One orc lieutenant smiled broadly; he'd be promoted now and didn't have to do the dirty work himself. Branley, the halfling merc who did get to enjoy a threesome one chilly night, raised his thumb up in a pleased salute from a higher branch. Everyone else shrugged and carried on with what they were doing.
The next morning, Optima Brand collected her bonus pay from the orc quartermaster in the form of a captured elven warhorse; said her goodbyes to Branley, to Yearson, to En'tu'ak; and rode out away from the rugged forest where she'd spent the last four months. The gold in her saddlebags meant she'd be able to take a few months off, and she was looking forward to being back in a city.
The storm was unseasonally strong when it struck.
The trail Optima rode along was an old Nerathi road, overgrown here and there, but oddly empty. No other travellers ventured out along it, nor were there beasts or sounds of beasts. Only the sound of thunder, the flashes of lightning, the pelting rain and hail of a monsoonal downpour. In an area that wasn't supposed to get monsoons.
Thunder erupted all around Optima and she swore as her elven horse bucked and bolted, tossing her into the wet mud. Half her weapons were gone with that damn horse, and her gold as well -- she'd have to track it when the storm lifted. For now, she was being assaulted by forceful rain and pellets of ice, and shelter was the first priority. Hopefully the horse would either find shelter itself, or barring that, at least have the courtesy to die somewhere nearby so she wouldn't have to hunt it too far.
The thick clouds made it seem more like night than day, and Optima squinted through the darkness, hand over her eyes as she struggled through the storm's onslaught. Was that a flickering light in a window ahead? Maybe a homesteader, who she could persuade -- at swordpoint if necessary -- to let her wait out the storm? Surely, not an inn; there are no inns this far out from civilization...
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ninetydegrees
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on 2010-07-27 04:22 pm (UTC)The next morning, Optima Brand collected her bonus pay from the orc quartermaster in the form of a captured elven warhorse; said her goodbyes to Branley, to Yearson, to En'tu'ak; and rode out away from the rugged forest where she'd spent the last four months. The gold in her saddlebags meant she'd be able to take a few months off, and she was looking forward to being back in a city.
The storm was unseasonally strong when it struck.
The trail Optima rode along was an old Nerathi road, overgrown here and there, but oddly empty. No other travellers ventured out along it, nor were there beasts or sounds of beasts. Only the sound of thunder, the flashes of lightning, the pelting rain and hail of a monsoonal downpour. In an area that wasn't supposed to get monsoons.
Thunder erupted all around Optima and she swore as her elven horse bucked and bolted, tossing her into the wet mud. Half her weapons were gone with that damn horse, and her gold as well -- she'd have to track it when the storm lifted. For now, she was being assaulted by forceful rain and pellets of ice, and shelter was the first priority. Hopefully the horse would either find shelter itself, or barring that, at least have the courtesy to die somewhere nearby so she wouldn't have to hunt it too far.
The thick clouds made it seem more like night than day, and Optima squinted through the darkness, hand over her eyes as she struggled through the storm's onslaught. Was that a flickering light in a window ahead? Maybe a homesteader, who she could persuade -- at swordpoint if necessary -- to let her wait out the storm? Surely, not an inn; there are no inns this far out from civilization...