Night had fallen, settling cool and dark across the grasslands, with a first smattering of stars emerging across the sable sky. The moon had yet to rise, while a soft breeze rustled the long grass of the plains. The call of night birds on wing echoed across the open expanse.
Leaving behind the shelter of the trees, Chance and his friends headed out onto the grassland, pushing through the grass towards the hills, angling towards the right-hand side of them. They moved as quickly as they could to make the most use of the dark before the moon rose, all the while remaining as silent as possible.
As they had prepared to start travelling, Chance had at first taken on the form of a bat, a creature that was superbly suited to handle the night time. He quickly abandoned the idea, and the form. The lack of vision, seeing, if that was what it could be called, by sound instead of sight was too much to handle, overloading and confusing his senses. It would take time and practice to get used to it, and right then they didn’t have that. They had to move, and fast.
Instead of the bat, he had gone with a big tawny owl, another night time bird. As he shifted into it, he made another discovery, one that had come out of a point that Yrip had made, asking what happened to his clothes when he shifted. They had stayed with him somehow during the change. Where they went he was not sure of, but if they stayed would anything else that he was carrying or holding do the same? It turned out that they did. As he took on the shape of an owl, his pack, his staff and his spear went somewhere. They were no longer around but had merged with him in some fashion.
Chance flitted along in the owl form above the others, with Shags leading the way as he prowled swift and silent through the grass, arrowing off towards the hills, the other two following close behind. The hills grew in size the closer that they came, and no shouts or cries greeted them as they drew near. They skirted around the base of them, swinging off to the eastern side as the moon started to broach the horizon, turning the plains into a sea of soft silver.
Picking their way along the side of the hills, they came upon one of the narrow passes that led into it, between the peaks to either side. As the others waited down below, Chance ghosted up towards the top of the peaks above that looked down upon the plains and the pass, listening and watching as he went.
At the top of the more southern peak, he found a basic shelter, an observation post, little more than a rough roof on four logs. There was no sign of anyone there.
The way is clear, he sent down to Shags.
He got no response but could feel the wolf start to move. Shags wasn’t making for the pass in through the hills but instead picked his slow way up the side of the hill. Chance flew around above the peak, spotting the wolf and the other two making their way up, scrambling over broken rocks and clinging bushes, trying to remain as quiet as possible, despite the terrain. It was no easy feat in the dark, even with their superior vision at night. Even at day, the climb would not have been without difficulty.
Chance hovered above them, alert for anything that might raise an alarm at their approach. He could hear his companions making their way up the slope, and to him, it was shockingly loud despite their efforts. He had to remind himself that his hearing was much sharper than that of any human while he was an owl, and that even those that were awake would have a difficult time hearing it, let alone any who were asleep.
Eventually all three reached the top of the climb, a place of broken stone and rough and barren ground, where a number of large boulders were scattered about. It was among the boulders that the shelter had been constructed. Down the other side of the hill, a trail led, winding back and forwards as it sought the easiest route in between jutting rock and the odd shrub or bush. It led down towards the pass below, where it joined up before continuing on towards the dell sheltered by the hills. A few small fires could be seen down in the dell, among the tents and the huts. They could see a couple of men down there, still moving about, but they could not make out what they were doing, even with the advantage of their night sight. The rest of the bandits were nowhere to be seen and Chance hoped that they had gone to bed already.
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We will wait a while, Chance sent as he perched on top of the roof of the shelter. Wait until the camp is fully asleep.
The other three settled down in the shelter, there to wait. Chance kept an eye on the camp, adrenaline keeping him moving. There was much that could go wrong and he did wonder just why he kept putting himself in these situations. It wasn’t a necessity; he could have just ignored it and kept on going, looking for the means to get home. He had turned aside instead and attempted it, knowing that one mistake could leave him dead. He still didn't know what would happen to him in that case, if it would return him home. Not that it was really an option to attempt, not knowing that it would leave Craghand dead. He couldn’t do that to the dwarf, the real one.
From down in the camp, movement of a different kind that before caught Chance’s attention. The two figures that had been milling around in it were now leaving the camp, one headed south, towards the more direct route to the hills, while the second reached the path at the bottom of the hill that they were on and started to make his slow way up it.
There is one coming this way, he sent to the others and they stirred in response, rising to their feet.
“What do you want us to do?’ Yrip asked softly.
Hide, Chance responded. He might not come all the way up, but if he does, we will try and overbear him and bind him before he can raise a cry.
There is a risk that he might be able to do so anyway before we can stop him, Shags pointed out.
I know, Chance replied, But it is the way it is going to be. Shags was right, he knew; he was putting them all at risk by not acting like a true gamer and shanking the bandit before the man knew what was going on but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Or order it.
He kept a close eye on the bandit as the man slowly trudged his way up the slope, holding onto some sort of jug that he drank from as he went. He was singing as well, offkey, and Chance winced at the sound of it. The noise would have been bad enough to dwarven ears, but to owl ears it was worse. The bandit couldn’t carry a tune to save himself. A poor choice of words, he realised.
It took for some time for the bandit to stagger his way to the top of the hill, unsteady on his feet, almost stumbling as he made his way over to the shelter. The man was rough clad and his dark hair and beard were scruffy and unkept. He wasn’t even bothering to look around as he walked, and anyone could have hidden from him without much of an effort. He had no chance then of spotting Chance’s friends where they were concealed, taking cover behind the boulders in the shadows, waiting.
The bandit dropped to the ground in the shelter and stared out across the plains from the peak of the hill, still singing, the words more mumbles than anything. He took drinks from the jug in between bursts of song. He was drunk, and getting drunker by the moment. They just had to wait a while longer, Chance figured, and their job would be done for them. The bandit was in no fit state to be a sentry, let alone raise an alarm.
Just give it some time, he told the others. He won’t be awake much longer.
And so they settled down to observe, to watch and wait and let the alcohol do its thing.