-----Narrowed eyes stared back at Rinda for a long moment, before swinging his gaze to the small fire.
-----"Humans..." came the whisper; "O... orcs... Half-Orcs... one Dwarf... led by a Half-Orc." Images flashed through his mind. He shut his eyes. It did not stop the image of another fire, this one burning and crackling in simple accompaniment to the cacophony of muted screams.
-----Blue eyes opened again, shining coldly. "Many years... now. Cold trails... suddenly warm." A shudder seemed to run through the Elf's back, and he shrugged his shoulders.
-----One hand lowered his scarf, whilst the other dove into his pack. When it emerged, it held a simple set of Pan Pipes. He had not played in months, and he hefted the instrument in his hand for a moment or two.
-----Then he set it to his lips, and played softly.
-----The slow haunting melody that came forth from Whisper’s instrument did not last long, but it felt as if time had suddenly stopped. One listening to the song became engrossed in it and it very quickly spoke to the heart of things long absent. Those more sensitive would feel tears begin to sting the eyes and a tugging of emotions . . . of sadness, . . . of longing . . . of loneliness.
-----Silence followed as Whisper finished. Raven sat with his arms folded across his knees. Although a frown furrowed his brow, compassion was in his eyes. Rinda wiped at her eyes and set her jaw, unable to speak.
-----A tremor ran through Raven as his eyes sharpened. A more intense expression crossed his face as he considered the humanoids the Elf had mentioned. “You think . . . this warband you seek is here?” the Hunter asks as his eyes catch the small flames of the fire.
-----Whisper shrugged, returned the simple instrument to his pack, and sat back. "Perhaps." His hand went to the waterskin at his side, but aside from the few stumblings in his speech, his throat was not pained too much. Rising, he gestured to his eyes, and then pointed back to Kulendra.
-----Then he walked from the campsite, hoping to get a more detailed picture of what they would be facing, soon.
-----Whisper strode through the bush; his eyes quickly adjusting to the deepening twilight. The air here was comfortable though the Elf paid little notice to it. Somewhere in the world, his tribe would be holding a festival, but that seemed of little matter.
-----As he reached the end of the vegetation, light from torches and small bonfires shone from the village and especially around the ‘entrance’ to the village where the humanoids stood guard. There the foul hobgoblins were keeping an eye on the road, the river and, frequently, toward the brush where the party currently resided. Whisper counted at least a dozen guards; their number having been increased with the coming of the night.
-----As Whisper watched, he could hear the two humans, Strolum and Pil, just a few yards off to his right in the concealing brush. The warriors were doing a good job of being quiet enough so as not to reveal their position, but they could not evade the Elven sense of hearing.
-----Suddenly, something caught Whisper’s attention and almost set his heart to racing. There among the hobgoblin soldiers, a smaller squat form approached the guards from the village. A trio of guards met it and began to growl in defiance of whatever it was saying. A gruff voice arose from the smaller figure that seemed to settle the resistance. Whisper got the idea that the smaller figure could be a messenger sent from somewhere in the village with a message for the guards.
-----More importantly, the messenger was a dwarf!
-----Two hours after the sun set, Raven brought the party to the edge of the brush to spy out the village. Their horses had been secured back in the brush and the party was fully ready for any foray that they could make this night. Dullish clouds hung in the sky and the full moon already hung up over the horizon like an angry eye.
-----Jyan, the young mage, hung back a bit with agony pulling his features tight. “My family,” he moaned helplessly. “How can we even begin to free them from there?”
-----The scene, indeed, did look very dire. The hobgoblin force had appeared to double with the falling of night. The humanoids now patrolled, or rather seemed to crowd the space between the buildings. Some of the goblinoids obviously were inebriated as yells and whoops of savage sounds were heard. Whether they were drunk on alcohol or the violence that they lived for was unclear.
-----With a desperate tone, Jyan looked down at his clothing and then said, “I am still wearing the dark robes of Ravenhold. Perhaps I could get close enough to see where prisoners are kept.”