Galandel Alone

[RocEter]

Galandel kneels next to lifeless child and he gives a comforting scruff behind Baelmus's ears.

<Do> he says to Baelmus.

Galandel carefully picks the child up and moves off the side of the road into the woods. He give the child a proper burial, before placing the child in her grave he looks at her face to see he recognizes the girl. He also cuts a small lock of her hair off and ties it with some grass. Placing the hair in one his pouches, something to remind of the vengeance he mus exact.

Once that is done he sets up camp for the night. He doesn't bother with a tent or a fire. He wants to start moving once we finishes his meditation.

[ewancummins]

The little girl looks familiar, but Galandel isn't sure of her identity. Her torn and dirty clothing resembles that worn by his wife's people.


Galandel has been away from Sithicus for what might be several years; not a long time for an elf. Still, things have changed in his absence. The land feels somehow altered. Shadows are deeper, and some seem to creep and crawl when seen out of the corner of his eyes- but look perfectly normal when you stare into them head-on.

Most disturbing of all is the change to the moon. Since returning home Galandel has witnessed a strange phenomenon in the night sky. The thin silvery diadem of the crescent Moon shows through the thin clouds. In any land but Sithicus this would be a perfectly ordinary occurrence, but Sithcius has never shared the pale moon of the human lands! Galandel grew up under Nuitari, the black moon. He remembers his father teaching him to spot Nuitari by noting the stars it blocked in its travels across the night-sky. The elf ranger had grown used to the huge, slow, bright moon of the Mannish realms, but it is a shock to see it above his own homeland.

Under the light of the strange-yet-familiar moon and the coldy glittering stars, the elf meditates beside the dirt road. Baelmus has curled into a big shivering ball of fur at Galandel's side, although the night is not cold.

[RocEter]

Galandel's mood only falls more at the site of moon. Shaking his head he scratches behinds Baelmus's ears, feeling his discontent through their link.

"Things have changed since we were here last. I don't believe these changes for the better either. Our family captured by slavers or worse by the Black Rose's men, and a moon that is only seen in the human lands." he says mostly to himself while petting his long trusted companion.

Looking down slightly at Baelmus and sighs. He doesn't like it when Baelmus has troubled dreams. Once he finishes with his meditation he will continue along the trail following the tracks.

[ewancummins]

later...


Walking down the road at night with only your wolf for company, you continue your hunt. The twinkling stars and the pale cresent moon give you ample light to see where a human would be hindered by night's darkness. Every step leads you closer to the kidnappers and the elf captives, or so you may hope.

Now, after walking well past midnight, you come upon a length of gossamer cloth shimmering in the road. Drawing near, you seem to recognize the item; it looks very much like a scarf your wife loves to wear, acquired years ago from a peddler who sold the handicrafts of the town-dwelling elves. The subtle patterns of silver thread in the mesh of silk are the same, unless memory is playing tricks on you. A spot of dried blood stains one end of the cloth.

The trail of wheel-ruts, hoof marks, and booted footprints leads on to the south, following the dirt road.

[RocEter]

"Bread crumbs.. Galandel whispers to Baelmus as he kneels down to pick up the scarf.

Moving his hand over to Baelmus's snout to get the scent, he nods to his friend. Once that is done he places the scarf in a belt pouch and stands.

"The hunt is on Baelmus, we must use the night to our advantage. They have men on foot, so the horse can only travel as fast as the men. While they rest we will catch up to them. Come." he says to his trusted companion.

Galandel counts to follow the trail, using the scent his picked up off the scarf to help as well. He moves along at a much faster pace, as hunter he has endurance and keep a fast steady travel for some time.

[ewancummins]

About the time the eastern sky begins to glow pink and gold, you come to a crossroads. The north-south road is transected by an east-west trail. The tracks you have been following continue to the south, and are joined by other foot- and hoof-prints from the east and west. The enlarged party might number about thirty or forty men, on foot or horseback, but you cannot be certain of numbers. You notice that all the trail signs you now find are fresh and clear, perhaps having been made only recently.

[RocEter]

Galandel kneels down to better examine the tracks before him. "Fresh.." He says before trailing off.

He will make sure these are indeed the same tracks he has been following and not track meant to mislead him or the wrong tracks period.

Survival: 1d20+7=18

Spot: 1d20+8=18

Listen: 1d20+8=28

Search: 1d20+6=21

[ewancummins]

The trail seems to be not only fresh, but to be the same trail you have been following. You are on the right track, and gaining on them.




Hours later, a little before noon-


The weather today is rather warm and sunny for early November. The muddy patches of the road have partly dried; a helpful occurence, as it preserves the tracks left by your quarry.

Now, as you near the crest of a low rise in the road, hardly worth calling a hill, you hear voices just ahead of you and out of sight. In a tongue not known to you, a human is talking loudly, perhaps complaining. He's answered by an acid-tongued retort delivered in flawless Sithican-


''Enough! Your whining annoys me to no end, ape. The King gave explicit instructions- no slaves are to be separated for personal use. These savages will serve in the mines, or, if unlucky, in the King's court. They are not for your personal amusement or profit.''

[RocEter]

Galandel will move off the road and slip into the shadows provided by the trees. Doing his best to sneak up to the voices, he gets within the eye sight of the voices to try see can't see how many others are there or if it just the two he heard.

Hide in shadows 1d20+7=24

Move Silently 1d20+6=24

[ewancummins]

You hide and Baelmus hides with you. From the shadows beneath a spreading elm atop the low rise, behind a natural fence of rocks and tall grass, you observe the scene.

The two persons you overheard stand just a short distance away from your hiding place. One is a tall elf (about as tall as a typical human male) with very sharp features. He is outfitted as a soldier; a longsword swings at his hip as he paces back and forth, berating the human male who stands before him. This human is grossly obese and of middling height. His jowly cheeks bear a three-day beard and his eyes are baggy and puffy. He wears no armor and his only visible weapon is a dagger at his belt.

The two speakers are not alone. Nearby, on the shoulder of the road, is a wagon full of twenty-odd shackled prisoners, all wild elves by their dress and looks. The wagon is guarded by a dozen elf soldiers dressed in dun tabards with black rossette badges. All the elves are armed with spears, bows, and swords. The metal studs in their leather armor have been dulled with acid so as not to reflect the light. Hanging about the road are are a half-dozen humans, rough-looking men with well-worn weapons and varied kit.

Taking a second look at the wagon and the captives, you recognize a very lovely, but dirty and ragged, elvish woman. You have not seen your wife in years, but years are to an elf as weeks are to humans.

One of the human fighting-men approaches the wagon and makes lewd gestures towards your wife.

The elf guards don't seem to take notice of this crude and ill-mannered human, or maybe are purposely ignoring him.

[RocEter]

Galandel shakes his head To man to fight at once..going to have lure some out, set traps and attack at night when the humans can't see well. he thinks to himself.

He sighs a breath of relief when he sees his wife is still alive. He takes mental notes of larger elf, and the unarmed human. Those will have to be his first kills, then the others. He also thinks of ways to slow down the wagon or stop it completely with out putting those inside at risk of being injured.

Galandel takes one last quick glance at his wife before continue to move stealthily away from the area. He gets far enough ahead that can move swiftly without being heard, he needs to find a good ambush point, set his traps and reduce their numbers to make his night assault easier.

OOC: My idea is that Galandel will set basic hunting traps in the woods where he plans to pull a group of the soldiers or humans. His first target will probably more then likely be the unarmored human if he can get a good clear shot. That should hopefully get their attention enough to send a search party to who ever is attacking the caravan. He has to do this Rambo style!

[ewancummins]

Once away from the immediate area, you can run without being heard.

...

In the afternoon, you come to a meandering stream, over which the road passes on a low-arched stone bridge. There have been no wagon-worthy detours from the dirt road thus far. Old ruts in the road on either side of the stone bridge indicate frequent passage of wagons over the years. The country hereabouts is a mix of grassy meadows and stands of broadleaf trees. The trees and bushes grow more thickly near the water's edge.

After setting up your ambush site, complete with some simple traps, you are pretty tuckered out. The slavers might be here around sundown or a little later, as you've run some distance and their oxcart isn't very fast.

[RocEter]

Galandel waits patiently for prey to arrive. Hoping against hope that his plan works to his advantage. He trusts his traps, but he worries about the humans they can be unpredictable.

He waits there silently ready and watching for his first mark.

OOC: His first Ideal mark would be the human with no armor, the tall Elf being next.

[ewancummins]

Time passes, you are able to rest...

[ewancummins]

As the sun sinks below the western horizon, four riders approach the stone bridge. Two are elves dressed as soldiers and two are men whom you recognize as belonging to the gang of human cut-throats that you saw with the soldiers at mid-day. One of the humans carries a glowing lantern on a ten-foot pole.


About fifty paces behind the riders, the ox-cart full of captives rolls up the dirt road escorted by twenty-odd armed elves and men marching on foot. Driving the wagon is the obese human. The elf officer who'd previously berated the fat man now sits beside him on the buckboard.

You see all this from your hiding place among the trees and bushes by the water-margin, in the shadows of the bridge.