a tree, one hundred feet down the hillside.

Somewhere down in the hollow, an owl hoots.

Windsor looks up at Alain, whose eyes are slitted as he looks into the green. He starts to ask a question, but is quickly hushed by Llwyd.

And then the woods seem quiet.

Here is where we start.