Out in the vast expanse of the Northwind Cairn, a dwarf in tattered clothes of sheep’s wool and ram’s skin skirted the edges of the cliff sides.
“One foot after the other, ya-skanti.” The scout used a narrow metal spike molded around the toe of his boot to tap the next stretch of the ledge before advancing. “Just get the tall ones and hurry them back to the hold and I’ll have me cordial. This never would have happened in the mountains before, but all’s fair in this place that Baldir has cursed.” A chilling wind shot up the side of the cliff and the dwarf pressed his overcoat hard against his chest. “Bleeding aether, all huff and puff but that bite still stings.” The scout paused to unsheathe his dagger. A pale stone formed the hilt and an engraving of a mole curled about the guard. A slight indent in the cliffside appeared before the scout and he pushed the tip of his dagger into a notch in the stone face. A series of deep scratches lined the wall and the dwarf traced each as he passed.
A booming screech permeated from the distant fog and the scout froze. “Wyverns wouldn’t roost this low or far south. Couldn’t be a drake either, too cold for any breed in the Draconian Alkantae.” The scout stooped low to the ledge and leaned over, a collection of gravel tumbled over the side and rolled into the foggy abyss. Again the screech emitted from the distance, but this time it sounded more distant. “Eagles in distress? Shouldn’t be that strong of a call.” The dwarf waited a moment, catching his breath, then continued onward when no more calls echoed.
A soft misting of snow began to flutter from the skies onto the scout’s hood. Visibility was low from the fog and only worsened as the clumps of snow gathered. The scout kicked the ledge ahead of him with the blade of his boot and chunks of the cliff tumbled into the abyss below. “Landing’s just ahead.” The dwarf muttered to himself and cursed the divine that he had to leave the comfort of the keep for the frigid snowstorm slowly brewing. He tested the next stretch of rock and found his boot lodged into the brittle grip of frozen soil. “At last!” The scout wiggled his foot free and leapt to the earthy embrace of the mesa.
The scout rolled onto his back and let the snow drift onto his amber beard. “Made it to the landing, I’m almost there!” The dwarf hopped to his feet and slid his hand into the pocket of his satchel. He fumbled with the contents of the pocket for a moment before removing a pair of green tinted bronze goggles. The scout fastened them over his eyes and turned a dial on the side of the frame. His vision went in and out of focus around the falling snow. After some momentary adjustments, the dwarf’s vision focused on the landing before him. He took a few confident strides across the stone slab before a distant noise caused him to halt.
There was a low tremor building across the canyon. The scout pressed his chest against the snowy rocks and crawled to the ledge. He fiddled with the knobs once again to focus his vision on the valley at the base of the canyon. A blur appeared to bob in and out of the mist of snow below. Then another emerged. Then came the shouts.
“Check for campfires or smoke in the sky. We’ll find the small men.” The scout shimmied his way back from the ledge and slowly rose to his feet. While he couldn’t make out the approaching force, the bleating and snarls led the scout to the conclusion that a warband was roaming below.
“Balkur’s bald scalp, they’re already approaching.” The scout recalled the area in his mind and traced the path of the raiding party. He deduced that they couldn’t have passed by the human encampment if they were traversing this path and it would take them longer than him to reach the keep as the low ground met a bend that feeds into itself again if a party chooses the wrong path. The dwarf hastened his journey while continuing to remain low to the ground.
The remainder of the scout’s journey was steadfast without conflict. It was not long before he stood at the edge of a cliff face to see the battered tents of the kingdom of men. The snow had eased up some time prior and now the route ahead was bathed in a lazy sunset with swaying fields of wheat. A small farmhouse stood defiantly amid the crops and the scout could see bustling farmers and soldiers conversing while preparing the evening’s meal. The dwarf hopped down the ledge with ease onto another equally sturdy ledge. When his feet met the soft kiss of the soil below, the dwarf let out a sigh of relief before approaching the camp.