*Note: I do not own the themes/races/world stuff found from Forgotten Realms, or Dungeons and Dragons. I am merely a fan. The characters that I have created are the only thing original.*
It had been seven days.
Seven long, cold days. Since the mine had fallen. Since their home, their stronghold, their security, crumbled to dust like stale bread. Some saw this as an opportunity, a chance at a new freedom outside of the mine's gloomy embrace. Others, such as Shoba, had not seen the sun in so long, and felt fear of what may lie above.
There was only twelve of them, each having the clothes on their bodies and what few possessions they could hurriedly grab. They had managed to lasso some of the horses that escaped the mine, which made travel far easier. In this, they were quite lucky; the horses recognized and trusted their old caretaker, Shoba, and came with relatively little resistance.
Shoba watched blankly as snow slowly began to blanket the frozen ground, her breath escaping in large puffs. The flurries that held little concern had morphed to large flakes, falling like feathers of ice from the sky. A beautiful display, but also a warning: where snow falls, wind follows. It would soon be difficult to travel.
The others of the group uneasily murmured and shifted in the cold, their horses as weary as their riders. Even her own horse, a stocky draft mare whose thick fur dispelled cold, seemed slower to plod through the rocky path than the day before. And the day before that. It seemed that the terrain had sapped the group's energy.
Georn stared at the snow, indignance in his ice blue eyes. Though his horse fought him, he still pushed on stubbornly, grumbling and punting the beast in the ribs. He glanced back at the group. Even in the mines, the human had been an eager leader. Here he behaved no differently, quickly taking the reins of the disoriented survivors. His horse pawed at the ground, pulling its head as if to dislodge Georn's grip of the makeshift rope reins that held it. A fine beast, his horse. Its long, supple black mane served a beautiful contrast to the snow, its blue roan body and lean physique making for a stately image. Georn also had a fine appearance, albeit grizzled by the days of wear and tear. He scanned the group, and readied himself to say something, however his attention was quickly diverted when his horse startled. Shoba smirked as a small power battle began between man and horse, which ended quickly with Georn falling into the snow. He cursed and grabbed the horse's reins.
"Rude, mangy ass…" He growled, shaking the horse's head to make a point. The horse pinned its ears and curled its lip, seemingly in defiance, but resentfully submitted. As he clumsily remounted, Shoba recalled the conversation she had with him when he picked the horse from the group she had carefully herded;
" I want that one." Georn smiled, and pointed to the tall, lean gelding closest to Shoba. It had a makeshift rope halter, which she kept a tight grip on. Even so, he jerked his head and nickered, impatiently prancing in place.
"That is a poor choice. He is a hotblood. Riding him through mountains will not go over well. You need something strong and well-mannered, and something that can withstand the cold." She gestured gently to a draft behind her, who nibbled on her trouser leg affectionately, "this one would be a better choice for you. You are not experienced in riding, and are hindered with a broken arm." Georn's smile melted into an indignant sneer.
"You are doubting my ability, pointy-ears. Why must you always do that? I can handle that horse just fine." He snatched the gelding's halter from her hand as a point, "I am well in charge here, and he can feel that. See?" The gelding stood, his fine head low and ears pinned. Shoba smiled then as Georn barely missed a well-placed bite to his brown curly hair. Triumphantly, he yanked on the halter.
"See? I am perfectly. In. Control." With that, he clumsily swung his weight onto the horse's back, who balked. The horse did not completely dismantle him, however. Instead, he stiffly approached Shoba, who held a small handful of hardtack. She rubbed his nose as he awkwardly chewed on the sweetened, hardened bread, and chittered affectionately in drow.
"Oh I know, he is such a jerk, isn't he? What a huge prick." She whispered, smirking. The only other to understand the language stood close by, and snorted at her words. He carefully outstretched a dark hand to the draft gelding behind her, sniggering and peering over his shoulder.
"What the hell are you saying now? I really hate that tongue you always speak. Sounds like a hissing serpent. Sounds like you are trying to hide something..." Georn growled and glowered. Shoba smiled.
"I am simply telling him to obey." She answered. She then whispered in the horse's ear one more time, telling it to dump Georn later on.
Her attention snapped when her horse's head shot up. The group grew uneasy, the other horses pacing and watching to their right.
A large, dark shape slowly approached the group. Shoba gripped the hilt of her sword, tensing for an attack.
The shadow moved leisurely into view, revealing a massive ram with an equally large humanoid riding it. Her grip relaxed—it was the half-orc, Cuurg, and his highpeak ram. The beast seemed rather content, his steps high in the snow and eyes bright. Cuurg possessed the same stony resolve that he always wore, though she did notice a darkening beneath his pale green eyes. A small deer lay slumped over the back of his mount, fresh blood frozen to its nose. When he finally stopped, the ram
"You still travel?" he asked, stepping down from his mount. Georn stiffly regarded the half-orc, his chin high in the air, and also dismounted. Cuurg barely regarded him, merely providing a complementary side-glance. Georn's horse glowered at the ram, who obliviously shook his horns to rid them of accumulating snow. They stood at least two heads above the ram's head, each possessing long, sharp projections that jutted forward like spikes on a barricade.
"Yes, though it is getting difficult to see. Have you seen any shelter as of late?" He asked. Cuurg turned his piercing gaze to the human. Georn shifted his stance in the snow as the half-orc stared down, a good head and a half taller.
"Ahead. There is a clearing among pines. Take it soon. Don't waste time." He rumbled. Cuurg then remounted, his ram's breath coming in giant puffs.
Georn turned to the group.
"We move forward. According to the orc, there is shelter ahead. We will follow him." He gestured to Cuurg as if he were difficult to spot. Cuurg's eyes narrowed to the word 'orc', but otherwise his face remained perfectly still. The group nodded, and the horses began to move, following closely to one another as visibility lessened and lessened.
Shoba nodded to Azix, who had sidled up close to her. His horse plodded forward more in concordance to the other horses' movements, much to his relief. He barely knew how to ride a horse, having much more comfort among riding lizards. His dark skin bore a similar color to a plum, the barest tint of a color rising to his dark cheeks. His scarlet eyes remained pinned downwards, though still he gestured to Shoba. He spoke to her in drow, not terribly comfortable with common. "So, I see your request that the horse dump him into the dirt has been realized. Next time, do us all a favor and suggest that it cave his head in with its forelimbs." He grumbled. Shoba laughed.
"Now now. He is a good leader. A poor horseman and more than a bit proud, yes, but still he has led us well." She gently defended. The drow rolled his eyes, a sterling brow cocked. His face then took a more serious visage.
"I only follow him because you do. Where I come from, we would have slit his throat and fed him to the spiders long ago. I would much rather follow someone like you, someone with even a sliver of knowledge. Hells, I would follow the damn orc, and he barely speaks." He turned to her, his sharp features stony. Then, his lips curled into a vindictive smile.
"How easy would it be for you to kill him, Shoba? I could even help you get rid of his body…"
Shoba shook her head, and rolled her eyes.
"Why must you always resort to killing? I do not do that anymore, Azix, and neither should you. Those days have long been buried for the both of us. Besides…" Her face lightened, "I doubt we can get rid of such as massive ball of hot air without some repercussion, right? I mean who will entertain us with his antics?"
The drow chortled and nodded. He patted her on the shoulder and gingerly ushered his horse forward. As he moved on, he briefly glanced to her, tapping his dagger hilt. He slyly signed behind his back,
I will move at your signal.
Shoba sighed at his message, and shook her head, her mouth dry. She could feel her palm itch. She glanced at her hand somberly. It had been so long since those days. Since the days when just killing someone was not only normal, but a sign of success. She had met Azix then, deep in the caves of the Underdark. He was recently graduated from the drow city's academy, a poor student desperate for work. She was an escaped slave, needing to find work fast or else be annihilated by the drowish culture. They began low on the totem—mercenary work. Shoba was remarkable with a sword, and Azix well-versed in the culture and how to not only survive, but how to manipulate it. They made a vicious team. A relatively charming and well-built drow, Azix usually weaseled good deals with the captain; good enough that Shoba, who basically would pass as a half-elf, would not be immediately ripped apart. Her drowish blood was relatively easy to hide, save for streaks of white in her hair and a few dark-skinned fingers. Otherwise, she appeared as a tan-skinned, black-haired elf. The only striking feature were her eyes. One was brown, the other a vivid azure. Through her life this trait alone was the most difficult to hide.
A gust of wind distracted her from her thoughts. The weather was growing increasingly disagreeable, the snow flakes becoming difficult to see through. She sighed in relief when Georn called out to the group. They would stop now.