Found:
Damp. Sog. Mist. Rain. Mud.
I sit now on a rise below the Fields of Fornost. Below me, the mist gathers across the decidedly boggy plain, It is dank, depressing and determined to eat my boots! There is a stone path that cuts straight through, but I find myself wary of it, especially now.
I departed Trestlebridge two days hence, but not before leaving a parting gift. The people there, meager though their means were, did all that they could to be accommodating of a stranger. For all their wariness born of loss and fear, they nevertheless tried to make me welcome for my short stay. It seems to be that such selfless behaviour should be rewarded. Accordingly, I snuck into their vault before dawns first light. Sadly, little more than a handful of silver and a lot of dust met my search. That situation has been rectified. When next one of their number takes a look into those dwindling coffers, they shall find a few extra pouches filled with gold. It might be nice to claim altruism for such an act and see what warm, fuzzy feelings I could possibly reap from it, but the truth is simply that I have more than I need, too much wealth invites unkind eyes along the road, and it's not like I'll have much use of it by journey's end. You can't take it with you, as they say.
So, on I walked through dim light, straining my eyes to see the crude map of the area I had purchased in Bree. It was horrendously inaccurate, but good enough to lead me to my general destination. Now, however, I find myself torn.
There are Swert-hounds here, or Barghests as the smaller Eridorian equivalent is known. They're still nasty, bitey, hostile things, but I have more than enough experience of the creatures to make short work of them when they come too near. The mangy bears would prove more of a problem were they not so easy to avoid. The apparitions, though...
They ignore me for now, which is to the good. However, there could be many reasons for this behaviour. Perhaps they show no interest because I have not yet disturbed their resting place in any meaningful way. Perhaps they have lingered so long that their purpose is lost to them. Perhaps there is some intelligence still and they simply seek to lull me into a false sense of security. Whatever the reason, this is not yet the time to test any theories. Besides, the barrows do not hold my interest.
No, my indecision comes by way of what I have seen in the distance. Rising up to the north, and hulking down over the plains alike a sun-touched troll, Fornost awaits me. However, to both east and west I can make out several smaller ruins. Any of these may offer clues as to what awaits - what I may find or what I should be wary of in the titular pile of rubble. Should I waste my time with them, though? Any knowledge they may yield would be yet one more weapon for me to use, one more contingency that I may draw upon in the event of possible disaster, and there may even be items of more earthly interest for the taking. However, to search them all would take much time and invite more danger than is strictly necessary.
Decisions, decisions.
In either case, having already scouted the Norbury Gates, it has come to my attention that there is a more immediate problem.
Orcs.
How did they come to be here, unmolested as they are? Why have they set up several stockades outside this place?
I usually try to avoid battling such creatures. They may not be particularly bright, but they have a physical strength as well as a strength in numbers that I would be unable to overcome on my own. 'Tis time for wit, then, instead of prowess.
Poisoning their food supply would take far too long and, after the first few succumb, may not be entirely successful. Do I await a brave band of adventurers to solve the problem for me? If the warnings I have heard of this place are true, few would dare. But...
Yes, I think I know what to do. It will mean a return to Trestlebridge, or perhaps a wander to the farmsteads that I am told lie to a ways to the east, but it will be worth the effort. All I need is a black blouse, some white chalk paint and a bullwhip...
