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Warg encounter

Tags: Leofric,  Warg,  hunter

Short Summary: Leofric, scouting near the borders of Mirkwood, encounters both a pair of wargs and a fellow hunter
Date (real-life): 2011-04-25
Scene Location: Eastern Edge of Mirkwood
Date (in-game): October 3052
Time of Day: Night

Eastern Edge of Mirkwood

To the east you hear the soft chuckling of the Celduin; The River Running, as it hurries to the southeast. Between the dense, healthy looking oaks and tall beeches, a faint trail runs between the trees, heading northwards.Between the dense, healthy looking oaks and tall beeches, the ground is cool and damp and covered with evergreen bushes and warm colored remains of the summer growth in this cold twilight autumn surroundings. In the flickering light you think you can mark out faint trails between the trees, heading northwards.

Grey clouds cover over the sky of twilight block the sight of the last quarter moon and the stars.

Obvious exits:
East, West, and North

=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Real Time: Mon Apr 25 14:37:44 2011 MST

Dale-Lands Time:
Mersday, twilight on a clear autumn's night, October 6 of 3052
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service =-=-=-=

The night has just come over the forest of mirkwood. Raynar and Leofric are camped near the old forest road, at the entrance from mirkwood to the dales. At current, Leofric is scouting about the surrounding area. The quarter moon is hanging over mirkwood. Leofric is about a mile from the campsite, a little ways north and west. He is stalking through the trees, searching for signs of the wargs nearby. He has just found tracks leading to the east. Leofric, greatly alarmed, readies an arrow to his bow and begins to work his way in a roundabout fashion to the camp. Before he gets ten feet from the tracks, a long howle sounds out in the forest. all leofric can say is "Damn!"

Truly, the sounds of Mirkwood are eerie. Even the faintest of rustlings from that black tree-wall is portentous: branches, wind-blown leaves, stealthy feet - who can say?

At the sudden howl, a hunting owl takes flight from the canopy, the rush of its wings felt rather than seen. A moment later the cut-off squeal of some small animal rends the air. Following it ... silence. But for a moment a pair of yellow eyes shines in the darkness, somewhat south of the point whence the howl had come. Then a stealthy shape detaches itself from forest edge, stealthy padding feet carrying it toward the sound of Man-speech. Long and low and grey-furred, this warg would seem to be a young beast, but the glint in its yellow eyes is no less wicked for that.

But away to the north another shadow stirs, though deep within the dark does it dwell even as the howl comes snaking through the forest. Silent, stealthy fingers unseen work themselves to the curve of a bow; curling deftly and surreptiously as they then test the weight of a string.

As yet this third figure lingers within the hollow of a large bole, and nary the scrape of a boot upon bark can be heard in rumour of him.

Leofric takes stock of his surroundings after judging the most recent howle to be very close. A nearby outcropping of rock with 3 shear sides a very steep front slope lends itself to be an excellent choke point. Leofric sprints to it, keeping his bow nocked with an arrow.

Wolves have always howled - but there is something uncanny about the sound of the ululations to the west. Almost, one would recall speech. Orders?

The slinking shape that had been approaching Leofric pauses, head turned to listen. Then it lifts its muzzle to sniff. It would not be hard to run after the scrambling Leofric, yet this creature clearly has the intelligence to hang back. Belly low to the ground, it begins a hunter's stalk.

And from the shadow of the bole, there is neither sight nor sound of a stirring.

Leofric scrambles up the outcropping and spins back around, arrow drawn and aimed down the slope of the rock. he stands a good 15 feet up, and his head brushes the above forest canopy. He scans the forest floor below, searching for signs of persuers. Finding non as of yet, he quickly lowers his bow. Taking the arrow he was holding, he coats it in powder from one of the pouches on his belt. He manages to get a light coating of the substance on the tip when he hears yet another howl.

The silent warg takes advantage of Leofric's scrambling to put on a burst of speed, its four legs far fleeter than the man's two. It reaches the base of the outcrop just before Leofric straightens. The creature's tongue lolls from its jaws and it gazes hungrily upward as though desirous to taste human flesh - but then, with a whine, it slinks back into the shadows at the base of the outcrop, the very sheerness of the unscalable cliff-like sides protecting it, for it is near-invisible. Wrapping its tail round its legs, it waits.

The reason for this becomes clear as a second dark shape detaches from the cover of the trees. Wait much longer and there could be quite the party ...

Leofric is genuinly frightened at this point. He is alone, likely besieged on this rock, and with no-where near enough arrows to take out a good sized pack. Leofric keeps his arrow ready to his bow, and looks up. The canopy above offers little to support him. The branches are thinnest when they reach the peak of the rock, and there s no way to gain a foothold in any tree, as they are too far. Though there are three sheer sides, the area to which leofric is looking down at the ready is only steep enough to keep the worst of climbers at bey. The wargs will be able to climb it, and Leofric will be ready.....

But the two prowling shadows are not the only ones that have lain in wait, and from the dark of the bole comes a sudden, sharp slicing of the air. An arrow speeds its way from hiding toward the hind-leg of this newest arrival, and stepping into what meager light trickles through the leaves above is a tall figure.

Swiftly the bow is slipped over a night-veiled shoulder, and from his belt a flash of silver can be seen as short blade is brought forth. Hastening across the forest floor, wary yet with every step, the unknown fellow advances upon his chosen target.

The silence surrounding Leofric's rock is met by a sudden howl as the silvered arrow slices wolf-flesh. Although the feathered shaft does not lodge, it has clearly found its mark: the second, dark-furred warg is limping as it dodges away from the hunter. The motion sends it loping upslope toward Leofric, fangs bared in anger.

And what of the first creature: the slinker, the skulker. Once again its red tongue lolls from a mouth open in what almost seems a grin. Paw by paw it creeps forward, powerful hindquarters gathering ready to leap as soon as the hunter should step close enough.

Leofric sees the wounded warg down below. He quickly fires of the poisoned arrow. The arrow flies in a direct line down the slope, and Leofric nocks a second arrow, neglecting to poison this one. From his perch, he sees movement in his peripheral vision on the forest floor.

Advancing from the north, a short sword at the ready, the nameless figure closes with the site of Leofric's stand, though as he draws nearer his loping stride turns to a wary saunter.

It would seem the first beast has not been wholly forgotten in this matter.

The injured dark-furred warg twists its body instinctively sideways as Leofric's arrow is loosed from upslope, but its injured foot slips and the feathered shaft sinks deep into its flank. Eyes flaring with sudden madness, it turns its jaws to snap toward the arrow. Soon it is tumbling downslope toward the hunter, snapping and writhing in blind torment.

The slinking warg blinks its yellow eyes, and watches the hunter draw nearer, panting in anticipation. It waits, uncannily still - until the snarling, tumbling body of its fellow provides excellent distraction. Those bunched hindquarters extend as the beast takes a high leap, a wide leap, its slashing fangs aimed toward the hunter's throat.

Leofric Looks in puzzlement towards the warg and wonders what it is biting and snarling at. He looks over to the forest where it is looking and sees the ,sillouet of the man who first shot it. It is then that Leofric sees the first arrow on the beasts leg, and he knows he is not alone. however, His thoughts are turned from this as he catches sight of the other warg from his perch. It is slinking about in the shadows near the man. Leofric Fires the second arrow toward it, about 15 yards from the hunter

In the meantime the stealthy figure has not been caught wholly unawares, and he turns deftly to face the lunge of the wolf-beast. Down he falls to his back with a seemingly practiced ease, knees buckled and ready to flex even as his blade is held firmly upward. Should the warg land upon him it may be the death of it.

The dark-furred warg rolls to a halt at the bottom of the slope, still writhing wildly, though the snarling has faded to a whine. It does not seem to be able to stop the spasming that has taken it, and its jaws are froth-crusted.

The other beast, the stealthy one with the yellow eyes, gives it not a glance, its own struggles occupying its full attention. The very act of its leap has saved it in part, as Leofric's arrow whistles harmlessly past. Not so the sword-blade, which slashes deep across the warg's belly as it tries vainly to change its course. That does not, however, stop the yellowed fangs from seeking for a mouthful of flesh in return. Even as the creature's body lands partly atop the hunter, its jaws seek the angle between neck and shoulder.

Leofric, after loosing the first arrow, had already nocked the second. Seeing the beast leap and also where it will land, Leofric launches the arrow on a trajectory to the leaping beasts neck at the point where it will land. After shooting off the arrow, Leofric begins to scramble down the slope, moving to the side of the warg in its death throws.

And his nameless fellow is spared a grisly fate by his leathers, it would seem, for as the warg's fangs close around his collar they meet with folds of toughened hide. The jaws of a warg are naught to trifle with, all the same, and their vicious grip wrenches away the leather piece; sending the mysterious figure tumbling.

In a trice though he is righted anew, his short sword pointed at the beast's black heart, and a rueful hand comes to rub his neck where surely it has been bruised and grazed by the attack even though his throat remains whole.

He waits then, to watch for his foe's next move it seems.

As Leofric reaches the wounded warg's side, its body gives a final shuddering twist, the clawed hind legs kicking out toward him. It is not a deliberate attack; rather an uncontrolled jerk (though a mighty powerful one). It is followed by sudden stillness. From the unmoving body the smell of filth rises.

The yellow-eyed warg growls low in its throat as it is left with naught but old leather to chew on. That realization is followed in short order by an arrow-shaft deep in its shoulder. Reflex action causes the leather to be spat forth with a sudden yelp. From the now-empty jaws come a series of rising and falling growls that are surely some dreadful language. The yellow eyes stare balefully at the gleaming sword, but it does not attempt to run. Some things are worse than death. The creature sidles one step back, another - and then it is trying to approach the hunter's off-side in a series of three-pawed darts. This time its snapping teeth aim no higher than the hunter's lower leg.
Its steps are marked by droplets of blood.

Leofric is saved from being dashed upon the rocks after a powerfull kick by precaution alone. He was far enough to the side that the wargs final kick did no harm. Leofric had reached the bast of the rock and quickly nocked a third arrow, drawing it the full length of his bow to make for a very powerfull hit, and launches it to the center mass of the beast, aimed at its ribs. after taking this shot, he slings his bow over his cloaked shoulder and draws his knife, while running towards the man and the warg

In the meanwhile the other fellow has been alert, and having taken the time to recover his eyes folow the menacing lope of the warg carefully. Fleet footwork carries him to the left, narrowly dragging his leg wide of the snapping jaws, and down falls the pommel of his weapon as might a hammer to the fell beast's skull.

The yellow-eyed warg already has an arrow-shaft protruding from its shoulder, slowing its movement. Add to that the fact that it has just overextended its neck to snap at the hunter's frustratingly agile legs. The sword-blow falls upon its furred skull at the same time as an arrow transfixes the beast's heaving side. Which has provided the death-blow is hard to say: either would prove fatal. As it is, the sword-cut is the messier, splattering blood across the hunter's garb; the arrow merely quivers slightly.

From the forest, the howls have not yet abated, but they are coming no closer. Whatever the warg pack's interest this night, it does not lie here ... yet.

 

(Fade ... RP continued but player had to leave)

 


Date added: 2011-04-29 06:20:44    Hits: 80
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