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Drip, drip, drip. The rain kept falling, a seemingly neverending deluge that turned all roads into little creeks and the creeks into roaring whitewater, a deluge that washed away tracks and bridges alike. Tailurz cursed loudly and bit his tongue, reminding himself that he wasn't alone in the woods. The place he had been searching for was not far now; he couldn't see the foothills in the rain but he knew them to be somewhere out there, marking a place where few dared tread - the Groves of Morina, the very edge of a mysterious vale where all magic vanished. Magic was bad and so were those who associated with it, so a place where no magic existed must be a good place, right? Or at least better than the alternative.
Skrizgatâri, the little group of outcasts and former slaves that he had joined not so long ago had had it rough too. With few fighters and many younglings and smaller darkfolk they were more or less at the mercy of stronger bands. They needed a place to settle, somewhere where the cubs could grow without war and where starvation didn't wait for those who could - or would - not fight. And they needed someone to find that place. Khapûli and dagalushi could not be relied upon for such an important mission, however; the former were too selfish and lazy and the latter... Well, let's just say they were too shortsighted to get more than a few hundred feet with the right purpose still in mind. Uruki were needed for what little defense the Crawlers could hope for and so they sent the only uruk-hai the band had.
Not that Tailurz had felt much obligation to take on such a mission, but when the whole band ganged up on him there hadn't been much of a choice. Now he sat here under a spruce with the goal in blurry sight while the rain kept falling. The spruce didn't provide more than a temporary hindrance for the rain, a point that had been passed several hours ago. Tailurz felt icy water trickle into his ears through the soaked hood, down his spine under the wet shirt and into his soggy boots. He squeezed a glove and heard it squelch. But cover from the rain wasn't his main reason for hiding; a few nights ago he had heard the telltale sound of drums and war horns on the wind, a sound he had not heard since he left war-torn Shakauzg over a year ago. The sound of Bashkaum Raz Han. The 'Moon Alliance' were conquerors and fanatics; smaller bands that crossed their paths were either enslaved, assimilated or killed on the spot and Tailurz was not keen on suffering either fate. A lone uruk-hai stood no chance against them, berserker or no. Hopefully they were not headed in the same direction as him. If they were, he would soon be caught between hammer and anvil.
He cursed again, quieter this time, and eyed what had once been a merry brook with clear water. It had swelled far beyond its banks; he could see the remains of a bridge on the other side, barely visible above the muddy surface. There was no way he could safely cross it without leaving his armour and weapons behind. The gods were cruel indeed to block his path like this at the very last step of his journey. The only luck left was that the rain also veiled the Moon; had it been visible, the sight would have driven the Moon Alliance to even greater frenzy. Now they would be delayed, and who knew? Perhaps the coming dawn would clear his path before they found him. Tailurz wrapped the worn wool blanket tighter around his shoulders and tried to find some measure of comfort against the spruce's trunk. And the rain kept falling.