| abstract
| - The bird landed gracefully atop a large rock. Its head tilted slightly to the side, taking in its surroundings. It sat atop a large hill. The Widow's Veil Mountains loomed imposingly over the western horizon and rolling foothills stretched out into the east. It was early in the afternoon, though dark clouds sat heavily in the sky. A cool breeze swept over the hills. It raced smoothly in and out of the many valleys, gliding through the tall green grass before winding briskly up into higher ground. From just out of view, there was a deep curse. The bird took a few small steps forward on its rock, peering curiously in the direction of the noise. There was another curse as a large creature stalked up the side of the hill. The bird had never seen anything quite like it before, and certainly not as large. The beast stood nearly as tall as many of the small trees, which rose above the dense grass. It had a long, weathered looking face. Deep creases lined its prominent brow and a full head of dirty brown hair fell down its head past its thick beard and onto its shoulders. It surveyed the area for a moment, its cold, grey eyes coming to a rest on the bird. It snarled and looked to a small patch of white looking goo splattered about its right shoulder. The creature's gaze shifted back to the bird. It did not look happy. --- Burgen Bralund growled and cursed viciously at the bird as it flew away, soaring far out of his reach. He hated birds, especially that one. He gave the mess on his shoulder another disgusted look and did his best to wipe it off. His heavy leather tunic had seen better days, but it would survive. Burgen did not much care for traveling. He had a nice, comfortable home and was perfectly content to stay in it. Only on rare occasions did he venture far from his own territory, but this was one of those occasions. It had been a long journey, but he was almost there. The half-giant had left his quiet life in the east what felt like ages ago, in search something very special. An ore so pristine whatever object was forged of its matter would never break. Supposedly. Of course, back then he had not known the only place to find it was deep in the caverns under a mountain range lands away from his own. But now, here he was, staring up at the Widow's Veil. The half-giant frowned. The tough straps of his traveling pack wore heavily against his shoulders. He leaned on the aged stave held firmly in his right hand, its wood was strong and thick, and supported his great weight without protest. Burgen looked back over his shoulder. He had descended from his mountain home, into the highlands and through the northern plains. The plains had taken a long while to cross but as far as Burgen was concerned, had been the most pleasant part of the journey. After the plains, he arrived in Rindol Field. That had been significantly less pleasant. The Halflings as a whole, were entirely too happy, Burgen had quickly concluded. He was very pleased to leave the uppity small people behind him. He had met a few dwarves before and much preferred their company. So he was optimistic about arriving at his destination of Bordinar's Cleft. At least as optimistic as Burgen was capable of being. The half-giant's foot slipped out from under him as he descended the steep hill, sending several loose rocks tumbling down in front of him. He caught himself amidst a wave of curses just in time to keep from falling. "I hate hills," Burgen muttered dourly. For several more hours, the half-giant trudged through the high grass in silence, occasionally interrupted by brief fits of violent shouting as errant birds ventured too close overhead for his liking. In the fading light, he could just make out the silhouette of a watch tower on a far away hill. The heavy blanket of clouds obscured the stars, making night travel near impossible. Burgen scowled upwards and cursed the sky. "I hate clouds," he growled. He had hoped to reach Bordinar's Cleft sometime the following day, but now that would never happen. He would need to find a suitable place to make camp soon. Burgen shot a caustic look back towards the watch tower. He had had more than his share of company in the past few days, and had no desire to walk all the way to the tower just for more. Besides, there would almost certainly be a Halfling there. As the ominous peaks of the Widow's Veil drew nearer and nearer, the hills began to level. Burgen found the ground he was walking upon becoming much more even and flat. He did not particularly want to sleep unguarded in a completely open area, especially near the base of mountains that were home to creatures quite fond of finding lone travelers asleep. While he was more than capable of handling himself should trouble happen to find him, he would greatly prefer to just avoid it altogether - a fact that trouble often seemed to take personally. After a few moments of squinting about in the darkness, he found a suitable spot. Two fairly large trees had sprung from the ground next to each other. Their trunks had grown together, entwining with one another to create an arching natural wall. Burgen sat down against them, shielding himself from some of the wind. Several small holes had been dug in and around the base of the trees. Whatever animals lived inside of them would have to share their home for tonight. The half-giant set his club-like walking stick against the entangled trunks and removed his traveling pack. He stretched for a moment and then set his head down on a soft tuft of grass. No sooner had Burgen closed his eyes than did the wind abruptly change temperature. He felt a cold, wet drop, land on his nose. The half-giant opened a single eye and peered threateningly up at the sky. He barely had time to let out an indignant curse before a thunderous clap of lightning cracked through the clouds. The chilling sheet of rain that immediately followed soaked him almost instantly. It was going to be a long night. He awoke sometime in the early morning. The wet grass glistened as rays of sunlight streaked out from over the hills. The rain had stopped, as had the wind for the most part, and the clouds had begun to move on. Burgen groaned wearily and opened his eyes. He was still wet, very wet. His long hair was matted across his face and drops of water fell from his beard onto his soaked tunic. Both feet lay firmly planted in a large puddle of soppy mud, which seemed to have crawled up his legs all the way to his waist during his sleep. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and slowly stood up, muttering, taking in his surroundings. He was almost at the base of the Widow's Veil, and could see a deep crease in the mountain side that seemed to lead inward, which meant Bordinar's Cleft was no more than a few hours away. Burgen looked down at his dripping, mud covered pants and swore. He wished he would have known that last night. Grumbling, he snatched his traveling pack off the ground and slung it over his shoulder. The wet leather slapped loudly as it hit his back. He ignored the water dripping from the pack, grabbed his staff and once more started off towards the cleft.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)