Adventure of Boffo Hardbottle 1

The broken monolith smolders with dust, not light. Below, the war-band shivers in place, leaderless and half-blind in the moor haze.

Two orcs square off over the south path, jabbing and snarling. Others keep glancing up at the ridge, as if the stone might wake again.

Boffo Hardbottle has the high ground, bow in hand, and the gap between confusion and flight is only a heartbeat wide.

A shouted order from the band dies into argument. The nearest raiders begin to drift apart, no longer moving as one.

If Boffo drives them now, they may scatter back into the dark and leave Greenfields breathing room.

If he hesitates, they will gather their nerve and come south again.

Boffo Hardbottle looses. The arrow drops the shouted orc in the throat, and the cry cuts off into a wet choke before the raider folds into the moor grass.

The nearby quarrel shatters. One orc jerks back from his fellow and points uphill, while another scrambles for the south path and finds only emptiness.

Below them, heads turn in a jagged wave. A few raiders freeze at the sight of their own leader failing them, and the line loses its shape.

Dust drifts from the cracked monolith behind Strider as he shifts his footing, ready to move if the orcs surge again.

The war-band does not charge. It wavers, snarls, and begins to split, some edging toward the dark moor, others clutching at the south road as if it might still be saved.

Boffo Hardbottle draws, settles his breath, and sends another shaft downhill toward the cluster angling for the road. It slams into the front of the nearest raider, and the whole knot recoils as if struck by a whip.

Two orcs throw up their shields and stumble sideways. The path they meant to take toward Greenfields breaks under their feet, and their shouts turn from marching cries into startled barking.

Dust leaks from the cracked monolith beside him, curling through the wind like pale smoke. Below, one faction of the war-band turns back on another, and blades flash as anger takes the place of order.

Boffo is already reaching for his next arrow when the southward group slows, wavering on the edge between flight and fury. Their attention stays fixed on the ridge, not the village road.

For a brief moment, Greenfields is not their target. The war-band hangs split in the moor, shaken and snarling, with the decision still hanging in the air.

Boffo Hardbottle looses his arrow straight at the orc nearest Greenfields. The shaft takes the raider clean and true, and the creature drops out of the line before it can shout a warning.

The war-band jerks toward the ridge at once. Their argument dies on the wind, and the broken path to the village becomes a thing of fear instead of purpose.

Below, one orc faction stumbles back from the road and into the teeth of its rivals. A blade falls, then another, and the scattered band starts to split for good.

The cracked monolith sheds a fresh ribbon of dust, and Boffo catches a glimpse of something pale and hard in the fallen raider's pouch, a carved tag marked with the same border signs from Greenfields.

Strider angles his sword toward the chaos below, grim but intent, while the nearest orcs now wheel away from the village road and look only to the ridge for the next threat.

Boffo Hardbottle draws again and lets the next arrow fly. It punches into the nearest orc before the brute can square up, and the thing folds into the broken line.

The split war-band shudders. One knot of raiders breaks left, another staggers back from the ridge, and the road to Greenfields loses its last clear shape.

Below, a raider tears the carved border tag from its dead companion and snarls at the others, but the quarrel only deepens.

Dust trickles from the cracked monolith as the fighting below spreads into a messy retreat, half flight and half feud.

Boffo Hardbottle lowers the bow just enough to make the shot, and the arrow takes the raider in the chest. The orc jerks, drops the carved border tag, and spills backward into the broken knot below.

The tag skips across the stones and comes to rest in the dust beside the shattered monolith, while the nearest raiders recoil from it as if it burns.

Below, two orcs snatch at each other over the fallen raider's pouch. One breaks away toward the moor, snarling, and the rest hesitate between pursuit and flight.

A thin cry from deeper in the moors answers the quarrel, and the scattered band flinches at the sound. The route to Greenfields stays empty, but the quarrel turns uglier.

Boffo Hardbottle lets the bow settle, then looses again. The nearest orc starts as the arrow finds him, and he crashes sideways into the quarrel, knocking two more off their feet.

The dropped border tag skitters under one fallen hand, then lies still in the dust by the shattered monolith. The raiders lurch back from it, suddenly more afraid of one another than of the ridge.

Below, one orc bolts for the moor while another grabs at the fallen tag, too late to save it. Their shouting twists into argument, then into scattered retreat.

A hidden cluster of stones near the broken ring flashes into view where the tag fell, marked with the same carved line as the token-case. Strider catches sight of it at once, his head snapping toward the exposed sign.

Identify the hidden trail-marker