Findir's Mission (9)
With a grace and speed that only one as skilled as he could possess, Findir began weaving through the camp. His footsteps were silent, aided by the wind that cushioned each step. The stench of the camp—the smoke, the sweat, the filth—swirled around him as he darted past towering orcs, their brutish faces none the wiser to the shadow moving amongst them.
He passed by the workshops, where slaves hammered away at metal with dull, dead eyes. He slipped between the kitchens and supply tents, where the heat of fires and the clatter of tools covered the faint rustling of the wind that marked his passage. As he moved deeper into the heart of the camp, the tension in the air thickened, and the orcs grew more vigilant. Elite guards with jagged weapons patrolled the area, their eyes scanning the surroundings, but Findir was already beyond their gaze, an invisible force moving past their defenses.