The gnome pushed east through shoulder-high scrub and brush. Stealth and speed played vital allies in his journey. Twilight would be coming soon in the high pass. The high peaks of the Torrent Mountains block daylight’s beams by late afternoon. Undoubtedly that’s why such dark creatures prefer the mountain passes. These peaks are no exception. Hundreds of gnolls and bugbears patrolled the high valley. Escaped goblins and hobgoblins may also be about, hungry for an easy meal. Alone and unarmed, Migi proved easier than a sloth in a lone tree. The plants would keep him from easy spotting, but may reveal him to the keen listener.
Forge Valley meant safety. This mission is over. No further could he hold his mask of deception. Someone had to know by now. Here lies vulnerability and death over a slow fire, if he was lucky. Once at the ridge he stopped. The hair on the tips of his ears bristled in the wind. Nothing but the thin pines stirred in the fading light. Corenia had already sunken behind the spine of Kethdar opposite the wide valley below. The rigid structure of the city lay on the near side of the basin. Down the draw and a through rough grass would only take a few more hours. Jak's company will have to survive the fight and make it back. It will be useful to put together what is happening back there.
The long crawl became more cautious as dark shadows stretched over the rocks. Birds returned to their larch nests. The pines whispered a soft hush as the cold evening wind caressed the slopes. As long as the starlight remained, he could make it. His head throbbed. His spirits grew as the land flattened out in front of him. His pace quickened through the grass. Thirst, hunger, fatigue; these familiar concepts were pushed to the back of his mind. He must go on. He must reach town. A gnome could be worth lunch in the wild world. Migi’s life often determined a dynasty’s survival or fall. To this end he had ensured his ability to blend in with the city. Once within the solid walls, Migi’s unparalleled social skills ensures he sees the next morning.
Looking half-dead, Migi stumbled through the fields beneath the eastern wall. As he approached the gate, a guard called down to him, “Who goes there?” Too parched to answer, Migi stumbled forward. He clasped at his chest for one of his guild insignias. All had been taken. “Hey! You, gnome!” The voice above him bellowed. His audience numbered few, but he had the stage. Migi fell to the ground. His face lay on the compacted road. He clutched with fingernails, attempting to pull his body forward. Two guards rushed over to him. He looked up at the guards with one eye.
“By the Cudgel’s Grace, what happened here?” Migi’s fingers pawed at the dirt, tracing a guild symbol. The simplest thing to draw that everyone knew. “The Silver Sword Guild? What happened man? Can you hear me?” In the middle of the street, with guards watching over him, the exhausted gnome drifted off. This was as good a place as any to sleep. Sympathy was a powerful tool which he relished to exploit.
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