IC Story Thread: Ch.1,Ad.2 - The Far Reach

With the day more than half gone as you row back from the ship, you are only able to make it to the edge of the foothills by night. Then begins the real trek through the untamed wilderness that is Andrast. Not knowing exactly where you're going, nor what is ahead, the progress is slow. The rock and stone of these mountains is young (as mountains go). Formed around the same time as the cataclysm that destroyed the mythic and legendary lands of Belariand of the First Age. And as such, the bases and slopes of it's prominences are bedeviled by erratic crags and draws - and those themselves are shrouded in undisturbed and healthy growths of vegetation.

If you didn't know better, it would almost seem as if the verdant flora itself were trying to impede your progress into the depths of the peninsula. Grasses cruelly conceal furrows carved by natural drainages which threaten to twist and snap the ankles or knee of both unwary man and mount. Woody stems of bramble and bush seem to bar your path and claw at your clothes, no matter what turn you take. And through it all there is both the pleasant and not-too-distant humming song of abundant insects and birds, serenading you through your struggle, as well as the discordant barks and chirps of small mammals and other birds who are disturbed by your passing.

And so it is, on the third night, once you've begun working your way up the arm of the mountain that seems like it must harbor the...
whatever it is... that is denoted by the mark on the nautical chart, that your evening preparations for darkness are disturbed.

Camp has been made and your burdens laid down, the cooking fires are started burning down to goals, but no meals yet prepared, when a stick... or really it's closer to a log ... a piece of wood as tall as a man and as thick as his thigh, comes hurtling into the center of your camp!

It crashes through branches overhead, hits the ground on-end in a space between two of you, and topples end over end beyond the other side of camp, narrowly missing the fire...

As some of you move to cover, and others take a more offensive posture, you're able to see at the periphery of the waning light, there are hunched but bipedal figures moving toward your encampment with deliberate speed - careful to remain at least partially within the cover of foliage at all times but also hurrying as much as possible while doing so, closing distance.

And as they come, you can tell they approach from all directions accept the east. They are not trying to conceal their presence. But, between feet thundering, and erratic movements in cover, it's hard to immediately judge their numbers - Turil estimates there to be at least 10. Though others of you would guess a good bit more. Who, or what, -ever it is, are also issuing a loud and alarming, or perhaps warcry-like, 'YOP'-ing as they close in.

All together it creates quite the cacophony.

As the approach has all started from some good distance off, you all have the opportunity to take another action if you want.

Éothain stands alert, trying to determine who or what has intruded into their camp. I think if they wanted us dead, they would have attacked us outright.