In reply to DM Jono (msg # 1):
Whisper of the Wild
“Some men go their whole lives not living. Sure they breathe, they love, they work, but few really know what it is to be alive; to really feel the air in their lungs, to hear the whistle of a savage’s arrow pass by your ear, to look upon the mountains and really know who you are.. That’s why we come here. It’s not just the furs, the flesh, the gold, that calls men like us to this place. It’s the wild itself. We are here to heed it’s whisper.”
It’s mid day, but the sun does not greet you. The air is fresh from recently departed rain as you crane your heads towards the sky, taking a deep breath. Your muscles ache with exhaustion, and your lungs burn from the cold air. Cool sweat trickles down your necks as you take in your surroundings. A series of pine trees silently surround and watch over your group. Far in the distance, the jagged peaks of the Razorbacks pierce the sky in stalwart defiance. Your nostrils swell with the iron stench of blood and freshly fallen rain. These are the great wilds. The lands beyond the Heart.
It is your eighth day on trail with the North Star Trading Company. Twenty of you departed from Fort HighFlame. Nine laborers their leader Captain Donahue, four warriors, a cartographer by the name of Pim, and yourselves made up the ragged band as you set out up river. Some of you are here as mercenaries, brought on by the company for extra muscle. While others are among the expedition for different reasons. Why you came here originally is now hardly important. The images are fresh in your mind.
The river took the party only so far and on day five, you continued on foot. On the seventh day, the party met up with members of the Chonake Elf Tribe, their prize, six orc captives and a variety of precious furs. After the exchange, the group began their long journey back. Sadly, a great storm brought a great mudslide down on the trail. The party agrgued for sometime in the rain as to where to go, before Pim deemed south to be an easier route around the new hazard. But as providence sometimes dictates, one trial is traded for another. This alternate path lead straight into the nest of a render.
Little did the team know that such a beast lurked in that small grove. The render came, sounding its arrival with cries of violence and shattering branches, dragging the orc chain gang to their doom. The men panicked, firing wildly at the Render. Some were slain outright by the great beast, becoming little more than flesh and viscera among the leaves. Others fled into the Dark of the forest, guided only by their fear. A few of you fled together, running as fast as you could from the razor-sharp claws and teeth.
But the trials of your group had only just begun. The lands you had run into were not your own. Not long after losing the Render, a new foe reared its head. As if they had been expecting you, a second group of elves, not of the Chonake, loosed their arrows upon your terrified party. Shafts of wood and chipped obsidian cut rain and flesh alike.
But this was not your place to die. Not all of you at least. Ear shattering Flashes of Iron and fire returned the soft calls of elvish bowstrings.
Through the smoke and blood, victory was achieved, but at great cost. The elves fled back nto the brush. All but one of the trappers, Wayne, have been either lost or killed. Two guards, twins by the names of Gale and Bale are all that remain of the other warriors, and Captain Donahue has been horribly wounded by a poison arrow. Somehow Pim the Cartographer has managed to survive. Your party is exhausted. And your supplies are only what you have on your back. Maybe a days’ worth of food and water for you all. Not wishing to linger, the survivors keep running, pushing themselves as far from the ambush site as they can. Eventually the rain ceases its beatdown and you stop in a nearby rockslide to take a breath.
Gale approaches Pim, limping from an arrow wound in his side. He glares down beneath his red eye brows at the thinly built man shivering on the ground before thrusting his leathery hand to the man’s throat.
“YOU… FUCKING WHELP!” he cries, “I SAID NORTH. NORTH! You had to push us SOUTH!”
“Gale!” Wayne’s straggling voice breaks the air.
“He’s just a lad, it’s our fault as much as his. We trusted his judgement. There’s no takin’ that back now. Yer hurt, the Captain’s dyin’, and we gotta git moving.”
Bale looks up from tending the captain, and stares coldly at his brother. The two red-heads make eye contact for a brief moment sharing a brother's silence. The warrior breathes out, and drops the map maker back to the wet earth.
“If we make it back, I never want to see your pathetic face again.”
He turns, leaving the cartographer shuddering once more in the cool air. Gale sits down at a nearby tree stump, loading his rifle, cursing beneath his breath. He refuses to make eye contact with anyone in the group. Instead he addresses all of you, seemingly speaking to the earth as the winds whisper among the foliage.
“Get your shit and load up. The river’s two days west, and we sure as hell didn’t kill all those dagger-eared bastards. I’m not going to die here.”
What do you do?
This message was last edited by the player at 08:56, Wed 04 Jan 2017.