Scattered Embers: Flames Rekindled (story)

[Cuchulain82]

Setanta ran. He cursed himself and he ran. Caught flat-footed by an elf. Somehow, in an altruistic moment, he had let the opportunity to end things quickly slip… and now he was paying the price. He was watching the girl, the woman, and the elf all at once, and somehow he’d been caught be surprise. I know the range of a polearm, so what want wrong! Altruism had limits, and now Setanta was at his.

Focus… Focus… Done is done. Keep your mind on the tracks.

He followed the elf into the woods. His quarry was quick but not fast enough; Setanta was gaining and he knew it. He moved unnaturally quick, the boots speeding his overland sprint.

Then the trail disappeared.

Setanta didn’t understand. How could he slip me now? The trail simply stopped. if he’d wanted to lose me and could have, Setanta thought,He would have done so already… right? But where could he be…? Setanta thought for a second, and just when he was getting truly frustrated he heard a sound that made him think. Or rather a lack of sound.

It was a bird. There were normal forest sounds all around him, including birdcalls. He could hear one call, one of those little birds with the white and black heads that squaked. It suddenly stopped.

The Trees! He’s above me.

Setanta crouched and looked up. He put his swords away and secured his gear. Took two quick steps and, with the help of the boots, jumped into the branches. In the trees he listened, heard nothing, and then secured his backpack to a tree- the less encumberance the better.

Two can play this game he thought, and a big grin spread across his face. Finally he would get his hands around this elusive elf. Treetops weren’t too different from pits or rings. He had fought blindfolded, in pits with walls of obsidian shards… now he would fight in the trees.

[Aegis]

Dawn was beginning to shine through the scattered patches of the forest canopy. She could still taste the bitter ash in her mouth that was thick in the air from the Orcs destruction. Neither Gypsy or Amelie had seen any survivors when they fled from the throne room, nor had they seen any of the perversions that were the Black Orcs. All they saw were the bodies of slain druids and their families. Gypsy felt her legs getting heavy, and her mind becoming sluggish. Her and Aegis had gone through a lot today, more than typical. She wasn't quite sure how much more she could do before being forced to rest. Taking the Half-Elf child along didn't make things any easier for the woman.

Gypsy glanced at Amelie, who she was carrying on her back. Amelie's head rested on Gypsy's shoulder, her eyes closed peacefully, sleeping. Considering everything that had happened, it wasn't surprising. The young child probably had been barely keeping herself awake during everything. She turned back to the path ahead of her, having taken the eastern edge of the Tethyr forest back to Windhaven, and thusly, a longer route than if she had gone straight towards the small hamlet. If she had, however, it would have made Aegis' diversion pointless. She could only hope that he would meet up with her and the child once back in the town.

As she ran through the underbrush, she found her mind wandering towards earlier days. As she recalled, Aegis had once done for her, what she was doing for Amelie. She remembered it vividly, but then, when someone swoops down from the heavens to save your life, it is not something that should be forgotten.

A small smile tugged on Gypsy's lips as she remembered being picked up off the ground. She was battered, her arm was broken, and one eye was swollen shut. The heat of the Calimshan desert did little to comfort her. She remembered having done a job for a Pasha. She couldn't remember which. At the time, their were too many, all vying for the position of the most powerful. All she could remember was that she had been set up.

She was supposed to have 'returned' an item that was stolen from this particular Pasha, but had instead but sent into a trap. She had been told of a hidden entrance to a rival guild's headquarters down one of the numerous back alleys, and had gone to check it out. She wasn't foolish enough to walk down the alley without her weapons a drawn, the same pair of dragonfang weapons she still held, but what was in store for her, she hadn't expected either.

"A woman such as yourself shouldn't be walking into these dark alleys all on your lonesome, sweetheart."

Gypsy spun on her heel, her blades held defensively in front of her. At first, she saw nothing, but a shrill whistle to her right gave the voice away. She snapped her vision towards a man leaning against the frame of an open door, his hand resting on the hilt of a falchion on his hip.

"'Least I can do is 'escort' you out." The man took a step out of the doorway, into the alley. "Looking the way you do, there's no telling what would be going through the minds of young men prowling around." He gave a subtle, yet vicious looking grin as his eyes strayed, and looked greedily across her body.

"And I'm sure you're here to 'protect' me from those men, aren't ya?" Gypsy's voice was dry with sarcasm.

The man offered a casual shrug. "Well, I'm willing to do a lot of things… If the reward is right." The man winked, and stepped into arms reach of Gypsy.

Gypsy didn't shy away, or lower her weapons, but shifted slightly, so the man couldn't take advantage of her. She could feel the man's eyes looking eagerly over her body. "If your looking for a good time, sailor, I recommend looking somewhere else…" Gypsy's eyes flashed dangerously towards the man.

The man recoiled his hand slightly, his grin turning into a scowl. "Now, darling, that isn't the nicest thing to be saying to the man trying to protect you."

"Oh? And what would little old me need protection from?"

"Well, you never know. Maybe those guys behind you?"

Gypsy spun on her heel, only to see four more men crawl out of the darkness. She suddenly felt the man behind her grab her arms. She jerked quickly, throwing herself from his grasp.

"Well, guess it's not use playing anymore…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, seems the Pasha wants to see you… If you follow…"

Gypsy's eyes widened. That's what the whole thing was about. Her job was a set up, the Pasha sent her into an ambush, just so he could get some cheap thrills. Her eyes narrowed violently, and she tightened her grip on her daggers. She heard the men behind her move. She spun around, her dagger flashing across, meeting the blade of one of her assailants. The ringing steel rang out through the alley. Before she could retaliate, the man behind her moved to strike. She quickly twisted her body, just barely avoiding the incoming blade.

"Quick, girl." The man grinned sadistically.

Gypsy sprang back, so that she could face her four attackers. Her mind raced, trying to think of how to fight off four men, all intent on attacking her, and more than likely raping her, and then hand her over to a Pasha who could barely satisfy himself, much less a woman. The men began to advance upon on her, and she a step back, desperate for anything. Just before the men attacked, the tension was split by another shrill whistle.

"Now, will you look at this." The voice came from above. The four men, and Gypsy looked into the darkness, but saw nothing. The voice continued. "Four big, tough men, picking on a tiny little cutpurse."

"Hey! I'm not a petty Cutpurse!" Gypsy retorted to the voice.

"Quiet darling, I'm trying to help you here."

"Oh, I see, poor little me, a defenseless woman in Calimshan…" Gypsy angled her daggers as if to accentuate the sarcasm in her voice.

The leader of the men turned to the voice, his blade pointed into the darkness. "Listen, buddy. Why don't you just move along, before we feel the need to gut you as well."

"Gut me? Hmm, you don't say. Well, in that case…" the owner of the voice stepped into the moonlit alley, a glaive resting across his shoulders. "With that offer, I don't see how I can't stick around, what with the gutting and all." Aegis grinned widely, swinging his glaive into an aggressive stance.

[Bloodstalker]

Post taken down for reworking.

[The Z]

Embers of burnt leaves drifted aimlessly to the blood-soaked ground. Moss was painted crimson. This coupled with the eerily burning fires bathed the forest in an unholy reddish glow while orcs trampled about chaotically as their comrades fell beneath the druids’ furious assault. Amongst this torrent of action stood Amelie, sheltered by a tree as she stared with morbid fascination at the brutish, machine-like creatures that pillaged the land.

Her father, a chiseled human, fought in the thick of the action, his scimitar slashing with remarkable precision, dismembering his foes with ease until all of them had fallen. Alone, him and the other druids stood satisfied, convinced of their victory – a foolish mistake. An arrow struck from the darkness, toppling an elven woman; she didn’t even see the shooter as her life ended in a flash. The startled combatants watched with horror as archers rumbled forth from their shadowy cover.

Disheartened, but not beaten, the grove’s defenders sprung into action with a barrage of elemental spells. Lightning leapt from the clouds, cooking orcs in a stove sent from the heavens. Slowly, the threat was vanquished and a horn sounded. Orcs rushed through the clearing and the remaining druids cut many down.

Sensing that the invaders were retreating, Amelie strode cautiously to her father, eager to bask in the safety of his embrace. His glowing smile warmed her and she quickened her pace, but when his face melted into absolute horror, she followed his gaze and turned. A disgustingly ugly soldier towered over her with axe raised, drool and soot streaking his face. The orc opened his mouth to let loose a cry of triumph only to have a javelin jammed down its throat, flung from Amelie’s father. It gurgled, coughed up blood and clenched its fangs upon the shaft of the weapon before toppling backwards. For a moment, the child stared at the corpse, trembling from shock and fear, unable to make a sound.

“Amelie…”

She turned and shock twisted into a tempest of terror. The shimmering heads of several arrows now protruded from her father’s chest and blood dripped from his lips. A freshly slain orc lay at his feet. Tears crept to both their eyes as they staggered towards each other. But the effort was in vain as the man collapsed, dead. Amelie let out a deafening shriek and rushed to her savior’s side and began to sing, though she knew that her attempt at resurrection would only result in failure as it always had.

Weeping, she knelt and cradled his head in her arms pressing it to her chest. Devastated, she hazarded another look at her father’s face, only recoil and jump backwards in surprise. Amelie let out a yelp of amazement as she stared into Erudish’s smiling face. The warrior looked her straight in the eye as if to say he was alive and that everything was fine.

The vision soon faded and the frail girl felt herself falling backwards…

Amelie awoke with a start and as her blurry vision asserted itself, the shape of Gypsy kneeling in front of her eventually registered. Chilling night air and the smell of burnt trees flooded the half-elf’s senses. She shivered and willed herself to get into an upright position. The older woman looked on in concern, brushing tears from the child’s paler than usual cheeks. Sparkling green eyes watched the girl struggle to sit up.

“You took a big tumble, leaping off my back like that,” she said softly, “and it sounded like you were having one heck of a nightmare…”

[Aegis]

moving amongst the treetops came naturally to Aegis, having spent a great deal of time commencing most of his fights from such a place. His strong legs propelled him from limb to to limb, while his gloved hands deftly grabbing hold of each passing branch. Even his glaive seemed to bend and shift with his body, rarely catching or snagging on any passing bits of brush. He knew the man was still pursuing him, he just wasn't sure how long it would have taken him to figure out to take to the tree tops. Either way, he was buying Gypsy and Amelie precious time.

The sounds of the battle ravaged grove had long since faded, as had the bitter taste of death and ash. Most would have felt remorse for what happened in the Grove, but then, most had never witnessed something such as the complete genocide of a community. Aegis had, many times. The only sign of emotion was the grim look of determination he wore across his face. He felt sorry for the druids and others who had been slain by the orcs, and for some strange reason, he felt an odd responsibilty for the half-elf child, Amelie. Something about the girl seemed important, and that it was his duty to ensure whatever her cause in life, that he made sure she saw it through. The corner of his mouth tugged into a quirky smirk. Something about this had the sign of the gods written all over it, or at least, some higher power.

That lead him to his next line of thought. Squee and these 'Bottle-Gnomes' he wanted so much.

He stopped briefly along the branch of a large oak tree, before stepping off, onto the ground. If he was lucky, perhaps his pursurer would miss the tracks in the ground, and assume he was still in the trees. If so, he would be slowed down moving through the trees, while Aegis could move freely along the ground. He was nearing the edge of the Tethyr forests, and would be too Windhaven within the hour, if he moved swiftly enough. He shot off into the thick of the woods, one hand keeping his glaive from rattling behind him.

His thoughts returned to Squee. Erudish had called the demon and 'Information Keeper'. Aegsi had never heard of that type of demon before. Tanari and Glabrezu he was perfectly aware of, and knew enough to not get involved with. He also knew that minor demons, Imps and their ilk, while talking large, weren't much to fear, providing you avoided their tail. But Squee was something different. He didn't have the rending claws or the poisonous tail of other demons. Instead, he used knowledge to his power. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Regardless of the hesitation he felt about working for the demon, he knew that agreements with such creatures are made with certain protections to ensure the deal isn't broken. Aegis knew that, unless he found out something about these 'Bottle-Gnomes', Squee probably had something in store to take care of both him, and Gypsy.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. He could see the treeline break, and the open fields ahead. It was almost there. If he could just hold off his pursurer for just a bit longer, he could meet back up with Gypsy, and figure out to deal with this new threat.

[Aegis]

"It… It was nothing…" Amelie shifted slightly, nestling herself into Gypsy's arms. She felt warm, safe. Images of her own mother seeped into her mind.

Gypsy smiled towards the young girl. "Alright, dear. Come on now, we're almost out of the forest, but we still have sometime before getting to Windhaven." The older woman stood up, gently urging Amelie to stand with her. "Whoever that was that tried to stop us in the grove, I'm sure Aegis has him good and distracted."

"You think so? You two have gone through a lot today. Can he really handle this?"

Gypsy smiled again, and turned towards the heart of the forest. "Sure he can."

*****

Aegis reeled back as one of the man's hits connected against his chin. He twirled his glaive about, bracing it against his back, its blade angled forward, and towards the ground. With his free hand, he wiped a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He had a dark blemish along his left eye where another hit had connected, and his clothes was blotted with dirt and blood.

His opponent was in similar shape. He had caught up to Aegis shortly after leaving the forest, catching the man by surprise. He stood defensively, fists bared towards Aegis.

"You know, there has got to be a more efficient way of doing this…" Aegis muttered, just loud enough for his opponent to hear him.

"Any suggestions?" The man inched forward.

Aegis could see the muscles in his legs and arms tense, the c0cked his head slightly. "Well, I can think of one. Think you could hold still a moment while smack you around a bit?" The man glowered towards Aegis. "S'pose not, eh."

The man lunged forward, a series of quick jabs followed by a swift, circling kick aimed for Aegis' ribs. Aegis twisted his body, angling the shaft of his glaive about, deflecting each attack, finally ducking off to the side, and rolling away from the finishing kick. He returned to his feet as fast as the attack had happened.

"What did you do with the girl?" The man faced Aegis again, prepared to launch another attack.

"Who? Gypsy? Hate to correct you, but she is far from being a 'girl'." Aegis smirked to himself.

"Quite playing coy. The child! Where is she!"

"She's safe. I have my 'girl' looking after her. Besides, we've sort've become her protective guardians." The two men circled each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move, the first break the uneasy truce that had developed. They had each taken enough hits, and were both tired and worn from the fight, neither wanted to commit to an attack unless they were sure it would end it.

[Yshania]

The arrow whistled above her head! Suddenly the bandit party were upon her in her absent contemplations! Instinctively she bolted and leapt into the branches of a nearby oak, coming face to face with a not too well concealed brigand. His scrambled fall backwards from his advantage point was helped along by a powerful swipe that took off half of his face…he landed screaming only for his death throes to be cut short by the descended weight of a panther knocking the wind out of him, and closing her powerful jaws around his throat…

All of a sudden all hell broke loose....

Lands away...

Her movements were slow and methodical, almost mechanical, having performed the ritual an infinite number of times, the stones almost moved themselves into position, the energy between them pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. At the centre of the formation she carefully placed the rough cut schorl-tourmaline, the power within the dark crystal slowly awakening to the heat of her palms. The old, old woman smiled, never could she become bored by this journey!! When the experiences to be found hung like garlands of every conceivable colour and shade over every conscience she would borrow for the briefest time...Oh the riches!!!...and the lines that traced sympathetically across her face, remembered every smile that had passed before, as she cupped the labradorite pendant between two gnarled hands. The shaman stone, in its wisdom, flashed from dull grey to brilliant blue, then green; the burst of colour almost as vibrant as the old crone’s eyes…almost…but never ever quite...because where age had drained the colour of youth from her skin, and left her hair as white as virgin snow, it had only increased the intensity of her eyes, which now shone with childish excitement as she felt the energy coalesce around her…first above the table, then moving slowly out into the sparse room…to envelope her completely in a soft light, visible only to the Sensitive.

She began the soft litany, her words barely audible, and in the silence between her murmurings even Life herself seemed to hold her breath in anticipation, for Life was powerless to break this enchanting moment, that enlightenment belonged to her children, and to Death. She remained humbled by Death - the greatest Leveller... But even Death himself was bewitched as he felt the pull, and small slivers of himself were wrenched away to run as free as unchallenged daemons and darker than shadows through the night, the blackest wraiths with eyes of smouldering coals and the mounting pressure of unspent screams fuelling their speed across the land, fearful of wastefully expending the energy required to hold their ephemeral forms together, and necessary to lend haste to their journey…driven by a shared memory lost to time, now only a feral sensation, one that spoke of their master’s humiliation years before, by an order of fighters and healers and magic wielders who had fought the rot in the Shadowmasters lair, an evil that undermined the foundations of the Keep, one that poisoned the very land, and turned friend against friend! And Druids and Priests had found themselves drawn out of their peaceful existences in order to join as one with Sell-swords, Sorcerers and Bards to battle with the Abomination.

Still the legacy of the Shadowmaster lived on, on the lips of angry parents, in the darkest fears of the punished child, in the lonely hearts…

[Yshania]

Over the years, details of these battles continued to be sung in songs, and told in rhymes and fireside tales, leaving many a soul fearful of sleep, for what if the heroes had failed, despite the stories shared? After all, each teller of tales wanted to be remembered as the one who touched, the one who made that difference…so it was a wisdom borne of ignorance that feared both the dark and the light, for failure was too much to contemplate…and for every hero that overcame, there was a shadow defeated, a profound blackness sent scurrying, bleeding and humiliated, but still breathing and biding its time; perpetuated in order to lend further grandeur to the tales of the achievement of light over dark. In remembering the power of light, nature could not allow the death of evil, hatred, and destruction…It still ran rampant and belligerent in the darkest shadowed forms, manipulated and mutated by each lonely and fear-filled heart…becoming empowered by the absence of belief, so easily snatched away as night fell…despite the million stars that glittered their beauty, despite the moon in her timeless glory…the sad and cynical knew their light was borrowed, and heroes and heroines slept too. Well…most of them…

For even as we lay our heads to sleep, as aging souls balancing our sins and our blessings…should we wake in the night to the silence of unspent screams, we return to infancy. In those seemingly eternal moments between sleep and true consciousness, we are at our most vulnerable…for it is in this space that we have momentarily forgiven, lowered our defences, it is in this space we remember nothing for the briefest time, and are at the mercy of the silent screams that waken us with their threat of possession…Only with awareness can we chase away those shadows, and their eyes burn hotter for the denial, their screams of anger and frustration almost erupt and disintegrate their bodies, and in their wildness most do falter, and many fade to return to the skirts of Death, but most remain driven by the vulnerability of another innocent soul waking to their pain, still in that moment between dream and reality, for anyone’s pain is good enough for their parasitic hunger...

[Yshania]

And the Crone continues to place the stones and smile. Even when the tear that escapes traces its weary way across those perfectly etched lines, it remembers every tear that fell before it, and still she smiles. And she wears no mask. The smile and the tears are hers to own and share, and she does so with humility, for hers is the freedom of expression.

So the Shades speed on…their forms alter as they replenish their energies by possession, of bird, of wolf, of man…dropping the corpses on exit of the body once the life-force has been absorbed. Flying on, seeking, not knowing of their fate, for to them there is no tomorrow, there is only an urgency, the here and now, and the distant resonance of past failures in the sub-ordinance of a denied god, of a place they had no belonging then, so still they seek, with their empty neglected hearts. And once in a while, a possession is reversed, and a wraith is absorbed and is free to release the scream, devoured immediately by its own fervour...not spent, but consumed. Once in a while a wraith meets a soul more wholesome and powerful, and it is repelled and left seeking, fading, and becoming exhausted and devoid…

Yet once in a while a wraith is accepted. Recognised and accepted. And its eyes flicker in confusion, and its scream becomes a sigh of great relief, and it is malevolent no more. Distant memories of the Shadowmaster are lost and its hunger is satiated unexpectedly. It does not die, it changes, it becomes a part of something, of a larger painting, it gains colour and meaning and purpose.

Even as Death feels parts of himself ripped away and reborn to the chants of the Ancient one, bolstered by the cries of the innocent lost between realities, so he finds himself being rebuilt by the denial of darkness, or by the acceptance of how things are, new realities brought around by awareness. For His is laid to rest, not left wandering...there is not settlement in wandering. And purgatory denied, he feels rejuvenated, and worthy of recognition. He waits for his children to come home, for their time will come, just not yet. This is not a threat, or a promise, just a quiet acceptance of the weave, the tapestry...

[Yshania]

His death came quickly, his breath crushed from his lungs and strangled on exit...his weapon undrawn. Hungry now, Yshania spun in a tight circle...every muscle and sinew in her feline body alive...screams from the undergrowth brought the chaos charging, and many she took down by tooth and claws until she was ultimately overwhelmed, her weight falling heavily on her final prey, his dagger having plunged deep into her ribcage...and as her vision faded, beyond the pain, shadow ravens blustered madly yet silently, and she felt their coming...and she did not deny...

[Yshania]

And as the Crone directs the stones, she smiles, and for a moment she closes her eyes…for the briefest time, their iridescence is lost to the world, only to re-open, the colour enriched by her diamond tears, a jewel shed for every mote of wisdom gained, rough and unpolished, left to the heart that bled the moment to shine the moment. The facets of her tears refracts the light in multitudes of directions, like sun beams through a cloud they break her aura…her hair lifts to an inaudible wind and somewhere, the lost soul she visited with her song allowed a denied tear to fall, and this expression denies the Shade … and this new story adds to the decoration of her robes, silent magical stitches appear on her clothing, some beginning a tale, some continuing, and some completing their journey.

For this Crone, this keeper of dreams, this channel for truths, this patient witness, this confidant, this ancient wisdom resides not in a sparse room, but in each and every heart…the room being as embellished and enriched as the most ostentatious palace, or as simple as the most humble hut. She will sit in any corner, laughing and crying, calling forth the darkness and rejoicing in the dilution and sharing of its power. Allying with Life and Death and Time, challenging the one heart to know its journey, and patiently waiting…patiently waiting… She moves the stones, she smiles and she cries, and she calls the shadows to her door…only the most malevolent make it that far, at which point she diffuses their energy, her naked feet digging into the bare earthen floor of her home, moving the stones by will alone now, as she banishes the dark ones back. Their time, their realisation and acceptance, will come, one day. Just not yet, not while the stones still move and draw and share their energies. For the Ancient one is a Healer, drawn from her peaceful existence eons before to face the darkness, and whilst her story is still told, she will prevail.

Silently, yet madly, she stands, holding wide her arms...in each hand she grips a small and well worn piece of hematite, her toes dig into the earth, and she smiles and she cries and she calls the lost shadows to her door...

[Aqua-chan]

The sun was turning to a frighteningly dark orange as the travellers started toward the Small Teeth Pass. Amara’s wolf had, by now, been unsummoned and was replaced by her hawk, which now flew high above their heads to scout the area. The tension between the two was so heavy that it almost seemed like a physical thing that could be touched. It gave Sytze an uncomfortable feeling he had felt all too often the last couple of days.

As they walked through the darkening forest, a shiver suddenly moved down his body, slowly reaching the end of his fingertips where it remained for a short while before vanishing completely. Even though the weather was pleasant enough at this time of the day he drew his cloak tightly around him and covered his head with the cloak’s black hood. “So it has finally come to this, hasn’t it?” Sytze moped softly.

Behind him, Amara easily keept up with the rogue’s speed. They had barely spoken since they had left at the end of the morning, but Sytze sensed something was wrong with the druid. He didn’t know what, but by the way she had acted during the past few hours it was difficult not to notice. Her condition had worsened when her hawk had come back in the middle of the afternoon. Sytze could’ve sworn he had seen Amara speak to the bird, swallowing lumps in her throat during the 'conversation'. Since then, her eyes were continuously cast to the earth and she had held her satchel in a frantic grasp, as if it could disappear from her hands within a blink of an eye. Little did Sytze know that it weren’t her belongings she grasped so desperately, but rather her last piece of hope. Hope for the survival of her fellow druids, hope for the survival of the tender forest and hope for the lives of her animal friends. It was a hope that drifted away deeper and deeper with each step she took farther away from her grove.


In the middle of fighting his own inner battle, and worrying for Amara’s condition, Sytze searched for words to break the dreadful silence. The only sounds reaching his ears were the trees whispering and animals warning their fellow kind for intruders on their territory. Yet nothing sensible would come to his lips. And that, somehow, annoyed him to no end. Grumbling and mumbling he continued on, unconsciously increasing pace while doing so.


****


Eventually they had increased their pace –they were practically running- and Amara began to tire. Her emotional state was her real burden, making each step she took heavier as time passed on. She sighed deeply and aimed her eyes skywards, hoping to find some sort of relief in the vast sky overhead. As she watched dark clouds drift by the sounds of her hawk suddenly reached her ears. Within moments the bird of prey was within her sight. Amara stretched her arm and allowed the hawk to smoothly land on it. It adjusted its wings and slowly, but steadily started to inform Amara of the dreadful events it had seen

“I see,” Amara thought as the hawk related its story. She stood still for a moment, absorbing the information she received, contemplating what to do.

“How many?” Amara asked the bird nervously. The answer brought a shiver to her spine and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Keep them in sight,” she ordered her summoned animal and heightened her arms, giving it a small push towards the sky. Slowly the hawk climbed higher and higher, until the trees blocked the animal completely from sight.

Amara took a large breath of air, shook her head to clear it of former memories and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her arm. This wasn’t good news at all. She had to inform Sytze immediately. She looked aroubd, and to her surprise the young archer was almost completely out of sight, swallowed by bushes. She started to run towards him, but it took literally a couple of minutes before she was able to get closer to him. He, too, had started running. Harder and faster with each tree he passed. While clasping her satchel close to her so it would not fall from her shoulder, Amara finally caught up with him after some time

“We are being followed,” Amara whispered as she was running right next to Sytze. To her surprise, they were able to move through the forest with great speed and ease, while making little to no noise. She never had any trouble travelling through this forest swiftly, without being heard, but that this city-born archer was capable of doing so too, surprised her a little.

“I know,” Sytze replied sharply, almost hissing. He squinted his eyes to little cracks and bit on his lower lip. Whether out of frustration or out of sorrow, Amara could not tell.

She carefully watched him, slightly baffled that he was already aware of people chasing their tracks.

“How do you know this?” Amara asked softly and then ducked swiftly, almost losing her satchel. She could just barely dodge an overhanging branch that was a little closer to her head than she had anticipated.

But Sytze didn’t reply, he didn’t even blink. He just kept a focussed look on his face, while concentrating on the path in front of him. “You did hear me, right?” Amara asked cautiously, afraid that the sounds of her voice had not reached his ears through the howling of the wind.

Again there was silence. Amara glared at the rogue, getting increasingly annoyed by his unwillingness to answer her questions. “You do realise that a small group, probably consisting of assassins, is following us at this very moment!?” she snapped at him. She felt ignored and that was, right now, a very unpleasant feeling. Yet he stoically kept looking in front of him. "Stop being such a fool and answer me!"

That quickly, and harshly, snapped the rogue out of his reverie. He threw a small sideway glance at Amara, then aimed his gaze forwards again. “I am not exactly sure how I know, but I just do,” he replied calmly, yet his eyes now burned with a fierce, consuming pain. “And I know they’re assassins,” he concurred lastly.


It was as he had feared. He had sensed Amara and he were being followed some time ago. It was the same sense that had kept him reasonably safe in Athkatla the past week. The sense that had told him he was being followed, that he was being hunted while he had been moving stealthy across Athkatla’s rooftops. That weird, inexpressible sense that kept sending shivers through his entire body. At first he didn’t know who, or even what, was following them. He could only guess. But as time went on, his suspicions grew larger and larger. Until they finally became reality. Couldn’t you have left things rest, Arkanis? Sytze thought sadly.

“These are the same hunters you spoke off earlier this morning. The assassins are hunting for you, aren’t they?” Amara mumbled remorsefully, more to herself than to Sytze.

A short silence fell as neither of the two spoke.

“What…what do you want to do?” Amara ultimately asked reluctantly, already knowing which answer she would receive.

Sytze sighed a deep, sorrowful sigh and closed his eyes for a short moment. “This, Amara, is where our paths will have to separate.”

[Aqua-chan]

It was for the best. Together, they would be slaughtered. Amara obviously wasn’t a warrior, and although her summoned animals could distract his formed friends for a while, they would not last very long. Amara was a druid, yes, and probably capable of casting a spell or two, but spellcasting wouldn’t help a whole lot against capable assassins. No, he was better off alone. Battling in this forest would be easier without a new-found friend to worry about. On his own, there would perhaps be a small chance for victory. The forest offered many places to hide, and if things got real ugly, he might be able to play his hit and run game, using his trusted bow. Although Arkanis and his companions were just as capable at that game, the forest was unfamiliar territory for them. Unlike Sytze, they barely ever visited greener lands. The city with its stone walls and imposing houses was their home, their playing ground. Not the grass and the trees, nor the bushes and rivers.

Amara looked at him gloomily. “You said you would escort me to the town of Windhaven. I'm not strong enough to be out here alone.” her voice became slightly hoarse the longer she spoke.


A warm, trusting smile appeared on Sytze’s face. A smile that Amara immediately both hated and welcomed. “You will get there on your own, my friend,” he told her confidently. “The town isn’t far from here, you will be quite capable to travel the remaining distance by yourself. And you are not alone with your animal companions. You don’t need me anymore.”

It didn’t comfort Amara at all, yet she knew there was no other choice. He had obviously put a lot of thought in it already. It was probably for the best.

“What will happen to you? Will you be able to defeat these assassins?” she asked, trepidation clearly apparent on her face. She didn’t receive an answer, and Amara quickly realised Sytze had suddenly halted. She turned around and faced him directly. In the light of the last remaining rays of sun, she could clearly see his face under his hood. Strands of dark blond hair covered his forehead and fell over his eyes. His brown eyes stared at her piercingly.

“I cannot tell what will happen next, and neither do I know what I will do should I come out of this mess alive,” Sytze replied seriously. He swung his bow over his back and tightly drew his cloak around his body.

After a moment Amara nodded, conceeding defeat but not liking the route she was being forced to take. "Obviously I can't help you fight your battle, but I'm not entirely helpless. My hawk will be watching your stalkers' progress. Watch the skies: if they begin to gain up on you my summoning will give you fair warning if he can."

"I'd prefer he didn't," Sytze began skeptically, "What if they follow him straight to me?"

Amara rolled her eyes. "The city brats will not be expecting their enemy to be a common bird. On this matter, friend, I must insist. I refuse to lose anymore allies this day."

Figuring it best not to waste anymore time arguing with the druid Sytze shrugged indifferently and, in place of a farewell, grinned and patted Amara on the back. Bow in hand, Sytze took off into the cast woods keenly, not turning back even as he dissapeared from Amara's view.

[Bloodstalker]

Bloodstalker sat quietly in the saddle. He was intent upon his task, which at the moment seemed to be mangling a small block of wood. He often did this to pass the time. He'd picked up the art of wood carving at some point that escapes definition and seemed suspiciously to have been thought up for the sole reason of giving him something to do. He didn't think about it so much though, preferring instead to concentrate all the skill in his arsenal to completing the wooden carving of a hawk. Which upon second inspection of said seem to be not much skill at all.
Which isn't to say that his work had no redeeming qualities. It was loaded with redeeming qualities ranging from giving him something to do to keeping him out of trouble. It was just artistic quality that was utterly lacking in the piece. You could look very hard at the lump of wood and concentrate very hard, you could say that the lump of abused wood resembled a hawk. You could also say it resembled a pair of socks or a couple of ogres playing tug of war with an unfortunate kobald so long as you didn't let the truth slip into the mix.
Still, it was basically to be forgotten anyway. Once the plot caught up to him, the ability would disappear forever, forgotten in the realms of filler posts that no one really cared about anyway. Speaking of the plot it should be arriving right about...

Bloodstalker found himself crashing hard to the ground, slightly disorientated.

Ah, there we are. On with it then.

Bloodstalker gathered his wits and forced the fog back from his vision. There had to be a reason he was suddenly on the ground. He'd been riding for hours now with no rest. A sudden impatient snort sounded bringing him back to the present as the cause for his position made it known in no uncertain terms that he'd carried BS far enough for one night.

Rolling his eyes skyward, BS pulled himself to his feet. "Right then. We camp here tonight"

He covered the few feet back to Cobalt, some niggling feeling of pride surfacing at the fact that his horse was getting more distance on these throw BS from the saddle sessions he liked to engage in. Reaching into the saddlebags he withdrew a bottle and settled down on a large rock while he waited for his mind to catch up with where he was. Taking a long drink, he felt eyes boring into his back and turned to find Cobalt staring him down.

"No apples for you tonight" BS bit out before setting his bottle to the side and getting his bearings. After a moments concentration he decided he'd gone a bit farther abroad than he had intended. He wasn't far from Small Teeth Pass. He wondered for a moment if he should just keep going and let Delin do his own damned scouting when he reached back for his bottle. Dread set in as he found it missing.

Jumping to his feet he spun quickly to catch sight of Cobalt making off with his bottle firmly between his teeth. For the next twenty minutes BS cursed and chased his horse, stubbornly refusing to give in. He'd be damned if he was going to let a simple horse outwit him. He was the human around here. He was the one who was in charge dammit.

He was also the one who was sick of chasing his own horse. Slouching in defeat he shot one final glare at Cobalt before speaking. "Alright already. You'll get your damned apples alright? Now get over here"

Grinning, and oh yes, BS was convinced Cobalt was grinning, the horse trotted obediently forward allowing BS to snatch his bottle from the beast. Reaching once more into the saddlebags, he drew an apple out and grumbled to himself while Cobalt fed. Hope there's a worm in the damned thing"

Cobalt snorted.

"You watch your language!" BS replied before making his way back to his rock and settling down with his bottle. He tried to remember the last time he'd been in the area without a caravan under his lead. Probably the last time he'd been to Trademeet he supposed, and that had been a few years ago. It had been back in the days when BS still kept tabs on his old friends when he had a chance. Before they all scattered so far as to make information scarce. The only one he was reasonably sure of her location now was AC or Amara or whatever she was calling herself these days, and he hadn't seen her in years. He had made a couple visits to the grove after the battle with the abomination when she'd went back, but he'd quickly discovered he had an intense dislike for Faldorn. This discovery of course coincided with some comments the Chief Tree Hugger as BS referred to her made about how destroying the Abomination upset the balance and was a bad thing. He'd never wanted to sink his blade into someone’s gut quite as bad as that day. He'd stayed his hand out of respect for AC and a few of the more tolerable druids like Blackoak, which was probably a good thing because he'd never really considered how the Hell he'd have gotten out of a community of pissed off druids after attacking their leader. He stayed away from the place after that. Occasionally he'd cross paths with a druid here and there and ask after her, but he knew not to return himself.

As if reading his mind, Cobalt nickered, snapping him out of his musings. Still irritated, BS shot him a look. "Oh, don't you start with me. You always liked her best anyway. Bet you never would have thrown her out of the saddle."

Cobalt shot a disgusted snort at BS while tossing his head.

"And don't hand me that druid garbage either. Gwally was a druid. It was because she used to sneak you apples. Don't think I don't know about that." BS countered accusingly.

Cobalt looked away in what BS thought was a manner or projected innocence. He wasn’t having any of that though.

"Come off it. I know about the lumps of sugar to."

Cobalt turned his head to BS, stamped decisively and turned away in the dignified manner that all mothers who have ever accused their children of snacking before dinner would recognize immediately.

Slightly mollified by this, BS grinned a bit and settled back down on his rock with his bottle. Damn right he was one step ahead of his horse. He was already congratulating himself on his small victory when the sound of breaking glass came to him. He groaned inwardly as Cobalt neighed. He'd have to go easy on this one, cause that had been his only other bottle.

[The Z]

“Ya kinnae git oot uf hear ladday!”

Erudish ignored the dwarf who’d been pestering him for what felt like eternity.

“Go fornicate with a gnome, cur. This is not how I envisioned I’d spend my life and I don’t need some idiot like you to remind me that life is a hole!”

“Den git away ferm thee shell. Thee ‘ole weezard’ll baarn yer knickers fer it.”

The half-orc sighed and clutched his aching head. A lost army, a couple dim-witted humans, a demonic gnome – all because of a half-elven child – and now he was doomed to live alone in a bubble with dozens of dwarves.

“Ye dooo ahnderstand why ye’re hear, dun’t ye ladday?”

“Shut your incessant racket!”

“We oll fell veectim to de axe! It’s carsed!”

That was news to the former general. He turned to face the speaker, a battle scarred and stereotypically stout dwarf whose grey beard complimented the immense collections of scars and wrinkles that lined his face.

“The axe is cursed?”

“Dwarven folk call it thee sool sacker.”

“Stool stacker?”

“No, Sooooool saaaacker.”

“Sewel Sarcker?”

“Laddy are ye stoopid? Sool, thee thing ye gat in yer hart and sacker, like what a mind flayer does!”

“That’s called a Soul Sucker, moron. Why don’t you dwarves learn to speak Common properly?”

“Why dun’t ye orcs larn ta stop faighting foolks ‘alf yer ‘eight? Ye jest gunna git yer legs lopped off!”

Erudish’s eyes smoldered. No dwarf had the right to address him, a general of the largest orcish legion ever assembled, in such a manner. Quickly, he grabbed the dwarf by the neck and started to shake him up and down, like a baby playing with a rattle.

“You have no right to insult the Orcish race, especially since you are of the deep. We chased you out of your pathetic caverns and pushed your borders back to the point where you no longer have a nation!”

In between gasps for air, the dwarf managed a cutting retort, much to Erudish’s chagrin.

“Ye…dun’t…’ave a nation….either…cod-bellied…swine…”

“WHAT did you CALL ME?!”

“Liver-faced…dog-humping…”

The half-orc roared and tossed the dwarf into the shell. Pain came quickly. It slithered through his blood and scalded his veins; the roar became a scream of agony. Flames! Flames in his arms! Desperate for relief, Erudish slammed his arms against each other – the pain would not subside. He had become a twisting caricature, invisible foe batting away all his resistance.

“Why…?”

Before he blacked out, he noticed the dwarf peering at him from above, teasing him with some sort of crescent-shaped trinket by jingling it before his failing eyes.

“Nah ah ahhh orcy! Wrong dwarf ta pick a fight with. Eim thee caretaker of this prison and thee wizarrd loikes ‘is tenants ta be soilent. Night, night.”

He was about to leave when he thought it better to turn around and take another shot at his fallen foe.

"Ye've got no right ta insalt thee dwarven race when yer woomen make oors look loike vargin elven maidens."