Silvereye crept cautiously forward through the swamp, his normal steel plate replaced with finely-crafted beak dog leather armor. Though the steel would have provided better protection, its shine and bulk would have given him away.
It was, of course, his experience ambushing game that had landed him this assignment. Given three months of food and water, he had been sent south along the brook, searching for the staging point that the orcs of the Mysterious Dread used for their assaults on Lanternwebs. Travel along the brook had been easy enough, but when he had actually picked up a trail, it had lead deep into the Stinky Murk. There, he knew, dwelt beak dogs, harpies, and worse.
He could feel fetid water seeping through his leather boots, despite the quality of their crafting, as he moved as quietly as he could forward. To his right, a broad area through the overgrown trees was cleared and trampled, the swamp struggling to reclaim the path that the orcs had carved through it nearly half a year earlier. Though that path was dryer, the packed earth less receptive to the all-pervading moisture, he dared not venture onto it. Much better to stay with the trees and their moss-draped limbs, lest a flock of harpies spot him from above out in the open.
The heat was the worst part of it, he knew. Every morning, he woke to steam rising from the innumerable pools, and made as much progress as he could along the trail before the midday heat turned the air thick and foul, the smell of ancient decaying trees rising to overwhelm the senses and force him to rest until nightfall, when he would press on until the screech of a hunting beakdog pack or the grunt of a nearby ogre forced him to construct a hidden shelter and wait for morning, when the beasts would have returned to their lairs.
Ahead, he saw a larger clearing and slowed, his cautious steps inaudible above the constant hum of the myriad insects constantly swarming through the air. As he reached the last line of trees he saw a massive citadel, carved from glossy black obsidian, rising from the clearing. The ground around it was dry and packed, stripped bare of vegetation by hundreds of trampling feet. Orcish feet, he knew. He could see orcs moving in and out, as well as enormous cooking fires with meat roasting over them. Making a few final notes on nearby landmarks, he slipped quietly back into the swamp. The warriors of Lanternwebs were sure to enjoy their visit here.
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I think Flint does get to lead, he has seniority anyway. The Tooninator has generally been leading the swordsdwarves while Flint leads the axedwarves, but we'll need a single leader for the assault force.
Workerdrone: You will get a few regular dwarves, don't worry. I just didn't want to declare anyone part of it (or not part of it) against their wishes.
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Topic: Lanternwebs (The End!) (Read 80068 times)