Playing Lonewolf, in the Rawlins
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Even as he wandered along, a short distance from the road of many battles he could hear yet more fighting in the distance. Even the sound of death was crisp in the air and Yngdír's throat became dry with a dread, but necessary realization - his chance to move on had finally been revealed. All along his path the bodies and pieces of a Goblinoid army were strewn, he wondered how long ago these ones had fallen, he was used to his thoughs by now. The path of the dead as he might remember it forever more lead him to the mines, it seemed obvious that this would be the place - but why could he still hear fighting from within? Normally a threat would have been repelled. 'Oh well, just another breach' he thought. It didn't really surprise him, maybe he just wanted an excuse not to continue. It never really mattered before but something here stole his confidence, he felt that he was alone in the forest. Even the Goblin army was dead and cold at his feet.
'Don't be so sentimental, where did these thoughs even come from? This isn't you Yngdír' - he pressed his back to the damp wall of the cave, he'd got deeper inside while his mind wandered. The banging of a loose, rickety and battered gate as it blew in the wind managed to draw his attention, it's the only door. There is no other way. He watched it waving in the dark, it beckoned him along - it opened it's arms in a cool breeze from behind him. He took a chance and slid through the shadows along the walls, into the next chamber - and the next. He was about to cross into yet another chamber when the padding of bare feet against hard rock drew closer, quickly - a small Goblin … no, a vile Goblin-befouled. Tainted, wounded. Retreating, obviously. 'Keep it together Yngdír there's no-one here to help if you're caught'. All of these thoughts in a blinking instant, the padding of Goblin feet was barely out of earshot and Yngdír was already beyond the last gate, and into another battle.
It seemed to him, that these Bugbears might be fighting the Demon for another long while, on either side the wounds were deep - a three on one advantage to the Bugbears, even so Yngdír was impressed by the martial prowess of the Goblin team. Two greatswords, and a caster that he had not yet noticed - and would not notice until it was too late... from nowhere, a spell - the daze, his head felt like it would split in two and he could do nothing but stare forward out from the dark rock. The fight continued, the spell intended for someone else's enemy - one lucky break after another as the Demon fell dead to the ground and the Bugbears left the chamber, and Yngdír behind. He still doesn't know for sure if they'd spotted him, but his concern lies ahead - a back door, a rear entrance. The freshness of a breeze not tainted by death.
A great chasm opened up to his left, a noisy Bugbear camp to his right - and an oncoming troop of Bugbear heavy soldiers coming from straight ahead, that would have been the case had Yngdír not immediately moved to cover once exiting the cave. He watched the troops pass into the mines and out of sight. He was clever in his use of cover, it was the dead of night and he had already made it so far. Only the constant noise of battle and dying cries kept him from growing cocky.
It seemed like things would only get worse for him as he came to a narrow point guarded on either side with a double sentry. At first he considered his chances at shimmying long the slender ridge, it was a foolish idea - one that could have cost him his life, as though that ment anything anymore. The notion was enough to raise his spirits, his heart was made lighter with the presence of humour. It wouldn't be so bad, 'I'll just wait a little while' he thought. He was right to wait, despite acting dangerously stupid by toying with fate, and the guards while their backs were turned - it worked out in the end. Both guards marched half way down the road, a patrol maybe - for once it didn't cross Yngdír's mind, he didn't have time for this nonsense - he moved as soon as he could to the next cover. From behind the noise of battle, some bugbears rushed past him from up front and gave him a chance to proceed. It was typical, it was surgical, timing and patience were critical. His successful execution had lead him to thick cover again, a wooded area where he could walk freely through the trees again. This place then, this is where he will wait. Surrounded and between enemies, a long way from anyone he could call friend. This is really it then, no way back - no way forward.
Perhaps then, it was that Tymora smiled down on him. Or that a gift from a friend had kept him concealed when all eyes might have been looking for him. Perhaps his own Sehanine lending Her will to Yngdír on his lonely quest into the Rawlinswood to aid in the destruction of the most foul abomination that was once the Wendigo. Perhaps, all of these things. But now while he sits alone in the deep-dark-woods that his new purpose is clear. The possibility, or probability of retreat is slim to null - his message must be delivered when the time comes. He must not fail.
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Yngdír had remained in the same spot until darkness once again swallowed the Rawlins completely. Bats were common in most of these areas often though as no more than a faint whispering of their beating wings. Ocasionally the noise would increase as they rushed closer to him though - Yngdír wondered at times if they ever got embarrassed for getting too close before realizing his presence, as they appeared to dart off suddenly when they approached too near. Slight things that he took humour from in the cold and dark, but it was time to put these things behind him and move on.
Getting up from his hide wasn't a simple jump, or even short careful period. It took determination and chance, sound-masking techniques came in useful whether he was seen or not - it would be folly to even let the faintest sound escape. After the task of getting up in silence he spent a short while longer masking the traces of his presence and altering what tracks might be irreversable. Such techniques were always simple - and more often than not, successful. The hours drew in through the night, Yngdír would not risk entering the Enemies' territory too deeply - he skimmed the borders, if borders can be taken seriously in that neck of the woods.
He finally came to an area that was once seldome travelled, but now was the staging point of many battles between Ostromog and the Hungry One. He was still a fair distance away from immediate danger, or so he'd thought. He had watched battles in this area before and knew well to steer clear of the battleground. He wasn't feeling too bad about it. He trusted his gut and so continued down parallel to the marching road now used by the servants of the Hungry One.
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Something Yngdír had always advised against too, but he left the south gates in the dead of night - and travelled a road that had become as familiar to him as the back of his hand. His own intentions would have been to remain with the others in Norwick while preperations were made for the battle, after the last time and the new enemies in the forest, it would have never crossed his mind to enter the deep Rawlinswood again. But he recieved his orders, and without voicing his concerns he left.
It's not surprising that no-one saw him moving too far away from the town, even if they had there would be no explanation for him disappearing so suddenly into the darkness of the night - but this would be credited to a blade he had recieved, and it's unsheathed state. With it he had no real need for the ghillie suit that he would often make, with it he probably had no true need for any camoflage, but it was against his nature to be complacent - and so went as softly as he could manage. More likely however it had been his intention to create his hiding garb from more local sources. Such things that often happen in Yngdír's considerations when no-one is around to appreciate them.
Although he had appeared to have made little preperation in Norwick he had given himself enough time to purchase what lasting supplies as he would comfortably carry, and to send a hawk into flight. A winged messenger sent off to some northern location, from the town at least.
Now within the dark, thick areas of the forest would come his true test. The one that he had hoped to avoid but would now be at the mercy of, the Ghost Wolves of the enemy. His thoughts turned to what had overheard from another scout as he took his first rest of the journey, that they could not be hid from. He wondered if this had been considered before he was given the orders, his mind was not calm for all of this - and his heart was made heavy by his situation.
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A few nights later Yngdír had re-poisitioned at the opposite end of the goblin territory. He walked quite freely at times, the high brackens hadn't been tended and Yngdír would be almost invisible against the old browning stalks. He watched everything from this area, it seemed perfect to him, and so he waited. By the break of each day he would take a few precise paces back behind the front lair of bracken.
It had been a long while in the dark forest. Yngdír knew all that was available and yet he starved - he would risk no fire. His revereie would not endanger him, but he took little rest. He was nervous, at times, in the forest. The loniless would creep up on him and his thoughts wandered at times, but he maintaned his focus and watched the Goblins and their misdoings for a little while longer.
In the end he decided that he had all the information he would find out there and made all the sense of it that he could - and chose to return to defend Norwick, and the Pass, and the great forest. After a day of slow stealthy - or tired - walking through the forest Yngdír chose to once eagain act on his survival instinct. He sat still for a moment and listened - a bird was singing and he crept in the direaction of the sound. He ascended the tree with no knife or weapon drawn for when he reached the nest he knew the bird would fly. He wasn't after meat, that would be too messy. Instead he helped himself to two small blue-ish eggs, he popped them both in his mouth and slid down the tree crunching and grinding at the shells and their contents, and eating them raw and whole.
Long ago he had become nature's beast to roam, but he still had his heart and his mind and his soul, and he felt guilt and shame for eating the eggs. But his body needed sustenance and Yngdír believed he had made the right choice.
His journey was slow and long, but the closer to Norwick he got, the thinner the trees became. The woods were lighter, for longer - in the days and during the night. The columns of light pouring down through small breaks in the branches above became a rare, forgotten beauty. Fewer moths flew in the night in this area, or perhaps the bats and owls could catch them better in the less dense regions of the forest. He began passing familiar sights and sounds, the smell of Norwick's fire carried on a wind from the north, and as though empowered he paced on toward it until eventually reaching the gates.
He pulled his camoflage-caked hood back and walked past the guards, past the fire, past the northern gates - he walked all the way to the Legion Tower, yet without rest - and made his reports to his General.
Albeit after a change of clothing.
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It's evening, the bright red glow on many green leaves overhead, and below it lies Yngdír's shadowey world. No light now enters the woods, it seems to only wash over. In this strange twilight he takes his chance to re-position, and refresh his ghillie suit. He shed the skin moss and brachan as thought it was a simple cloak and retreated some ways north, to where he'd tapped a tree. Food would be essential on this long term mission and Yngdír knew his own supplies wouldn't last that long, it was time for him to improvise.
He was far now, from the goblin camps and he took rest by the marked birch which would provide him with his meal. He watched the quick dripping sap as it bled from the small wound and ran down a make-shift peg, into his deep wooden bowl. He'd left it there for a few days, and the bowl had been overflowing. The trees were generous at this time of year. He pulled the peg out and buried it next to the tree, the wound was sealed by the piece of bark he'd cut out to draw the sap - and after tending the tree Yngdír sat drinking his sweet bounty. He was becoming thin, his muscles were relaxing - all the stillness, waiting, lack of proper food or fire on which to cook it… it was all taking it's toll. But he supped at his bowl, content, or at least in no mood to complain.
Within an hour of finishing his meal Yngdír turned to his next solitary duty. His ghillie suit. There wasn't the material, at least none that wouldn't be missed by a cunning patrol or passing Druid. So his camoflage was mainly a smock of bracken, and as much mud as he could cake under it. He was an impossible figure by the end of it. He had become the forest floor, all manner of leaves and cones hung from a fine net of laced grasses and simple hemp, or twined bark. He once again set off south - slowly, quietly.
The crickets stopped chirping, and the noise was replaced by the far-off singing of birds. Yngdír was crossing into a dark place, a treacherous place where few would tread anymore indeed, he had passed borders that even Goblins avoid. By instinct or an outside will, he chose to avoid it too - compelled in the back of his head, something telling him 'not yet'.
As for this it was decided that his best choice would be to return to where he'd found the Goblins, and gather as much information on their 'Giant Goblins' as he was able.
The Sun rose high and midday was closing in, pillars of golden light once again shone through the thick forest and Yngdír became a log. He lay down on his stomach after digging himself into a very shallow pit, to give the illusion that he had been weathered there. This was cleverly done, the loose soil scattered and the leaves of the forest floor manipulated to disguise the tracks. Old tricks to Yngdír. Here he would wait out the rest of the day until darkness took the forest again. In his ears only the song of the forest, in his head - a verse to give him courage; "I am a log".
