Gilrak paused in his gutting of the two young rabbits he had trapped, glancing down into the plains below as a faint light caught his eye.  Setting his soon-to-be dinner aside, the dwarf squinted down into the gathering dusk.

A fire.  In the grasslands.  No storms, no lighting.  The dwarven ranger put his hand to his braided beard, tugging on it slightly as he considered.  Fires on the plains did not just spring into existence without cause, and the only cause for this one must be sentient beings.  And most of the sentient beings that roamed the plains made for good quarry.  The dwarf smiled, and resumed his evisceration of the skinned rabbits.  Dinner, and then travel.  And then, perhaps, killing.

Finishing roasting the conies, Gilrak thoughtfully consumed the small animals, thinking back on his journeys since he had departed the deep halls of Khazidmorin.  The days and nights spent patrolling the deep valleys, beetling cliffs, and rocky crags of the surface were fresh in the ranger's mind.  His unit had encountered orcs, ogres, and trolls--and had survived each battle, although often with severe casualties.  But it was the humans, and their tendency to settle in the foothills of Turgrad, that truly drew Gilrak's ire.  One family of settlers...the dwarf again smiled as he recalled killing all of them.  Intruders, foreigners.  Where one human came, more would follow.  They must not be permitted into the mountain homeland.  The lowlands and plains were theirs, if they so chose.  But not the mountains, not the high hills.

Gilrak finished his simple meal, and then saddled the light warhorse he had requisitioned from the scouting unit he had departed.  The dwarf swung himself into the saddle, and then set out down the winding, brush-strewn draws of the Blackthorn Hills.  Following game trails, Gilrak skillfully guided his mount on a circuitous--but safe--path from the hills.  The night wore away, and the dawn approached as the ranger gained the rolling plains country.  Still moving towards what he perceived as the fire, the dwarf caught sight of other movement...and the presence of others.

OOC:  Everyone roll Spot checks, please.

OOC: 15:46, Today: Aidrin ap Gynwir rolled 17 using 1d20+3. Spot check +1 (+2).

Manhunter dwarves. perfect.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:51, Sat 24 Sept 2005.

In their weakened condition Garryn would like to avoid any conflict, with this at the forefront of his mind he keeps his eyes peeled for signs of danger.

Garryn the Grey rolled 21 using 1d20+7. Spot Check.

Spotting something in the Distance, Gilrak gives his mount a subtle squeeze with his knees.  Whoa here Boy

Hmmph - Humans perhaps??.  - And out carelessly scorching the Earth.  Big Surprise...  Seeing the movement in the distance, Gilrak recalls the beardless Bandits that trolled the hills of Turgrad.  Better suited for walking the paved paths of their burgeoning settlements - than out here in the Wilds.  At this, Gilrak takes a moment to recall his single experience in one of their Settlements - Barakost.  A parasite town - probably not unlike the others that were now spreading across Arret like a Virus.

Easing back in his saddle, Gilrak recalls the words of his Father.  "Not all Humans are bent on destroying our World young Gilrak.  Sadly - most have simply become caught up in the events triggered by their Forefathers.  Events for which we are now all paying a Price."  Pondering his Father's words from years ago, Gilrak tugs at his beard thoughtfully.  After a moment, Gilrak sighs deeply - "Well - may as well see what they're up to.."

With that, Gilrak loosens the quick release strap which secures his Longbow to his saddle..  And manuevers his mount to better terrain...

16:38, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 26 using 1d20+8. Spot - Humans.
16:38, Today: Gilrak Kilring rolled 16 using 1d20+6. Spot - Normal.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:51, Sun 25 Sept 2005.

An unusually observant Perrato drinks in his surroundings as the party travels.

[OOC: 01:03, Today: Perrato Viatomagne rolled 18 using 1d20+3. Spot Check.]

"OOC: 12:21, Today: Asher Willbourne rolled 16 using 1d20+7. Spot."

The companions continue their trek back towards Borderton, as the morning grows warmer and brighter around them.  Glancing up at the hills that seque into the rolling plains where the party is traveling, only Garryn notes the presence of a lone rider, who quickly maneuvers his or her horse out of sight below the ridge line.

"We have company. At least one rideris just below that ridgeline following us. Everyone have your bows or spells ready, but do nothing overt yet, I don't want them know we've spotted them," Garryn says to his companions as he continues along the same path.

Thinking that drawing his javelin may be exactly the type of "overt" action Garryn is trying to avoid, Asher discretely draws and loads his sling, peering into the treelines, hoping to catch a glimpse of the unseen threat.

"Perhaps it's time I bought a new crossbow" Asher muses.