Old Mountain Pass

The hunting party would arrive at the borders of the area where the Old Mountain Pass led into the north. It had not been a difficult journey for Isgerd who proved herself not only a competent scout but also led them an efficient route where they could stock up on winter berries and small game as they went. Liz would find herself in good hands with the two native Taingaardians to assist her path.

“From here on in, things get a little trickier. Let me go ahead a way and see what we have in store.” She truly seemed to be in her element out here in the forests. She unslung her bow from her back and passed it to Rutgard. “Please look after this,” she said, handing him also a quiver of arrows, a small backpack, a sheathed knife, her gloves, her coat, her boots … her fur vest… her shirt… her leggings… yes, everything, until she was standing there as naked as the day she was born, but for the feathers in her hair.

“Brr… chilly!” she remarked, grinning at Liz, completely covered with goosebumps. “Now you’ll see something you haven’t before,” she winked to Rutgard. As she stood before them, in no more than a few seconds, the woman shrunk, grew dark and feathered. Her nose became a beak, her arms wings, and her feet taloned, until in front of her companions a raven flapped and hopped onto a nearby branch.

She gave a nod, then wheeled off in the direction of the Mountain Pass, looking with Wayfinder’s eyes over the next leg of their journey, hoping to spot in advance any particular hazards that she could report back to her companions.

Rutgard Isenhall Elizabeth Finch

Isgerd led the way and Rutgard did the heavy lifting required in their short journey. They traveled without a beast of burden other than the rather imposing one that followed the counciler and he kept quite the pack that though large for most appeared normal across his broad shoulders. Their hunting had been a mixture of small shots from the bow and occasionally nagging something throughout the night after he’d set up small traps. A rabbit here or there that made a stew that smelled heavenly once he was done seasoning it. Life on the road was harsh enough without decent food and his small black kettle might have been a burden to most but he was willing to sacrifice a little exhaustion in exchange for protein that wasn’t charbroiled from an open fire.

The discussion on what they were after had been postponed for some time, each passing tracks in the ground and considering what might be out there. Rutgard had faith within Isgerd knowing she was capable and in his own tracking abilities. They had to reach the pass and then they might fan out further. Spirits had been light up to that point with both the Taingaardians enamored with entertaining one another in a sense and keeping their companion up to snuff on some of the lastest stories and even a few songs around the campfire. Rut seemed to have no mood other than easy going letting things slid without incident if there arose a misunderstanding simply shrugging. It it was meant to be it would be.

“Of course,” he told Isgerd as she began to hand him her belongings. He held the bow like a giant holds a flower but the rest he took more readily his arm outcast as she began to strip. He chuckled at her statement at seeing something new for the sight before him so far certainly wasn’t new but wasn’t unwelcome, “Don’t get too cold up there wayfinder,” he told her after she shifted and took to the skies her black wings disappearing in the distance.

“No not all,” he’d been chuckling at how Liz ribbed Isgerd about her nakedness answering her as he placed a hand over his eyes to shield them from after having placed her belongings together within her pack, “Isgerd is a wayfinder and Druid they carry special talents at times. She is capable of tracking friend and foe alike with an uncanny knack for it. She showed me once before and explained it but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite the best student.”

As she wasn't entirely certain what they were hunting for, yet, Isgerd kept an eye for the best route towards their destination. None of it looked particularly easy terrain. Dense forests clung to soil packed into gorges clawed into wedges of volcanic rock. Where the rock was bare, ice and snow had formed, crispy and deep. Animal and bird tracks criss crossed to and fro cleanly, showing that the snow was not in any danger of melting away. From up high she could see the sky darkening with storm clouds.

She circled back to her small group of hunters and landed, turning back into her human form with a shiver as her bare feet touched cold ground. She took her coat back from Rutgard, quickly wrapping herself into it, yet not bothering with the rest right at the moment. She looked to Liz and Rutgard to make her report.

“There's a blizzard on the way. I found a spot we can make camp, a plateau quite some climb up the mountain. It's sheltered, and we can wait the storm out there. If we go by foot it might take more time than we have. Liz,” she turned to the Isran woman with a serious look, “Can St. George take one more passenger? It will certainly be quicker if we fly and much less dangerous. I have my own wings but Rutgard, poor thing, is more reliant upon the ground to hold him.”

She gave a quick smile at Rutgard, but seemed more in the mood for brevity than joking around at the moment, given just how cold it was standing around in very little clothing. But it wasn't worth getting fully clad either if she was to resume her raven form very soon once again. If there was a hint that the two did not want to act upon her suggestion immediately, Isgerd would certainly being to put her clothes back on, but, “We need to decide quickly. If we're to go afoot we must make haste.”

"I do believe that it is more of an inherited talent," he informed her but with a slight shrug he added, "But I'm no expert, best to ask her herself when she comes back down."

Isgerd landed shortly after he spoke and he handed her her coat without complaint, her losing limbs or fingers to frostbite would be a poor decision and reflect poorly upon their scoring as well. His intention was to win and while neither of the ladies may not have been as competitive they certainly had a streak of it to still be here. His appreciation for their assistance and the team he had could not be overstated. Their talents were a rather strange mixture of shifting, blade, and a bonded creature who would most certainly come into play in the end.

"Down it is," his axe would remain on his hip and he kept the bow that he had been handed its fate in his hands for the moment and trust placed in the action of giving another a weapon. He used his bedroll as a quick way to load everything into one simple pack tying it together with a short bit of rope that he kept for laying up traps.

Excited at the prospect of flying upon the griffin it was a rare opportunity and he was about like a schoolboy but he had a great respect for the creature as he gingerly placed his weight. Holding onto feathers might pull them out so he placed one hand in a fist around her stomach and put the other on top. It was as about respectful as he could get at the moment.

"Up and away?"

Back in her raven form, and flying ahead to scout the way she had seen before, Isgerd had to admit to herself she was a little jealous of Rutgard getting to ride upon St George the griffon. Perhaps at some later time when they weren't in the middle of a hunting contest and a blizzard wasn't coming, she might ask Liz for a ride. As it was, she led the way under the power of her own black wings, feeling the strengthening wind attempt to hamper her. It was not a moment too soon that they arrived at the sheltered copse of pines on the plateau high in the mountains.

Her Wayfarer’s eye let her seek out a safe spot for the griffon to land, and Isgerd marked it with a circular flight, letting Liz know that she could alight with no trouble. While it was dark beneath the trees, it would also be sheltered. But where humans found shelter from the snow, other creatures might as well.

Once everyone was back on the ground, Isgerd the raven hopped up onto Rutgard’s bedroll pack, and tapped it with her beak, letting him know that she wanted her clothes back. Assuming he would comply, Isgerd hurriedly got dressed. “There should be soft, dry needles underfoot to sleep on if we need to stay the night, and I think we shall,” she said, as she pulled out her long plait of hair from inside her coat, “Pinecones make for good firestarting, but … we might not be the only ones looking for a warm dry place to hole up. Do you want me to help setting up camp? Or shall I scout about in bird form?” She looked to Liz first and then Rutgard, happy to do whatever they felt was most useful.

The talents of the two ladies that were among him were made apparent as they landed, Isgerd could handle her own transport and the addition of the Griffin with Elizabeth’s presence made for an easier trek to a location where they could be safeguarded on one side by the mountain itself, unless there were tunnels beneath it. A thing that would be easier in the light of day to find. For now shelter and fire would be the most pressing thing.

While upon the back of St. George he was given not only the joy of flight, a sensation in his stomach stating that it was unnatural, but the sheet exhilaration of it. He could not imagine anyone ever wanting to come down from the sky and he wondered how Isgerd ever left her wings behind. Not that he minded as his mind trailed to a bit ago where she’d shared the ground with him.

The shift in the wind brought his eyes upward, it was beginning to freeze in the upper atmosphere, the clouds were full and dark but instead of rain it would be ice and snow. They needed protection on the ground, luckily he’d known they might face such challenges and had brought a large tarp like tent of sorts. When positioned properly they could be beneath it from the elements. It was a design allowing a fire to be settled in the center while smoke seeped upward into a secondary layer. The second layer was open in the center and then rolled outward. It would funnel the smoke through the outer edges trapping in heat. It was a design made by one of the elders who had perfected it over time wetting and working the leather. A tight fit for three but manageable.

Slipping off St. George as they landed he took Elizabeth’s hand that was offered. He did not place much weight upon it slipping down of his own accord before allowing his pack to fall. Assisting Isgerd he got out her clothes handing them to her before turning her coat and keeping the arms down so she could slide it on. Neither were of a modest nature and it made it quick thing for them to focus on it.

“Elizabeth is right,” he agreed without a moment’s pause, “But we will need shelter.”

The folded tent was rounded and ten feet in width but rolled up against the back of his pack. He removed it by untying the back lengths of cloth, “This will fit us three but I am afraid St. George will not fit, maybe his head,” he eyed the griffin with some amusement at the statement.

They made camp, and spent the night without undue incident. The snow had drawn creatures to them, as Isgerd had suspected and she lost no time in putting an arrow through a mountain hare that they could all eat for dinner. During the evening she hoped to keep Liz and Rutgard entertained by telling some old tales of the Gronskog Druids at their campfire: The old magic of shapeshifters who got consumed by the animal forms they took, and invading warriors who were swallowed by the trees of the forest. She would also be interested to hear any tales Liz had to tell, particularly involving St George and the griffons, before they lay down to sleep. It seemed that the Isran was not quite ready to “all huddle together naked for warmth,” as Isgerd half-jokingly suggested, so she laughed it off and offered to take the first watch. She could huddle with Rutgard another time, there was no need to make their foreign guest feel uncomfortable tonight.

In the morning, the snow had stopped falling but at the edge of the small wood it lay deep. “We should fly. Walking through this snow will take forever,” Isgerd suggested. “Do you see those two cliffs? Between them lies the entranceway to the pass. I’ll go ahead, and find a good place to land.” Once again, the Wayfinder had to leave her clothes and weapons with Rutgard to carry on the back of St George. “How did you like flying?” she asked him with a twinkle in her eye.

Soon enough the party would come to a landing somewhere between where the two cliffs towered overhead like ominous sentinels. A rocky ravine ran between them, small scrubby plants poking up where the overhanging cliffs had sheltered the ground from the snowfall. Aside from that, it was quite bleak. The corridor of rock stretched on ahead of them, leading on to the Mountain Pass. Isgerd took on her human form again once the others had landed. “It may be too narrow for St George to fly through here,” she considered. Shrugging on her coat, she stepped on into the rocky corridor to further examine something she had noticed with her raven’s eyes. “Come look at this, Rut,” she beckoned. Along the side of the rocky wall runes were engraved. Indeed the whole corridor looked as though it could have been hewn by human purpose rather than by eons of wind and water. “Tainish runes. The sort you hut-builders use. And they ward against wolves. Against …. Letting wolves out of the Pass.”

Rutgard had a rather rapt attention when it came to the telling of tales for even children's stories were based in some truth. Lessons were to be learned from the feats of others and also mistakes avoided by knowing of pitfalls. He believed himself to be an honest man and in that honesty came the admittance he still lacked some attributes that he'd been rather insistent on gathering. Sitting around the small fire within the tent he remained close to Isgerd. Feeling a bond with that woman that was forged in skin and mind he liked her company and Elizabeth seemed standoffish towards the other two of them. Not that it bothered him to stand apart for the moment only when the hunt came did it matter who was where and why.

Riding on the back of St. George was a joy that he had not appreciated enough before. The exhilaration that gripped him before was only felt again by his stomach as it flipped around within his abdominal cavity. After landing he dismounted as before patting the back end of the Griffin and thanking him.

"I do believe I will not find a thing finer," he told Isgerd on the experience for it had been just that. Should they meet friendly griffins in their travels he would wish to ask but knew he could not. It might be insulting to them where as St. George had a bond with Elizabeth that he couldn't quite fathom.

Assisting Isgerd with her coat before turning to the face he agreed with the ladies but did not voice it aloud only responding to his summons. The runes she found were surmised correctly,"Keeping them in eh?"

The grin that crossed his face not only spoke to his excitement but his readiness. His axe settled upon his back his hands itched to remove it and swing it with the finesse that years of practice had garnered. No signs of danger just yet he left it in place instead choosing to be the first through the pass with a short, "Best we get started with them then."

"Waiting for us are you," the excitement in his voice gave it a slight tremor as he spotted the reflective eyes within the tunnel itself. Vicious creatures who surely had more to hide than simply packing themselves into the pass. Smaller than he expected, normal size to say the least. His axe was in his hand before he had time to contemplate the motion. His pack was discarded instantaneously as well a small buckler that was pushed into the arms now decorating his left forearm. A more womanly shield he needed it only to protect his forearm from being mauled while he held off others. Rutgard had some sense of his weaknesses and using a shorter weapon meant closer combat.

The curve of the hall made it difficult for them to walk more shoulder to shoulder much less fight like that. His plan was simple enough, swing at the first one, catch the jaws of the second upon the shield and toss it back behind him releasing it with the force of his swing. From there the ladies might dispose of it. That depended on how they attacked. He crouched slightly readying his position while facing them. Isgerd had a bow and piercing one might make the other hesitant, or hungrier, but either way he would shout back, "Aim true," before raising his blade and whistling to incite their anger.