Ducking Under the War

[Rattrap]

Footsteps hurriedly pounded against the wooden planks of the Broken Dagger's porch only briefly, the boot-clad feet finding a different purchase off the steps. Damien looked quickly to the night sky, searching for a familiar constellation to orient him - and it wasn't hard to find. He started south.

Damien traveled with only a large leather satchel and his ranseur. Inside the satchel were the means to survive: a map, some shilling and even a few gold coins, a rope, some bread, and, as one couldn't survive the wilderness at all without some, about five bottles of Pritchard's finest liquor. He was heading out on a long trip.

He had seen the armies. Damien didn't really have any kind of solid employment, so he had nothing but time on his hands. When one has that kind of time, one wanders - and that wandering showed the man the situation that Myrken Wood was really under. The night was key; he could probably make it to Devil's Ridge before sunup if he could 'acquire' a steed along the way - and from there, he'd make his way west, towards Mythago Woods. From there...well, Damien would plan that step when he got there.

Damien was well aware of what the armies were for. He had seen the reason they were necessary. He was also quite aware of those beasts that roamed about in the night; he'd had a feud with one for a brief time. His eyes were open, his ears were listening - Damien had all the confidence his plan would work out to perfection. But confidence didn't mean he had to do things blindly.

A rustle came from the bushes nearby, causing Damien to tense up, bring the ranseur level with the brush with all immediacy. The sight of the raccoon that came scrambling out of the bush made Damien relax just so slightly, but he knew that the next rustling bush might not be so benign.

Crickets made their noises and the moon hung high, bathing everything in a sickly silver glow