Thread: The Magic of the Open Road (Kara Lyonsbane x Fun_and_Games)

Henri gave another grumpy smile, hard to really look that grousy when a cute girl gave you a kiss on the cheek. Still, he managed it somehow. He watched her collect her things, and then managed to rumble one more offering, Look, Toren is still the only real human civilization of any size for a good three or four days ride in any direction. Double that walking. You need help or a rest, find the Hoghead and tell Gerome that Henri sent ya. He'll treat you right...enough. With that, he snapped the reigns, and his wagon rumbled out of sight, bouncing off the odd rock as he trundled toward town. Which left her with the stone stair, and a climb up into the hills. It was not an easy climb. Even with the stairs, they were steep and not even. Then, the stairs vanished as the hill widened and shallowed a little. Whoever had built them decided they weren't necessary to walk over the ridge. The stairs became a normal trail, but a steep one nonetheless. The trees thinned without quite disappearing, just enough to keep the worst of the wind off her back. Fortunately, her guess about the mountain creatures seemed to be right...at least today. She broke over the ridge, and descended for about the same amount of time...maybe a couple hours...and found herself standing on what must be the stronghold they called Black Quarry. There was a deep chasm, deep enough that the bottom of it was lost in shadow. The sort of thing that myth tells you that you die from fear and cold before you hit the bottom from falling. Ridiculous, of course, but the sight of it could make a person believe it. Extending across the chasm was a bridge. Not a wide one, though not completely treacherous. Three people wide. If it was over a small stream, you could almost drive a wagon over it. The only thing that made it look particularly harsh was the fact that it was over that imposing chasm, NOT a nice little stream. The bridge went clear over, and ended against the rock wall on the far side...right into the sheered off side of the mountain. A pair of solid oak gates were built into the side, with a portcullis in front of it. The entrance, looking grim, forbidding, and NOT open. But then again, dwarves had never had great hospitality. The obvious choice of where to go next was deflected only by a small detail she might notice. Only the observant would catch it...you could ride right past it easily enough and not even notice. From the angle of the gates, any dwarves watching would probably see nothing. But from her angle, she could see there was an outcropping a few dozen paces from the entrance to the bridge, maybe a could feet over the edge and down. There was a lip to the edge of that ledge, which blocked view from the gates. In that little nest, there was a sort of campsite. Rugged, not much to it, and certainly no fire. In that campsite, there was a squat if powerfully muscled form. A dwarf, from the look of him, though he had an ashen-grey pallor to him and the white hair of the aged. He was huddled as if miserable against the rock, staring at the gates with misery in his eyes. He had armor, but it looked worn and beaten. The only part of it that looked of value was his weapon....a morning star style weapon with the head having a strange, ruddy blue color to the steel. He hadn't noticed her yet. Probably would once she crossed the bridge, and he would take note of her arrival like he seemed to be noting everything else.