Scattered Embers: Flames Rekindled (story)

[werebeargoddess]

Kieshe walked along side the horse, chuckling a little at Tyrell, who was skipping along humming, and who was occasionally braking off to go after some bug or butterfly. After finding Tyrell, Kieshe had taken him back to Athkatla. There, she had not only gotten a horse, blankets, and more provisions, but had also gotten Tyrell some more clothes. Kieshe couldn’t help but grin; when she told Tyrell that he could have a pallet to himself, he had seemed absolutely petrified. She had even started working on making something of as doll for him. From what she had learned so far, he had had a doll that he occasionally shared with his siblings. Seeing as Kieshe was no bad hand with a needle and thread (you kind of had to be, to be a traveling bard), and seeing as she (nor Tyrell, for that matter) had not cared for the dolls sold at various merchant stands, Kieshe had immediately set about making a doll for him.

Kieshe frowned slightly. She couldn’t help but have a feeling that she shouldn’t be taking Tyrell with her on the road, but should be finding him a home to stay at until she could settle down permanently and take care of him. She sighed a little. Tyrell looked up briefly, then returned to chasing after a frog. She probably should find a temporary home for him- it would be much safer for him. She wanted to take him with her, wanted the company, but she had lived for several years now on her own, and could do so for a number of years longer. But there was another thing. Tyrell was already starting to take to her. By the time she got to the next town, he would be so firmly attached to her that he would be heartbroken if she tried to leave him with someone else. And she didn’t want him to go through that again. No, for now, he would stay with her.

Tyrell ran up to her then to show her a frog that he had caught, stepping warily around the horse. Kieshe suppressed a smile, exclaiming over the frog. Tyrell had been a little afraid of the horse (strangely named Starshine) when she had first gotten him, suggesting that Tyrell had had few horses on the farm. But Tyrell had gotten over it quickly when Kieshe picked him up, placed him on the saddle, mounted up behind him, and putting her arms around him to keep him from falling (and to grab the reins) she took off. Now, he was relatively calm around Starshine, though he was still a little wary of the horse’s hooves. Kieshe exclaimed a little more over the frog, then told Tyrell to put the frog back into its home. Tyrell did so, skipping merrily. When he came back, Kieshe picked him up again, then mounted up. They rode for several hours until the sun started setting. By then, Tyrell had started to complain some of weariness. Kieshe, already looking around for a place to camp, soon found it in a small clearing. She set Tyrell to find some sticks for kindling for a fire as she picketed Starshine and rubbed him down. Done with that, Starshine bent down to crop the nearby grass as Kieshe went to gather wood.

It wasn’t long before they had a blazing fire going. Kieshe had brought down some rabbits and a quail while they had hunted for wood, so tonight, at least, the two of them wouldn’t have to eat travel rations. When she and Tyrell were done, they sat close to the fire, keeping warm, but not quite ready to sleep yet. Tyrell snuggled up close to her. Kieshe put her arms around the little boy. She was surprised to find that he was shaking. She put her hand against his forehead, but he felt fine.

“Little one, is there something wrong?”

Tyrell gulped. Kieshe could see that he was holding back tears.

“I miss my mommy and daddy.” A couple tears fell down his cheeks.

“Ah” Kieshe pulled him gently into her lap, letting his head rest against her chest. Tyrell gave the occasional sob, but otherwise his tears were silent. After a while, Kieshe lifted his chin up so that he could see her face, and she his.

“Tyrell, you have been a very, very brave boy. Your parents would be very proud of you. I remember when I lost my own daddy, and it was just me, my mommy, and my brothers and sisters. We helped each other. I will be more than happy to help you. I will be your friend, Tyrell. If you need help, just talk.”

Kieshe knew that she was mostly babbling, and that Tyrell wouldn’t understand most of what she said. But the little boy nodded, and leaned into her a little more. Kieshe began to sing softly, rocking Tyrell a little. She could feel the little boy relaxing as she sang. After a good while, he got up, went over to the pallet, and fell asleep. Kieshe sat for a little while longer, contemplating. I should probably head for Windhaven next. If I remember correctly, it’s right near the Tethyr/ Amnish border. It’s got a few alehouses, so the people there are probably pretty rowdy, but I’m sure I can find somewhere where I can play. I can go on from there. She got up then, and got her lute out, and sat back down. She checked to make sure her lute was in tune, then began to play softly so as not to disturb Tyrell. She began to hum, then sing softly along with the music. When she got too play the correct notes she carefully put her lute into its case, then laid down next to Tyrell to sleep.

[Cuchulain82]

Getting Snirf out of the Inn was no small feat considering the volume of rum he had imbibed. Setanta grabbed him and escoted him back to the cart, all under the watchful eye of Bloodstalker.

"Hey, Snirf- focus!" Setanta exclaimed. "We need to drive to the Hanging Door." Snirf, not inclined to 'focus' or do anything else constructive, headed directly for the cart, mumbling something about the volume of air in a chest of human holding, and about how slowly suffocation would commence.

Setanta was tired and the gnome was obviously too drunk to walk, let alone drive his own duo-cyclic-lizard-buggy. "Get away from those controls, Snirf- it's a faster walk." Setanta tried to keep the gnome away from the handles, because now Snirf's helmet had slid down to cover his face completely.

"Nonsense!" Snirf exclaimed, loudly, "Take your hands off my eyes or I will burn them off."

At this point Setanta was running out of options and patience, so he did what seemed to be the most direct and simple solution. Lifting the helmet off of Snirf quickly, he hit the gnome squarely underneath the jaw. Snirf went down with a gnome-sized thump, promptly starting to snore like a bandsaw.

"Well, he's at least sleeping now, if not quietly." Tomorrow his hangover will be so bad that he hopefully won't remember any this. If he does, I'll just tell him he fell and I tried to catch him.

Setanta chuckled to himself. We all have our strong suits- Wizards use magic, Bloodstalker kills wizards, and me, well, I hit things. Setanta knew he was more complicated than that, but right now simplicity seemed like the right approach to take.

Picking up Snirf, Setanta tossed the diminuitive pyro, with helmet, into the cart and walked over to Nhutcluck. "Well, I guess it's just you and me for now." Nhutcluck just stared back at him with those big, pseudo-intelligent black eyes and followed as Setanta led the "party" to the Hanging Door. At the Inn Setanta gave the Innkeeper enough gold to secure three days accomidation, and made sure that Nhutcluk would not be bothered in the stable, breakfast and baths would both be hot in the morning, and that no one would come near the rooms until Setana was awake. With that, they all finally got some sleep.

[Magrus]

Rolling over and clutching his head, Snirf tried to sit up, but got dizzy and fell back down against the pillow. The pain in his head was horrible, not to mention his jaw. "What happened last night? Ugh, I feel sick. No worries though, I'll have it fixed in a jiffy."

Concentrating, he tried to get rid of the pain and sick feeling, but suddenly his hands turned into tiger claws. Staring in shock he glared and mutters "That's not supposed to happen with that!" Attempting to make that go away elicited a sharp flare with the lamp across the room. Trying again made the bed lift off of the floor and hover in the middle of the room. "Confound it! I think I'm stuck like this!"

Rolling over in his bed he pressed the pillow over his head and attempted to go back to sleep and sleep off the hangover. He fell asleep and was soundly wakened when the bed slammed down onto the floor an hour later.

[Ned Flanders]

Pharis acknowledged her carefully, and paused. “It is a long story, and we have far more pressing matters to deal with. Those orcs I mentioned are not far behind and….”

Pharis yawned, and not a brief yawn but rather the type of yawn that seems to last forever stretching every muscle, bone, and joint in the body to the brink of overextension. He felt muscle grow, joints pop, and bones settle. A thoroughly satisfying grin crossed his face followed by the word, “Whoa!” *(Several dimensions over, a man in a computer simulated dreamworld clad in black with matching sunglasses practicing kung fu halted his repetitions and said, “Hey, that’s my line!”)*.

Tashara grinned as well, finding amusement in the fact a simple act could generate such personal gratification. Pharis, having recovered from the euphoric stretch (which incidentally finally completed his transformation from wolf to man), caught Tashara staring as him and exclaimed, “You try spending a year and several tenday on all fours and see how it feels when you’re expected to make it on these!!” pointing at his legs. “As it is, I feel quite…………..complete.” They held one anothers stare for a few moments in silence, aside from the pack, who were getting a little wound up with Pharis’ gestures and raised voice. This proved mildly unsettling to Tashara who chose to break the silence.

“Orcs?” she inquired.

“Orcs?” Pharis paused. “Oh yes, the orcs.” Tashara’s eyes widened giving wonder as to whether or not this man took anything seriously or was still not all ‘quite there’ and having some behavioral adjustment issues with his newly rediscovered biology. She internally debated if she’d fare better against the approaching vermin on her own, though she doubted at this juncture Pharis would ‘choose’ to let her out of his sight.

“Right then” continued Pharis. “Follow me, I’ve an idea.” Pharis marched off, happily, his legs restored, Kael, protectively by his side. Minutes later he stood at the base of a large maple. Pointing eastward, he said, “The orcs will enter the clearing from near that ridgeline of trees, courtesy of myself and the pack. If you would be so kind to wait patiently in this here maple, you can do whatever it is… you can do…” Tashara appeared perturbed while Pharis fumbled for words. “As a spellcaster. You did say spellcaster before right, while pointing out I was naked and unarmed.” He looked down towards his waistline, grinning, as usual.

“I did”, replied Tashara curious if he would ramble on until the orcs overtook their very position.

“Well then, I’m sure you’re full of ideas…Fire, I think would work very nice.” He smiled tapping his black leather armor. “But do try to keep your aim towards their front ranks, away from the pack. Here.” He removed the cloak and handed it to Tashara. “Invisibility, very handy.”

“I can take care of that myself.” She replied.

“Well hold on to it for me then, along with this”, he said, removing his tunic. “I’m not for carryin’ gear unnecessary . Oh yeah, and this.” He removed a ring off his left hand and handed it to her. “This’ll help with climbing the tree.” This rather excessive amount of newfound trust put Tashara back on her guard. Something seemed slightly out of place with what had transpired so far, but she was unable to pinpoint it specifically. “Anything else you have for me?” she questioned Pharis.

A puzzled expression crossed his face, “Did I forget something?”

Closing her eyes in frustration and shaking her head she said nothing, exhaling a loud sigh when she reopened her eyes and found him digging through the various pockets of his black breeches.

“Ha! That’s it.” Pharis barked producing a small leather pouch from one of his pockets. He began dipping darts into the pouch and placing the darts one by one onto the black and gold bracers he wore, until there were three on each bracer. He then checked his kukris and turned to Tashara.

“Kael and a few others will remain here with you”, he said with a wide grin “for your protection, in case the orcs should survive your spellcasting.” She wasn’t really sure if they were left as guards or aides, but had already concluded she would see the battle through. Besides, if Pharis did his part, this would be a quick encounter. She nodded in agreement and Pharis turned to depart to find the orcs.

He hadn’t taken more than two steps before turning back around saying, “I suppose it will be important for you to know when I get to the clearing I will look a bit like…well, an orc.” He tapped his armor again. “It provides a bit of disguise, as it were, but I’ll give you a signal so you know it’s me. Oh, the setting sun behind you will provide great cover and shadows. The orcs will never see you in the tree.”

“I’ll be invisible. Do you recall us covering that!” she retorted.

“Right. Well, you’ve a bit of free time anyway so be sure to admire it. It’s rather beautiful.”

Tashara breathed a sigh of relief as Pharis vanished into the cover of the dense woods curious how the wolves around her would react should he fail to return.

* authors note: Whenever “Whoa!” is used I feel credit to Keanu Reeves is mandatory.

[Yshania]

She saw him fall, and despite the raging chaos around her, a heavy quiet descended over her elemental mind as she lost the connection. Her consciousness, in its innocence and inability to rationalise, was first soothed, and then crippled by the sudden darkness that descended. She collapsed to the floor and gently lifted his earthen head upon her lap, now confused by an emotion alien to her form. Her dying fire was beyond damaging his dry stone flesh, and she sensed his aura fading as her flames dimmed simultaneously to a dark ember, mourning a loss she could feel but not understand.

Nothing mattered now, but this bled connection, nothing else touched. Her own sulphorous black clouds were all she could see, could taste, and they swirled thickly and blinded. Her molten flesh now black and barely alight, she closed her arms around his great neck and leaned her head to touch his. She felt the last echoed thuds of his great, rock heart and then he was gone. A spark of remembrance on contact was not her own in this form, but she sensed the death acutely and distantly began to realise the magnitude of this loss. Her elemental mind inept, she could only feel…and the source of this sensation was all consuming, she ached to “know” and within her a spark was rekindled, yet in her confusion she fought it, denied it access, suddenly not wanting to understand or realise the permanence of this loss…

"My child" He looked kind; this swimming vision that appeared before her now, as she held tight to her dead comrade. Though kindness, like grief, was a sentient perception playing in the darkened periphery of her elemental vision, something deep within suddenly ached to touch the skin of this known but unremembered friend. A moment of abstract tenderness her smouldering hands would deny "You know me but you don't, and I love you Yshania, but you have to listen to me now"

She closed her eyes, growled and shook her head, frustrated that she was unable to respond, unable to question logic far beyond her comprehension.

"Yshania, you have to let the fire burn, and nurture the flame! …
You are not lost unto others until you are lost unto yourself!"

“He…lost…” Was all she could manage, like the crackle and spit of a dying coal, the dust being all that ignited its final whispered death: a molten tear tripped its way through her almost indiscernible features. Except her eyes, they burned red hot and passionate amidst the black.

Then with realisation, she began to close down, and to the comrades she was now unaware of, her flesh blackened further, cracking and beginning to disintegrate into ash. Dust to dust. Then she heard his call again…so, so distant…

"Embrace the flame, Yshania, dance with the shadows until they synchronise…
When you see the light you will know"

“The…light?” what light in this darkest hell?

"Rillifane Rallathil be with you, my child" Then he, too, was gone, his image dissipating with his dying words. Her charred heart thumped, and then calmed its heavy loss…her breath deepening as she waited…waited…

[Yshania]

Then slowly, ever so slowly, she felt a power course through her fiery veins, a power that she yearned to connect to but feared all the same. Gently she laid his heavy head upon the cold cavern floor and stood. As black as night and smouldering with hatred, she stood, and faced the enemy, the one who had attempted to destroy the land and turn friend against friend, its aura patronising, seething, hating, and…and…frustrated!

Before her it undulated, another form now, a…

Then she realised what she could do! Was it a borrowed conscience or a prophecy? “Someone here will die this day” Suddenly her flesh leapt into violent flame illuminating the putrid lair, white hot in its raging intensity. She stood for a moment, a calm descending with the realisation, and then with a roar of anger and grief she sped forward…and in her mind -- as she flung herself bodily at the gaseous mass -- she screamed the word “Avenge!”…as she leapt she acknowledged the accompanying fireballs from her comrades in the cavern in an empathetic moment of clarity…and the resulting explosion of light was silent, blinding and euphoric.

[Yshania]

Then she opened her eyes, and the sound of birdsong in the glade brought an immediate calm, adding to the confusing loss of waking from a nightmare with questions unanswered, the journey unfinished…yet again, this time, the Lady with Stars In Her Eyes had not graced this dream. The Lady whose soft words had soothed her rising consciousness each time she had climbed from this horror, became a memory of that moment…absent, and in itself a threat. The druid knew the Lady, something deep within her heart reminded her of this, yet that moment – as this – she woke alone in a glade, only that glade was the garden of the keep, then still breathing the dying taint of the Shadowmasters seething hatred, once the beloved heart of the Dark Flames.

Yshania climbed stiffly to her feet, noticing her companion, Githra, stir from his feline slumber to join her by the water. She gazed the length of the pale river as she filled her bottle, Githra crouching to lap beside where she knelt. As she clipped the full pouch to her belt, Githra leaned heavily against her, almost toppling her over. He sensed her unease, and she felt comforted by his presence. Beyond the bend in the river was where she was heading, unsure as to what had called her from her assumed normal existence as a bar wench in the Travellers Rest, uneasy as to this new purpose in her stride. She spent a fond moment recollecting her newly found friends at the inn, her love of the simplicity of dealing with drunks and wayward Halfling egos…an easy history to recount, one she felt certain would remain pretty much untouched until her return. Should she return.

“Come, Githra!” She shouldered her pack and climbed the banking to the crude pathway above, her chestnut mare, Pridwen grazed patiently awaiting her return.

[Yshania]

Rather than ride, she chose to walk in her pensive state of mind and the sun was high when she settled her pack beneath the reaching branches of an aged oak. Still, she felt unsettled. The dreams were becoming more frequent, yet each time she felt something was missing…becoming disconnected.

Her long walk from the gardens of the Keep had taken her far, keen to place as much distance as she was able between herself and the rotting mortar, as she herself felt had surely become tainted by the touch of the Shadowmaster. The fact she was now running, from the pit, from the Drow and their minions… from her dearest friends …she was running, running, and deserting her responsibilities, succumbing to fear and selfishness. Years had passed, and yet the guilt remained, she knew nothing of their fate, only of her own uselessness and what vague memories remained of the final battle in her fire elemental form. Sooty and naked from her transformation, she had quickly sought cover in order to heal her wounds and find peace to rest, though rest did not come easy, plagued by guilt and loneliness and a sense of unworthy disbandment. Still the memory of the Lady With Stars In Her Eyes somehow held some level of reprieve, of justification, yet Yshania was unable to logically make this connection. As the months passed, so her memories of that darkened place became secondary to her need to move on and carve herself a new life, one that became satisfyingly mundane in comparison, despite the niggling conscience late at night when she wondered after her Dark Flame comrades and their fates.

Settling herself, she drew her journal from the pack, and berated her lack of discipline, since all she seemed to do these days was to read back and never add to. It was easy bathing in the midday sun and denying this uncertainty, easy to blame too much time alone with her thoughts, even despite the company of Githra and Pridwen. It was the early hours that she feared the most…even though this was once a time she relished: before the waking world. Now the early hours were lonely, and deceiving. Shadows walked where questions remained unanswered. Yet the midday sun denied their presence somewhat, so she placed her journal back in her pack and only wondered occasionally about the Lady With Stars In Her Eyes, since her remaining grief was for those she left behind…the heavy rock heart being the last physical link…the Lady being there briefly when she awoke, the final remaining connection.

[Demortis]

Broken Blade sits and finishs his meal, when he looks towards the door and see a figure carring what looks to be a midget. He shakes his head and returns his attention to his meal. He finishes and orders a drink, then sits, waiting paitently for any information, about an hour and ahalf go by when a loud thud is heard. Everyone in the tavern gets worried and then returns to their business.

Later that day, the person carring the midget walks down the stairs and heads for the bar. He starts to grumble about a gnome, orcs and why someone is a wizard killer.

"Excuse me, I must apologize, I overheard you say something about orc's?" Broken Blade asks.
"Yes, we have an encounter with some." the man replies.
"May i ask where this encounter was?" Blade asks.
"A few days walk, of here. They were wearing amrour, with strange markings on them, strangest thing I have ever seen." the man replies.
"Can you describe the markings?" Blades asks.
"I can do better, I can show you. By the way, my name is Setanta. And the Gnome I was carrying is Snirf" Setanta offers his hand.
"Interesting, lets see these markings." Blade says.

The two walk out to a rather large lizard attached to a cart.
"This is the Duo-Cyclic-All-Terain-Gnome-War-Cart, i think thats what its name is. Snirf has never truely been in his right mind." Setanta says.
He opens a chest and removes a chest plate and hands it to Blade.
Blade examins the plate and sees the markings Setanta was talking about. A triangle enclosed in a circle.
"These markings are of an ancient clan. They were assassins that developed an honour code, and slowly became surgical instruminets to the highest bidders, they died out centeries ago." Blade says.
"So what were these people called?" Setanta asks.
"They called themselves Shinobi, and they were the Dragon clan." Blade replies.
"I'm guessing you read alot as a child." Setanta retorts.
"Ummm, no. It's a long story." Blade says.
"I think we have time." Setanta replies.
"heh, no you dont, trust me."
"Fine, do you know more about this clan?"
"Possible, it has been along time since I have seen these markings, so it may take some time to remember."
"Maybe a few gold can speed up the memories?" Setanta says while handing Blade a few gold coins.
"No, but thanks for the gold." Blade replies with a smile.
"Damn it, oh well, we should return to the tavern and see if my friend has awoken." Setanta says.

The two walk back into the tavern and see a gnome setting things on fire.
"AHHHH, I CANT CONTROL MY POWERS NOW!!!!" he says.
"Damn it, and I thought things couldnt get any worse!!" Setanta says.
"Do you know how to stop him?!" Blade asks.
"Push the helmet down on his head, he aims with his eyes!"
Blade dashes towards the gnome. The gnome see this and stares at Blade, fire erupts around Blade. The fire doesnt seem to affect him as he moves closer, and then tackles the gnome. Blade shoves the helmet over the gnomes eyes and the fires slowly die out.

"This is going to be one of them days, i bet."

[dragon wench]

Tashara, irked, glared after Pharis' retreating posterior. Idly, she wondered if a few “accidental” magic missiles or minute meteors would somewhat diminish his jaunty swagger. Then she paused, “swagger,” was not precisely the word. It was something else, something she could not quite identify.

However, a battle with yet another party of orcs was close at hand. Tashara shrugged and walked over to the tree Pharis had indicated. It's trunk was smooth and bare, and it's lowest branch was at least five feet beyond her jumping ability.

“What does he want me to do exactly? Fly?” She cursed.

At that point she heard a voice in her ear.
“Well, in fact, you might look interesting with wings, though your skin could use a few scales to achieve the right effect.”

A growl emanated somewhere from Tashara's throat.
“Not now Axis, just shut up okay! If you actually try to be useful though, you might just extend your existence by yet another day.”

Axis danced and flew about her head, chortling in his typically fiendish way. At length, the tiny dragon grinned. “There was that ring he mentioned... he said it would help you climb the tree.”

Tashara sighed, feeling foolish. She had entirely forgotten the ring. She studied it carefully. Though unusual, it seemed innocuous enough. An identification spell indeed confirmed that it helped the wearer to climb trees.

Very cautious, Tashara slipped the ring on. At once, several things occurred. In an instant her eyes were far closer to the ground, and.. she found she could see in several directions simultaneously. As she took an unsteady step, she realized something else... she was all arms and legs. Or to be more exact, she had suddenly grown eight very hairy legs... she had become a large sword spider.

“Pharis! When you get back here........” Tashara exclaimed, furious.

“Well your voice is still the same anyway,” said Axis cackling in glee.

“What next?” Tashara muttered to nobody in particular.

Axis, always happy to help, chimed, “Why don't you just try climbing the tree?"

“And what exactly? Poison the orcs one by one, from high above no less?”

With a sigh, she decided that attempting to climb the tree might not be a bad idea. If nothing else, in her present state, it would be safer in the tree than on the ground.”

Tentative, Tashara tried walking again, and found that once she understood the mechanism of somehow moving all eight legs simultaneously it was easier to progress.
It was with some amazement that she discovered just how easy it was to climb a tree as a spider. And Pharis was right, the view was indeed spectacular. She could also see the slow advance of the orcs...

Her intuition informed her that spellcasting would be impossible in this form, it was similar to taking the shape of a wolf.

“Wait a minute...”

Struggling a little, she tried to access somewhere in her mind the power that allowed her to transform from wolf to human.. and then she found it. Equipping the ring had also granted her the ability to revert back to human form.

Within moments she once more possessed just two arms and two legs, while her eyes gazed forward in the manner she was accustomed to. In relief, Tashara stretched, moving her hands with care. She needed to be able to weave the very air with her fingers in order to cast spells.

Confirming that all of her limbs worked properly, Tashara looked out towards the direction in which she had seen Pharis walk, but she could see nothing. There was nothing for it but to wait.

[werebeargoddess]

It was another day or two before Kieshe and Tyrell came across the elf. They had been keeping close to the main road, enjoying the scenery. Kieshe was walking alongside the horse again; it was another beautiful day, and she didn’t feel like riding. Tyrell was staying in the saddle; he had gotten splinters in his feet from playing in the underbrush without his shoes, and his feet were sore after Kieshe had gotten them out. Neither had heard anything; she was just there, sitting in the middle of the road.

Kieshe stopped, looking down at the elf. Tyrell caught her attention, and she walked over to where he was.

“Kieshe, who is that woman? And why is she standing in the middle of the road? Is she hurt?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I’m not really sure. I’m going to go find out. Stay here on Starshine, alright? If you need something, just yell.”

The boy nodded. Kieshe told Starshine to stay where he was, and walked over to where the elf was sitting. Several things became obvious to Kieshe as she approached the elf. First off, was that the elf was female, and a number of years older than Kieshe was. From what Kieshe could tell, she wasn’t suffering from any injuries or sickness. But there was something rather curious; from the looks of it, the elven woman had what looked to Kieshe to be humps. Kieshe bent down next to her, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, but are you all right? Do you need help?”

The woman looked up at her. From the looks of it, she had been crying.

“Wh-who are you? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

Kieshe laughed out loud, startling her.

“My name is Kieshe D’lente, my friend. Come now, be easy. What makes you think that I would want to kill you? Do I seriously look like I am a cold-blooded killer?”

The woman relaxed somewhat. Now that Kieshe could see her face, she could see that the woman had several scars.

“I-I suppose you are alright. I suppose that since you told me your name, I will have to tell you mine. I am called Aerie.” She stood up. Height wise, she was a little smaller than Kieshe was. Kieshe nodded to herself. Aerie was not strong physically, but from what Kieshe could pick up with her senses, Aerie would have little trouble defending herself in a fight. But Aerie had the look of a maiden, and there would be plenty of men who would be delighted to get their hands on her. And with all of the rumors of orcs going around… Then Kieshe got an idea.

“Aerie, how would you like to travel with me for as while? Tyrell and I were heading towards Windhaven, but we could go a little out of our way to escort you if you needed to get somewhere. How about it?”

Aerie brightened up a little. “You are serious? I can come with you? It has been quite some time since I have had company, and this wilderness can get dreadful lonesome.”

Then she blushed. “Excuse me. I should not be so brash. I would be happy to travel with you. Just wait a few moments, and I will go find my horse.”

Kieshe chuckled a little as she watched Aerie go, but she was a little puzzled. Go find her horse? What did Aerie mean by that? She mulled over it as she helped Tyrell down from the Starshine, and fished a little food out from the saddlebags for him to eat. Then she played tag with him for a while as she waited for Aerie to return. When Aerie finally did return, slightly sweaty, leading a restless horse, Kieshe left Tyrell playing with a stick to go help Aerie. She took the horse’s reins from Aerie, then started to calm the horse. Even thought Kieshe was no ranger, she found that she had a fair hand with animals. She then got a light towel from her saddle bags, handing it to Aerie so she could dry off. When Aerie was done, she returned the towel to Kieshe, then nodded at Tyrell.

“Kieshe, he’s adorable. Is he yours? How old is he?”

Kieshe shook her head slightly, grinning. “No, he’s not mine. I think he’s about five.”

Aerie sighed. “Oh. But can we rest soon? I’m rather tired.”

Kieshe looked up at the sky, then back at Aerie. How could Aerie be tired, when all she had done was get her horse? Unless she was frailer than she let on or looked, or her horse had put up more of a fight than Kieshe had thought….

“Aerie, the sun is just past its high point. I think we should go on for several more marks before we make camp for the night.”

Aerie sighed again, but with Kieshe’s help, climbed back into the saddle. Kieshe helped Tyrell into Starshine’s saddle, then climbed up into the saddle behind him. They set off a walk, then went into a canter, slowing down whenever Aerie lagged behind or complained. She was obviously not an experienced rider. Kieshe was surprised to find herself irked at Aerie’s attitude. She sighed inwardly. She would just have to put up with it. Keeping their horses close together, they rode onward.

[Georgi]

Amira glanced around the smoky bar of the Lady's Blessing tavern. Yes, as usual, this was rich pickings. More wealthy fools drinking and gambling away their evenings. Perfect. She took up a position on a bar stool by the wall - prominent, but not dominating the whole room - unslung her lute from her shoulder and quietly began to tune it. She smiled to herself. The patrons would receive a real lady's blessing tonight.

Amira scrolled mentally through her repertoire. One of those boring old tales of glorious heroes, she supposed; they always went down well in such sleepy backwaters, where the adventuring life was so far removed from the mundane reality of nobleman and peasant alike. Mind you, there did seem to be the odd blade glinting when the flickering candlelight banished the shadows in the corners of the room. Must be another caravan in, bound for Calimport, perhaps. Even better; the mercenaries fancied themselves as heroes of yore, even though the closest most of them got to an epic battle was a skirmish with a few kobolds on the dusty road between one town and another.

Amira's mind lit upon a tale she had heard in Amn recently. She cleared her throat and, with a flourish, put her fingers to the strings of her lute and began to strum.

A tale I sing of eastern hills
Of shining knights and glory-o!
So rest thy feet and drink thy fill
Awhilst I weave my story-o!

Adventurers to the place came hence
Seeking orcs a-which to slay
But lured under false pretence
A darker shadow that way lay

Fearsome orcs and ogres burned
Along the path to dungeon dark
The monsters slain, yet bodies turned
To squires of the Radiant Heart

Whence had this illusion sprung
To tarnish heroes brave and true?
Righteous vengeance must be done
A violent, bloody death was due

On they plunged through goblins, wraiths
Through vampyres, werewolves, golems too
Deep into the bowels of the earth
To face an enemy none knew

The great and terrible Firkraag
A dragon red with fiery breath
A sulphorous stench to make you gag
Rose from his lair of burning death

Never a faltering step was taken
Against such might to stand or fall
But Firkraag's luck was gods-forsaken
Against the wrath of a Child of Bhaal

The wyrm exhaled scorching flames
Our heroes ducked and weaved around
While mages cast their spells to tame
The rampant beast and bring him down

An archer drew his trusty bow
A desperate charge was forward led
The Bhaalspawn struck a fatal blow
To sever Firkraag's evil head

They say Bhaal's spawn bring death and pain
But not just innocent blood was spilled
Thus ended Firkraag's despot reign
And peace returned to eastern hills

[Georgi]

Amira's voice trilled its final cadence and fell silent. The patrons of the inn sat rapt with attention. She cast her eye over them until it lighted on a gentleman in a fine velvet cloak trimmed with ermine. She met his gaze with a slight smile, then slipped off her stool and bowed with an ostentatious but deft wave of her right hand. As though awakened, the patrons began to turn to one another and the general tavern hubbub began to grow again.

Amira made her way to the bar and ordered an ale, when a voice came from behind her. "Make that two - allow me, my lady." The man in ermine smiled at her, his silver hair shining in the candlelight.
"I would be delighted, sir," she replied with deference.
"Please," he leaned in conspiratorially, "call me Ralan."
{I}Sir Ralan Debrant[/i], she thought to herself. You didn't get far in these small towns without knowing the names of the noblemen and richest merchants; particularly those with a penchant for gambling.
"So, Ralan, will you be attending the tables this eve? Perhaps you will allow me to join you - for luck?" She winked at him.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Will you not quit while you are ahead?" Amira whispered urgently.
"But I'sh win shome more. Luck'sh on my shide tonight," Ralan protested.
"My lord, you are drunk. Will you not allow me to help you to your room before some scoundrel gets the better of you? You are in need of... rest."
"Damn it, wench!" he roared, striking his fists down onto the gaming table with a thud, and then remembered himself. "Verysh well. Wouldsht thou help me up..." He stumbled to one side as he rose to his feet, gathering his winnings into a leather pouch. Amira raised his arm around her slim shoulders and steered him towards the stairs.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ralan stumped onto the bed. "You'sh a beaushtiful woman, a beaush--"
Amira sighed. It was so much easier when they just passed out. She muttered a hasty incantation and Ralan's head immediately dropped onto the pillow. His mouth open, he began to snore loudly. She took the leather pouch and fastened it to her belt, then turned for the door.

"Damn, I almost forgot!" She moved her hands through the air, weaving a Modified Memory spell. Forgetting to do that - ironic though it might be - would be very bad for business in this town, as she had learned elsewhere. She planned to stick around a while longer.

Satisfied, she slunk silently out of the door.

[Aqua-chan]

As Sytze continued to move through the dense forests of Amn, he began to notice a foul air come with the breeze. In the morning it was not so detectable: faint traces of decay and waste blew in with the heavy winds from the south. By noon he had traveled a considerable distance, and the stench wafted plainly to his nose almost all the time. Midday, a time when the sun was high and most animals would be out foraging it was near silent in the forest. The birds had all returned to their roosts, refusing to sing their songs in the midst of the stinking threat.

The barrage continued on Sytze’s senses until nightfall. The sun was shedding its last few rays on the tree tops, and it was only then did he allow himself to indulge in a short break. Though it was unlikely his old friends were anywhere near him, Sytze’s subconscious self insisted he at least make some sort of effort to hide from prying eyes. He found a space between the thick trunk of a tree and a bramble bush and tucked himself away, if only for a short time.

The blackening sky was just beginning to reveal its glittering treasure horde of stars which seemed to pop into sight by the dozens as the rogue gazed into the endless void. Some purple clouds still hung persistently overhead, completely oblivious to the unease of the forest. Sytze looked around carefully, once again taking note that the cicadas had not begun their evening chant, nor had the small creatures of the night emerged from their dens to prowl. Smoke was now the predominant smell in the forest, but the man hadn’t seen any signs of nearby encampments or wandering adventurers. Obviously there was something amiss in the woods, and his inquiring mind was curious to find out what it was.

It had been coming more from the southeast, he’d concluded as he stood, ignoring the ache in his legs that demanded he stop. Facing that direction, he now was able to see a curious orange glow that hadn’t been visible before the sun had set. It occurred to him that the city of Trademeet would be off in that general area. It must have been the street lanterns giving off the vague light. He readjusted his clothes and continued on his way.

Something still continued to nag on the rogue’s mind. If he had been moving south, nonstop, then he would have come up on either the old elven temple or the woods of Tethyr - both of which he was sure he hadn’t. He looked off to the ominous glow of the sky again. I couldn’t have wandered so far east. I would have seen the lake of Trademeet if that was the city.

In a brilliant flash, a bolt of lightning seemed to randomly strike from the heavens, down to the place of the question. It was there and gone in a moment, but the thunder rolled slowly to Sytze. Before it had finished two more bolts came and touched upon the earth, and the desire to know what kind of battle was taking place at that illuminated place became too great to resist. He urged his legs to carry him to the site.

The orcish legions crashed heavily on the dwindling forces of the druids, roaring fearlessly as they stomped over the bodies of the fallen. The druids, despite being battered from the daylong fighting, were desperate to keep hold of their ground. Many had died from exhaustion due to channeling to much of the earth mother’s energies to ward off their foes: their broken bodies littered the battlefield, side by side with the orcs whom had been killed after much effort. The orcs behind the front line slung flaming bundles at the weakening druids, forcing them apart. To counter this the woodspeople who were capable of such magic called to the sky for lightening to crush their foes. Each time it struck the charred bodies of armor-clad orcs were tossed into the air carelessly, and then usually landed on top of their living comrades.

In the dark hours the battle was lit by trees that had been set ablaze by the orcs incapable of aiming the burning bundles. The old druid Blackoak surveyed the younger warriors, undistracted by the flashing of their scimitars, wails of pain from the orcs, and screams of death from his children. The hawks and eagles had told him there were two hundred of the foul beasts left. Blackoak began a chant to the mother earth wearily, tapping the dirt with a spindly finger that resulted in it magically rippling like water. With help they could handle two hundred more.

Sytze could hear the agonizing screams and battle cries before he even reached the site. Smoke hung trapped beneath the thick canopy of trees, choking his throat and stinging his eyes. Regardless, he continued to move until a black mass neared him so quickly he was barely able to grab the hilt of his katana before it reached him. A large deer bounded through the trees anxiously, surprisingly going towards the battlefield rather than fleeing it. It came so close to Sytze he could have reached out and touched the creature, yet the beast didn’t give him a second glance. The rogue stopped abruptly, unaccustomed to being ignored by a creature usually so cautious. He must have been called to defend his home.

A massive battle long underway caused Sytze to fall still in disbelief. His evaluating eyes glanced over just in time to see the stag charge an enemy, an orc, whom had just finished crushing the skull of some hapless human warrior. The monster’s green face was pierced through by the stag’s molting antlers, and it reeled back from the deer in pain. The stag refused to show mercy and head butted the orc until it fell, succumbing to the thrashing of an enraged animal.

Though Sytze couldn’t place the exact situation, he knew that orcs were not his allies. He slung his favored bow off his shoulder and set it, already aware of his target. An orc intent on killing some sort of summoned wildcat had strayed from his group and had his back turned towards Sytze. He would fall easily enough to the achieved archer.

The arrow whistled lowly before piercing the orc in its unprotected back thigh. It crumbled in response, and the cat it had been slashing at with an axe took advantage to claw at its throat. When the lifeless corpse fell out of the way, Sytze found himself in a staring match with not a cat, but a transparent figure made up of runes. The rune creature stared at him for a moment with evaluating yellow eyes, then turned back to battle. The city-lived archer could only guess the conjured creature was some sort of totem or spirit animal that fought alongside druids. He had been near Amn’s druid grove, so it was logical.

The fighting continued on furiously. The humans refused to retreat, despite their weakening abilities. Bears, wolves, and wild dogs found their way to the conflict and joined happily, biting and clawing the orcs until they were little more than bloodied piles to be trampled. Thunder rumbled as the called lightning shot down from the sky, upturning the orcs’ organized units and killing several at a time. Sytze continued to pick the helpless humanoids off with his bow, one at a time, saving a few druids in the process. None of them seemed too worried the stranger was suddenly helping them.

When the orcs’ numbers dwindled down to about thirty or forty a horn was sounded and they retreated. Some druids pursued them for a while, killing three or four with slings before they managed to escape. The battle was won, and the druidic survivors, after catching their breaths and realizing their land was safe again, whooped and cheered in their victory. As they celebrated they searched for their friends among the living, ignoring the dead. Sytze could somewhat understand it: the druid’s nature was to focus on the living, and death was only part of the cycle. The called and summoned animals fanned back out into their woodland home, uninterested in the humans’ show of delight. Sytze’s stag friend limped back into the forest, its hip torn open, and vanished.

So caught up in his own musings about what had happened, Sytze didn’t at first see the withered man in green robes, gazing at him, evaluating his movements. Next to him was a far younger man who spoke quickly and also glanced at the rogue. He may or may not have been one of the druids Sytze had saved when shooting down orcs.

Well, I hope he’s speaking quickly because he’s pleading for my life, Sytze thought.