Scattered Embers: Flames Rekindled (story)

[Aqua-chan]

From the rows of wounded and tattered people, a woman walked forward. There was nothing special about her other than she was not scarred and bleeding, but she was dirty enough to have been in combat all the same. “Yes, Arch Druid?”

Faldorn did not answer her, but turned back to Sytze. “This is my scout. She’s been tracking and predicting the orc movements since they first made their presence known, and she’s familiar with their habits. She believes she knows a group that can find out the identity of this mysterious plague that has befallen my lands. She will tell you of our efforts.”

Amara, a case of maps and scrolls tucked under her arm, approached quietly. She kneeled on the ground and withdrew a particularly large map from the cache, unfolded it, and spread it out flat. Small stones and rocks she picked up from nearby served as paperweights for the corners. After a short examination Sytze realized that extensive notes, lines, and routes had been marked on the map.

“We first discovered their smallest band here,” she indicated to a circle drawn on the outside portion of the Tethyrian woods, “After we destroyed the group inhabiting that area, we learned that there were many more on their way. In the past few weeks they’ve assembled themselves in a line, a front, if you will, that will probably stretch as far as this grove to the western coast. It would seem they’re trying to set themselves up to blockade the region: they’ve begun attacking caravans on minor trade roads between smaller cities.”

“What business would orcs have trying to block off Amn?” Sytze asked.

Amara gave the rogue a small glance. “I don’t think they’re necessarily trying to hurt Amn’s economy.” Sytze noticed that this druid didn’t speak with the same disdain for towns and cities that the others did. “Their forces are a bit thin, but they’re still very strong because of the forests. They are able to hide and regroup after every blow we deal to them, making battles quite frustrating. Anyway, after watching them I’ve theorized that they’re not laying siege to Amn, but are rather trying to envelope the woods of Tethyr, which could be where their base of operations is. Their small bandit raids on caravans traveling south leads me to believe that they only do it because they need supplies to restock their forces, and only on small-time merchants to minimize risk of getting official authorities involved.”

The archer smirked slightly. “Even if the Order did get involved, they wouldn’t be any good in the forests. The plate-clad dolts would get stuck in the brush.”

“Not to mention it would be a full-scale slaughter. These orcs, they’re not just uniformed and equipped. They’re trained and completely combat ready. I don’t think either Amnish or Tethyrian authorities have much of a hope at ending this threat. I believe it will take a smaller group to infiltrate; to investigate low profile and try to figure out weaknesses.”

“I’ll go out on a limb and suppose you have a group in mind.”

“It was my intention to seek out some former companions of mine, a group of mercenaries,” the woman stuttered, tucking a few strands of her long hair behind her ear, “You may have heard of the Order of the Dark Flame?”

“The ones who killed the Abomination? Who doesn’t know of them?” he asked sarcastically. “They only saved the Realms from utter destruction.”

“And that was a critical blow to the balance of nature,” the forgotten Arch Druid, Faldorn, snapped. The way she eyed Amara caused the younger woman to look down at the map uncomfortably. A heated presence graced her cheeks as the blood rushed to them in some unspoken shame. No druids in the room even dared mutter. Sytze thought Faldorn’s priorities were a little skewed.

In the midst of all the uneasiness, Sytze, wondering if he could change the topic, shot a glance to Amara. “Where are these friends of yours? I thought the Dark Flames had parted ways.”

“The group has since disbanded,” she conceded, “But I have general ideas. Some went to the elven cities, some to the Spine, and others to Tethyr. However, there is not a doubt in my mind that at least a few have already begun investigating this threat on their own. It’s only a matter of catching up with them. I hope to do such catching up in the town of Windhaven.”

“Well, I wish you luck with that, then,” Sytze said unceremoniously, hefting his light pack back on his shoulder and readying himself to depart. “I’m sorry that there’s not really anything I can do to help you guys out, for I have my own troubles and problems. Not a whole lot of good I can do considering how limited your options are.”

“But you can help!” Amara exclaimed anxiously. “You’re a traveler. I presume you’re headed south.”

He quickly pieced together what ideas she was clearly thinking. “I’m sorry, Amara, but I have no intention on being your escort. I’m trying to lay low as it is, and being your bodyguard to a city won’t help. You’re gonna have to find somebody else.”

“Well, okay,” she drawled innocently. Sytze gave her a suspicious look and rolled his eyes, already regretting his next question..

He sighed. “What is it?”

“Well, remember how I told you the orcs were aligning themselves in a straight line to the coast? They’re still there, and you’re more likely to run into a group of them than make it through unseen.” Sytze stopped for a moment, now recalling this small detail. Amara saw this and knew she had an upper hand. “But I’ve been watching them for weeks. I know where they camp and patrol… and I know where they don’t. You’ll be able to breach their forces much more safely with me than without.”

“I don’t like being manipulated,” he growled under his breath to her.

“And I do not like manipulating people, but I do need an arm capable in combat to get me to Windhaven. I’m no warrior, my friend, and I don’t expect you to swear any allegiance to me. Once we get to the town you’ll be free to come and go as you please.”

Sytze gave her an evaluating stare, taking particular note of the look of hope in her eyes. This must have been the only break she would be able to get, and he was headed south anyway…

“Have you any belongings to prepare?” he finally asked grudgingly.

“I have no possessions but my maps and these clothes,” she replied happily, gathering the large piece off the floor and starting to fold it up. Sytze realized her possessions apparently did not include a weapon.

“You’ll both leave now,” Faldorn told the two firmly, losing patience with her present company, “You’ll have to move with haste, as the enemy’s reinforcements arrive quickly. Amara, call a beast and go.”

[dragon wench]

@AC and Sytze,
awesome job!

Nice to see you made AC

[The Z]

He was thrust to the ground headfirst and not for the first time. Blood and sweat trailed down his face, a bitter mixture that hung on his tongue as it seeped through parted lips. The blows came swiftly and surely, screaming and stinging. The child was a victim of having half of his blood spawned from an orc, and for that small, uncontrollable facet, the youth of Athkatla would rather see him caged – bound and broken – then let him traverse the slums – his home. The scornful giggles, the gut wrenching curses upon his race, they shackled his soul and crushed his livelihood. As the uncontrollable rage overwhelmed his consciousness, the half-orc saw the hypocrisy of Man for all that it was in a single thought that branded itself in his mind. Civilization was supposedly what put humans on a pedestal above the so-called lesser races. But this fallacy only seemed to motivate sadistic practices against those considered uncivilized and foreign. He wondered who was really the barbarian – him or those who would lash out at him for his ancestry. The child’s eyes glazed over in a tide of crimson and he roared as he threw his oppressor from his back.

Erudish stared coldly at the prisoner. She was an elf – a ranger – who’d made the mistake of venturing too closely to the orcish legion’s encampment. For that, she’d ended up chained and hung naked from the support beam of his tent. With evident disdain, she spoke to him.

“Have you come to ravage me as your father did to your mother? Or have you come to futilely beg for information I would never give?”

“Neither,” he replied in perfect Common, “I’ve come to bring you agony.”

The half-orc yanked the woman’s beautifully shaped pointed ears and rammed her head against his plated armor. Snarling, he continued in a harsh, guttural tone.

“Go ahead, spit upon my mother again! Do it so I may break your bones, one at a time to give you an inkling of the suffering she was forced to endure for my sake! Make me break you, I dare you to.”

The elf was still dazed from the blow he had dealt her; unceremoniously, Erudish grabbed her wrist and wrenched it from its socket. As her shrill scream of pain flooded his quarters, the half-orc grinned menacingly, pleased at the havoc he had wrought. His conception was the beginning of an endless circle of violence that he had embraced – reluctantly at first. But watching faces twist contortedly was like a masterful painting and listening to cries of anguish was as symphonic as an Elvish choir to him. The ranger’s weak voice squeaking from a now overly pale face awoke Erudish from his thoughts.

“I….will give you….nothing…”

A shield was slammed into her side, cracking ribs and opening a wicked cut on the torso that spewed the elf’s insides. The half-orc’s growl grew to a roar as he hammered her body with his fists and slapped her face with the force of a battering ram. She howled, and was smashed again and again by a furious assault that ended with blood on his hands and tears dripping down her slender face. Erudish’s face was now only inches away from hers as he choked her.

“And I want nothing. Except for you to understand that all of you civilized races’ arrogance is a façade to hide the twisted nature that dwells within. You may think that I’m an evil, cruel, and sadistic individual. But I’m repaying the people that would treat my people like cattle in a slaughterhouse. At least I’ve given you the honor of being a prisoner, albeit, for a very, very brief period of time.”

As he released her neck and turned, the elf coughed and grimaced with relief. But Erudish returned, clutching a massive great axe with both hands. Her soft blue eyes widened but she could make no sound as fear took control.

“This…is for the Orcish race…” he hissed.

The axe sung through the air.

[Yshania]

Dusk settled, dressing the reaching canopies in soft ambers and rich mauves, and the sleepy hum of honey-laden bees winding their way back to their hive heightened the druid’s awareness, drawing her abruptly from her reverie. The undertone was subtle, yet enough to raise her from her contemplative state as she tuned into the forests evensong. The sweet scents of jasmine and wild honeysuckle lingered dreamily on the edge of her awareness as the drone took on a deeper, more argumentative tone. Yshania focused, attempting to determine the nature of this threat, and glancing sidelong at Githra, she understood her panther companion had failed to detect this subtle change in balance as he merely flicked his ear in dreamy irritation. Silently she climbed to her feet and unclipped the restraining buckles of her twin scimitars, descending the shallow incline in the direction of the undulating whine. Subconsciously she acknowledged the otherwise silent forest, no birds romancing the treetops, no squirrels chittering over lost and found hazelnuts…even the breeze was absent as the forest seemingly held its breath, waiting.

With one hand on the ready hilt of a scimitar, her other traced gently across the rough then smooth surface of a majestic silver birch, its trunk caressed by the decorative presence of Clematis, and about forty feet from where she concealed her presence groaned the source of the threat. For a moment she was unable to identify the pile of rotting bone and flesh, her attention being drawn by the seething mass of bluefly greedily squabbling over the find. Taking a minute to assess the area, she lowered her shoulders and crept forward to take a closer look. The stench of burning flesh assaulted her now, as she entered the clearing, and she wondered how these charred remains had done little to scorch the earth, their deaths must have been immediate, she reasoned, then she determined this fact as she realised the skulls to be those of trolls. Her eyes watering, she almost missed the message left as atop the highest skull lay a rune, taking note she turned to call Githra, only to be startled by his ever-watchful presence by her side.

Pridwen had already found her way to the riverside and crossed to the north of the fjord where the water stilled its indecisive flow to pool momentarily in a mirror of the orange skies, pond skaters flittering across its surface unthreatened by the quiet. Without a word, Yshania and her animal companions headed north along the riverbank, where possible sticking to the cover of the skirting woodland, fully alert now they would walk undercover of this night, only settling where absolutely necessary and hidden from the day.

[The Z]

The blood of three human children drenched his clothes while his own wounds flowed freely. As the crimson haze that had flooded his vision faded, the tears of innocence took its place, fleeing a tainted vessel. In an instance, the pillars of youth had crumbled, smashed by the unforgiving hammers of a barren world; and, the realization that a torrid journey had just been made more dangerous by flashes of dark red lightning overwhelmed the helpless child. There would be no reconciliation amongst the brutal folk that dwelled in the darkest alleys of Athkatla. The Amnish Guard had little sway in the affairs of a haven for criminals. He had become a murderer in the eyes of the public – a symbol of unrighteousness in an already bleak world and a quick few hundred gold pieces for would-be-heroes who didn’t care for explanations behind closed doors. Adventurers would think that they were eliminating a threat to society but they’d be slaying a victim of the very thing they strove to protect. It was yet another display of the hypocrisy of Man: it’s only murder if an ‘innately evil’ creature kills. The child’s knees buckled from this epiphany and the fleeting tears began to wash away the blood. Though his nature had become that of an adult, the purity of childhood remained in the mind and so, the broken child fled to the only sanctuary he knew of: his mother.

“Run that by me again?”

“Boss Erudish…them druids not killed by attack. Too much nature magic. We forced to retreat. They still there. Scouts say they might be hurting bad. Maybe we attack again?”

Erudish’s aide seemed a little too eager to waste soldiers far away from the legion’s real focus, but bloodlust – especially after losing a battle – was to be expected, the half-orc had felt it’s sweet grasp many a time. But sacrificing so many trained and battle-ready troops would certainly hamper their chances of succeeding in a massive assault on the elves. Not that he actually knew whether that was the intended goal of this campaign, but it was his best guess. His job was to deal with the druids.

“No, we’ll need something a little more planned and focused this time, something other then a steady stream of troops.”

“Uh….foe-kussed?”

The half-orc grunted, forgetting that most orcs weren’t as fluent as he was in Common. At times communication was so frustrating that he wanted to rend the entire camp limb from limb. He, himself, was unable to speak Orcish due to his background, which didn’t help matters. Still, it was better then trying to talk to humans, all of whom he’d ever had the dubious honor of engaging, condescended upon him as if he were a child. In fact, most of them ended the night in a casket, bitten by his axe.

“Forget about it, I’ll think of a way to deal with the druids myself. As for you, go and ready the rabble, but make sure that no one leaves this camp for the grove until I tell them to, or I’ll personally feed the troops your carcass when I get back.”

“Er…yes boss. I go right away.”

As the officer left the chamber, Erudish returned to cleaning and polishing his axe. Its previous owner had been a haughty dwarf who had too much to drink one night and decided that challenging a half-orc to a fist fight would further his reputation. Unfortunately for him, it ended up with the his eyes ripped from their sockets, his arms in the rafters and his large bulk being fed to a pack of wolves. The memory always brought a chilling grin to the Erudish’s face.

He couldn’t decipher the runes, but he could feel deadly energy pulse through the weapon whenever he touched it. The axe cleaved through bones as well as it did flesh and was perfectly balanced – a lethal combination in the hands of a skilled fighter. He couldn’t count the number of souls he’d sent to their gods with it and didn’t care. Anyone he killed had suffered less atrocities then he ever had simply because of what they were. For that, they deserved to perish by his hand.

But it would do him no good against a large group of druids, especially since every being in the entire region knew how large the legion was and was waiting for the inevitable siege. He hacked off a piece of firewood and hurled it into the blazing inferno, musing about how many ways fire could bring agony to men. For a long while, he stared blankly into it, memories of suffering and pain haunting his train of thought intermittently while various plans of action passed through his mind.

Finally Erudish let loose a hearty but guttural chuckle as the fire utterly consumed its prey, sucking the life from it. The half-orc vowed that for every one of his brothers that had been slain that day, there’d be two druids burnt to death at the stake. Slinging the axe onto his back, he grabbed as many of his oil-drenched bundles as he could and left his quarters, eager to spill blood - ready to reap vengeance upon his enemies. A bleeding sunrise awaited in the shadows for all of Tethyr.

[Bloodstalker]

Bloodstalker felt the eyes upon him. It was disconcerting to say the least, esp since he had double checked the room before he had laid down to rest. Opening his eyes and raising his head, he checked his surrounding. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and he was just about to shrug the feeling off when a loud whistling sound reached his ears. For a moment, BS was amazed. Then he became aware of a gentle blowing next to his ear and sat sharply upright. Staring down to where his head had lain, he saw a figure that brought sheer terror to his heart.

"Hello, miss me?"

BS brought a hand to cover his face. "God's, I've been molested by a mouse."

"I was simply trying to wake you up. I have important news concerning your current quest. Gird yourself, and hearken to my words, for I am.."

Rolling his eyes, BS snorted with disgust."Yeah, yeah, Mickey the Giant Wizard Mouse. Blah bloody blah. Can we skip the intros and get right to the point where you send me chasing off after some damned failed attempt at comic relief?"

"Right then," Mickey stated cheerfully, adjusting his pointy hat. "These orcs, there are many of them. You alone cannot stand against them, and it's doubtful that even with companions you will have a chance. Therefore, I bring you a secret weapon. You will be offered a choice, and once that choice is made, your powers will skyrocket to unimaginable heights. For you will be.... A Superhero!"

"A what?" BS managed to stammer.

Mickey sighed loudly and beckoned BS to lean closer. As BS got close enough, Mickey offered him a dazzling grin, stuck his thumb is his mouth and blew on it. Once his hand had swelled to ten times its original size, Mickey removed his hand and swung mightily, knocking BS's head back to connect with the wall. 'Will you just shut up and listen for once!?!?!?!?!"

BS of course, listened. He did not wish to feel the wrath of Mickeys Hand'O the Goon again. Besides, superheroes sounded sorta cool. They probably got all the chicks.

"Now, where was I, oh yes, enter the first choice."

Mickey waved his hand, and a portal opened. Stepping through the portal was a figure clothed in red from head to foot. A symbol of lightning adorned the figures chest, as well as the sides of his head. BS groaned inwardly. "Not on of those. I hate Talonians."

"He is not a Talonian. Mystery figure #1. Identify" Said Mickey hautily, which was indeed impressive for someone of such small stature.

"I am the Flash, and my super power is to.."

"Hey now, none of that!!" BS retorted hurriedly. "This is a family story you know. You just keep your bits to yourself."

"No you utter moron. The flash, as is super speed. I'm faster than any being you could possibly imagine. None can keep pace with me." The figure replied smugly, looking very self confident, as he and Mickey turned an expectant eye to BS.

"Well, that's just plain stupid." BS commented, causing the jaws of his companions to drop. "I mean come on, that's a power for a hero? I can run really really fast? Please, that's a villians power. They're the one who do all the running. What else can you do, scream at the top of your lungs for the guard while you follow the bad guys like a little snitch?"

Flash hung his head and stepped back through the portal, mumbling something under his breath about BS being a meanie.

Disgusted, Mickey opened another portal, and stepping through was something that simply looked odd. A man it appeared to be, and yet he was encased from head to toe in flame. “I am the Human torch, and my special power is to, well, burn stuff.”

BS laughed mightily. “ That’s it? You can set yourself on fire? Hells, I’ve done that a few times on accident, it’s nothing special.”

“Yes, but I can also do this.” The Torch replied, pointing a finger and letting loose a jet of flame that lit the wastebasket on fire.

The smug look of superiority was short lasting however, as BS waved his hand dismisivlly. “So what? Any mage can cast fireball.”

“You’re not a mage though.”

BS shrugged. “So? Hate to break it to you, but the ability to use fir has been around for ages.” Reaching into his pocket, BS produces a match, which he struck on his thumbnail. “See? Ooooo, impressive, right? Wanna see a real trick?”

Mickey’s questioning look, BS strode over to the water basin and emptied its contents on the Torch, causing his flame to die. Screaming in shame, the Torch ran back through his portal, BS’s taunting call of “Glorified fire elemental” ringing in his ear.

Turning a skeptical eye on Mickey, who was just opening another portal. “So what’s next, some idiotic merman who has the power to talk to the fishes? Or is that even to ridiculous for you?”

Mickey sighed and the portal snapped shut immediately. ”I have only one more Mystery figure to show you. Try and keep an open mind this time?”

BS nodded cheerfully as the last portal opened and a rocklike figure stepped into the room. He did look powerful, BS thought. Probably could take a lot of punishment as well. This may be useful if….

“I am called The Thing and I..”

BS collapsed into a heap on the floor, laughing hysterically as Mickey cursed his juvenile sense of humor and dismissed the last contestant. Making his way toward the struggling warrior, Mickey grinned and raised his hand. BS’s eyes widened as the hand began to swell, and he braced himself for the coming blow…..

Only to awaken in his bed, heart pounding as his eyes searched for any sign of the mouse. Finding nothing, BS lay back. Damned Syup ’O Disney. All these years, and he still had flashbacks from time to time. Sometimes, he really hated his magic resistant constitution and the odd way it tended to harbor traces of certain things in his system.

[The Z]

A dainty woman, beautiful if not for the oppressing burden of the world that seemed to be strapped to her slender frame, brushed her sweat-ridden dark hair back and gently nudged her child deeper into the foreboding forest. Together they skipped over jutting tree trunks and nimbly hurried along the trail, fleeing the inevitable capture at the hands of a bloodthirsty band of rogues who were kin to the three slain children that had fallen to the woman’s half-orcish child. As the pair was slowly corralled into a clearing like cattle she quickly weaved two spells upon her ward: hold person and invisibility. Weeping, she kissed her frozen (but conscious) child as a final goodbye and strode nobly towards her gruesome fate.

Like wolves, the rogues trapped their prey, the mother of an eagle that had no wings. No longer shedding tears, the courageous woman summoned all her strength and to her child’s horror, stated that she’d returned him to a tribe of orcs – a fatal offense committed by a lecherous traitor in the eyes of the blind. The pack advanced upon her, ravenous. The air crackled with pure energy and blindingly fast missiles shot from the mother’s hands that crashed into two of the rogues and penetrated their armor. Down they fell, joining their brothers in the torturous hells. But the buzz of an arrow silenced the mother, rupturing her side and drowning her gown in blood.

The predators would not leave without the fruits of their labour. Treating her as if she was inhuman, they violently tore off the gown and as the child had been conceived many years before, ravaged her in a bestial act of tainted lust and utter rage. Over and over again, the twisted joy abused the woman on the forest floor until she no longer had breath to breathe. Satisfied, the beasts left.

The child, invisible and held, could not even cry for his pillaged caretaker and could only stand by helplessly. He could only watch the cycle of destruction come full circle in the unceremonious death of his one beacon of hope and light in the dusk and fog that filled his heart; and, as the spells wore off he collapsed beside his mother and held her lifeless, but still angelic face to his chest.

He could not summon the tears to express the sheer brokenness of his spirit. There were none left. All that remained was the alluring flames of anguish that now stampeded about him. All that remained was a rampaging vessel of vengeance, fuelled by the fires of despair. The child inside was finally dead.

[The Z]

Hundreds of orcs thundered towards their destination, each equipped with more then enough oil-bundles and torches to burn down an entire elvish settlement. There had been no problems with the outermost perimeter, but by now the druids were probably well aware of the horde that approached. Undoubtedly they would come futilely to defend their worthless plot of forest, but as the spider webs of Ched Nesad had been burnt in the Underdark, destroying the city for good, so too would the trees of Tethyr be lit ablaze for the sake of conquest.

It would only be a feint though. While the bulk of the forces would be confronting the druids with the wrath of fire making it appear as though it was another pointless frontal assault, Erudish would take an elite band of orcs around the battle into the heart of the grove itself and burn the place from the inside out – an extremely simple but effective strategy. The half-orc was banking on the idea that the humans, naturally underestimating the intelligence of the orcs’ commander would think that all the legion could think of doing was send waves of troops into the exact same gap every single time. Still, all of it hinged on how long the main group could hold out against the war-savvy druids and Erudish was never one to trust the resolve of his comrades no matter how trained or combat-ready they were, which is why he designed another facet of attack.

During the earlier assault, the retreating troops had ran back through a clearing that was extremely close to the location of the battle – close enough to be able to use catapults. It was impossible to wheel siege weapons around in the forest, but it was possible to haul sappers’ equipment into the clearing. With enough time, they’d be able to build a tunnel close enough to certain druid choke points and blow them up from below. The bulk of the orcs would have to stall the druids for a long while though. Of course, there was the risk of destroying friendly forces but Erudish had explicitly stated for the cannon fodder to stay far back and not to engage in melee combat unless absolutely necessary, which, unfortunately could tip off the druids that it was no ordinary assault. But it was a gamble he was willing to take.

The scheme was devious and perhaps a little too complicated for most of the orcs’ liking, but Erudish was respected and feared greatly by his troops despite his ethnic proportions. As long as he was on their side, they didn’t care. As the march continued with growing resistance the deeper they trespassed, so to did the anticipation of the legion. The heavy stench of eagerness flooded Erudish’s nostrils and he inhaled it with glee. Ecstasy, the excitement of battle, was the only way to describe how the to-be-besiegers felt. The bloodlust was beginning to boil over and the pace with which the orcs marched at would be unbearable for even the most fleet a foot human; and, well before sunrise the legion found itself at the clearing.

Erudish felt pangs of pride at the brevity of their march. No human army could’ve ever traversed the gap they did in as short amount of time they did. No human army would be ready to fight after moving with such blistering speed. Then again, he wasn’t commanding a human army and was glad for it.

Orcs stood in their positions, jostling and shivering with the urge to maim those who had defeated them earlier. Sappers already were digging furiously at the ground, motivated by the thought of sending creatures to the heavens with a well-placed explosion. Those who were not already enacting the plan awaited the order to bring chaos to the Druid Grove. The half-orc turned to his troops and snarled harsh war cries to send their cravings over the edge of consciousness.

“Let us burn this accursed forest down around us and let the meddling druids suffer for their ways! Let the grass become tainted red with blood! Let us feast on the carcasses of animals and man alike! For the orcs! Burn them!”

With a mighty roar the orcs surged forward into the breach, not knowing how the druids would react to their leader’s assault and not caring for anything but smelling the intoxicating scents of battle and tasting the blood of their enemies.

[Yshania]

A couple of hours passed and she found found herself standing on the southern banks of Lake Esmel, from where the river continued its journey north and then east. A light snack of bread and cold meat and she had determined her route: to abandon the river, and head directly east across the bandit country towards the shelter of Shilmista. If they were to make any progress undercover of the night, they must make haste now. She closed her eyes and concentrated as Githras body shifted before her, becoming almost ghostly before exploding into a million black atoms and swarming purposefully towards the black onyx ring adorning the hand of his mistress, now held aloft in silent command.

"Rest now, Githra" she whispered and with that she slung her pack across Pridwens back, the mare nickering her response as Yshania climbed into the saddle. Pridwen stamped and circled for a minute, and then they hit the plains at a gallop - the Gods willing, Yshania hoped they could reach Shilmista by the following night.

[Cuchulain82]

It had been a rough morning. Setanta had wondered when he met Snirf if it were possible for the Gnome to cause any more trouble than he was already. As it turned out, it was possible, and hung-over, angry Snirf was an even bigger handful than sober, pyromaniac Snirf. After a long morning Setanta had finally convinced Snirf to go sleep it off. If they has a cleric with them a heal spell would probably have been the perfect thing. However, Setanta didn’t know any clerics in Windhaven, and Snirf couldn’t control his powers well enough to heal himself. Setanta had all types of potions that would help, but he wasn’t about to burn an antidote potion to cure a hangover- the gnome would have to fix his own hangover, and only time did that. A fine spot I’m in Setanta thought, more orcs are moving now than any other time in the past century, and I’m here making sure a deep gnome doesn’t accidentally torch a town.

And then there was the question of the monk. He had said his name was Broken Blade. Setanta had shown him the orc gear in the cart, and he had seemed interested. Snirf had broken up that meeting rather abruptly, but Setanta guessed that there was an unspoken agreement between them- Broken Blade, Snirf, Bloodstalker and Setanta were all in the same town somewhat randomly, and Setanta wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it. First Bloodstalker reappears, walking right out of my memories. And now this monk- I don’t like it, all of these things from the past.

Meeting Broken Blade had made Setanta think of the time he had spent living and studying with the monks. There had been a while, a period of time after the fall of Zhentil Keep, that he had thought that the life of a monk was for him. And, for a few years, it had been wonderful. The life was severe for most people, but for a freed slave the thought of having a chest and a bed and clothes of ones own was overwhelming. The physical training wasn’t too hard, and it was different from what he had learned as a fighter. He meditated, learned how to read and to cook a little, and for a while he was very happy.

But it didn’t last. Setanta at first had been overwhelmed by the lifestyle of the monks- he had always been good at fighting, and here these monks could show him a whole different way to fight! Plus they fed him and treated him like a person, instead of a slave of mixed heritage. The lifestyle, however, became routine, and Setanta realized that he didn’t agree with the fundamental teachings of the monks. For them life was ordered and unified, diamond bodies and minds, lawful souls, rationality and control… and Setanta just didn’t agree. Life was a struggle; at least it always had been for him. He was always usually tougher and stronger, but sometimes had been luckier than his opponents, plain and simple. One time Setanta had seen two men in a pit fight, and for one it was his first time. He was not a fighter and was scared. He got in the ring and soiled himself, feces covering the ground. He was humiliated and the crowd laughed at him. But not 15 seconds later, in the fight, his opponent, a skilled veteran, slipped in the muck and fell, and died because of it. Setanta had often thought of this when listening to the monks. How can you say that life is ordered? I am the bastard son of two Zhent slaves, bred in the pits at the behest of my master- where is the order, the divinity in that? Setanta didn’t understand, and left the company of the monks after a short while.

Thinking about all this made Setanta feel suddenly very humble and alone. Looking around, he slipped off of the street and headed to the back of the Inn. Alone for the moment, he reached under his shirt and pulled out a silver pendant with the picture of a beautiful woman with fiery hair. He thought of his mother, an enslaved priestess of Sune, and said a prayer with his mother’s holy symbol in hand. He didn’t usually speak to the gods, but by now speaking to Sune was second nature.

After the quick prayer Setanta roused himself from his reverie. Too much thinking about old ghosts will only get their attention What to do about his hung-over friend, and the new Monk? And what about BS? And the orcs? There were too many questions that needed answering, so Setanta set out to find out exactly what was going on.

[Cuchulain82]

“I heard your prayer, Setanta son of Sulywe” The voice echoed in the darkness. “And I have answered.” Setanta didn’t understand, but he didn’t have long to consider. Suddenly, a slender figure was in front of him, an elvish woman of no small beauty, chained to the wall. In front of her was an orc, or a half orc, and the elf was naked. Setanta couldn’t see, but he knew somehow that she was completely exposed. She had been hurt, and then the image started to shift, but Setanta knew that things would not end well for the elf. Such a beauty, crushed and destroyed…

…The vision shifted, and now he was watching a streaming mass of orcs roll seamlessly over terrain. The mass of orcs was a sight to see, the sinew and muscle working, the entire army marching a breakneck speed with the precision of well-trained legion. At the head of the army was the half orc, and Setanta knew that soon there would be more destruction and fire...

The voice came again, “Your mother spent her life defending beauty, and now I call upon you to do the same.”

“But look at them,” Setanta thought, “Look how they move- that is beauty, the beauty of combat and precision.”

“Yes, but they move to destroy, and you have been drawn into their path. You called upon me, as you have in the past. Now I require something in return.”

Again Setanta saw the image of elves, beautiful elves, and humans this time, all burning and being crushed.

“But I don’t even like elves” Setanta thought, “And what can I do? I’m a pit fighter. I’m not good with beauty. I can’t make the beauty, and I don’t do well with beautiful women.”

“You are much more than just a pit fighter and you know it. You will not do everything, but you will do something. Find out about the orcs, follow your instincts.”

The vision faded, and things went black again.
************************************************** ********

Setanta opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, not ten steps from the spot on which he had just issued his prayer. He had never had a dream or a vision like that before, but he could not deny the reality of his experience. The problem was that he didn’t want this dream, or the attention of any god.

Well, that’s what I get for praying. Who would have thought they would actually listen? Setanta mused Follow my instinct, huh? Well, for now there are too many questions and no enough answers- too much I don’t know

So off he went, for the second time, hopefully to find out about orcs.

[Yshania]

“Fools!” she gasped, as she dragged Pridwen to a long and sliding halt, dust spraying from the mares seemingly tireless hooves. Distant raucous laughter filled the empty early morn around the crude camp, and from her vantage point the druid could count at least a dozen revellers, maybe more. She focused her attention on the one seated furthest from the fire…she could just about make him out as better dressed, and better counselled to hold his peace, yet in his obvious authority he had failed to silence his party’s exuberance. “Welcome to the stage!” she threatened somewhat emptily, considering their advantageous number. She slid from Pridwens back and made ready.

“Time for au natural, my friend!” she whispered to her mount as she unbuckled her small leather saddle and light reins and discarded them, carefully dragging up the soft earth to cover their resting place amidst the roots of an isolated gnarled old oak. She shouldered her pack, and belted her scimitars, then bid Pridwen luck. The mare swung her head and nickered, understandingly, before shaking out her mane and trotting a wide circle directly south and then east of the party. The druid trusted her horse implicitly, and their last lingering gaze had requested pace be held…Pridwen faltered then adjusted accordingly, stopping to graze whilst carefully awaiting the signal.

Yshania remained motionless and thoughtful for a moment. She could call Githra from his rest for naught and have him head off any potential threat, yet for the time being she could not justify expending his energy as she was still uncertain as to the motives of this band. She set off north and east alone, turning to nod her consent towards Pridwen who, for all intents and purposes, became another wild horse of the plains as she turned to stroll away, keeping a respectful distance from the camp yet following Yshanias lead.

The druid would regret the remainder of this journey to Shilmista on foot, just as she struggled to comprehend this sudden and instinctive urgency.

“Rather safe than sorry” she reasoned as she finally settled herself into a hidden spot a calculated half mile beyond the camp, the clear air carrying intonations of revelry even if she was unable to determine focus. She would up and continue once their silence threatened they were on the move, something told her the quiet one would not be expecting they rest further this day…the same niggling voice which advised she stay ahead whilst keeping them in her sights…

[The Z]

Lightning lashed into the orcs, but they held strong, retaliating with flaming bundles that burnt all that they touched. This time though, the projectiles were not simply directed at where the druids were roaming about. They were flung in every direction along with torches and magical fire arrows to fully take advantage of the soldiers’ inability to aim. The land was dying, slowly succumbing to the life-leeching fires of Erudish’s maurading army.

Great Firs creaked and tumbled to the ground, their bases charred and weak – no longer able to support such immense weight. Their stumps became pillars of flame, torching druid and orc alike in a masterful slaughter. Grass wilted and burned, creating vast walls of fire that separated parts of the two warring parties. None of the wildlife that had come to the druids’ aid in the previous skirmish was able to penetrate the inferno that now enveloped the grove. Though some made an admirable effort to protect their home, there were so few that successfully navigated through the scathing blaze that they were stragglers, easily picked off by the exceptionally skilled Black Orc Archers, who had laced their arrows with not only flames, but the hatred bred from generations of torment.

Erudish did not know who had brought the Black Orcs to his clan, much less, who had created them in the first place. They were essentially genetically altered orcs, mutated by powerful sorcery and spawned in magical pools. Everything that Faerun feared in an orc was magnified tenfold in the Black Orcs – they were tougher, stronger, more preserving, even crueler, and most frightening of all, they possessed a vastly superior intellect to their common cousins. Only an extremely deadly and fearsome mage would have had the will, let alone the courage, to summon such a volatile and effective army. They also represented something else, something much more personal to the warlord. His father had been one of them.

Erudish’s Mother had told him that she’d been traveling to Trademeet via the Windspear Hills with a party of adventurers when they stumbled across the layer of the now deceased red dragon, Firkraag. Up until those fateful moments, she did not even know Black Orcs existed, but it was evident that the dragon had been experimenting with the possibility of replacing his current orc guards with their much more deadly form with little success. The process was apparently too painstaking and time-consuming for him, especially with the recent fanfare over the coming Bhaalspawn Wars. Consequently, he bred a couple and then became occupied by other matters.

His mother made the mistake of dawdling a little behind the group far enough so that contact could be severed completely quite quickly. The Black Orcs took advantage of this and snatched her away. By the time the other adventurers noticed her absence, found her, and rescued her, it had been too late – she was carrying the seed that would become Erudish. Immediately thereafter, his mother returned to Athkatla, but admiring life and having immense love for children, she could not accept magical treatment that might have possibly rid her of the unwanted baby.

The thought of his loving and kind-hearted mother being taken in by one of those gruesome war-machines was strangely revolting. Erudish understood that it was a part of the culture that he now revered and accepted as the norm, but at the same time, he could not shake the prodding instinct that reproached him for letting such horrific deeds occur to other unfortunate women. Something deep inside that had been buried in the depths of his scarred core and locked away with chains of suffering cried out that such an act, no matter the instigator or the victim, was fundamentally wrong. Where was the righteousness in it? The sheer vileness inherent in it was absurd!

The half-orc slammed the side of his head with his palm, leaving a stinging bruise. Morality of Man of all things! He abhorred moments when the human blood inside of him swelled and momentarily flooded his mind with such irrational thoughts. Of course Orcish culture accepted such things. It was second nature. They were born violent and violence governed them – naturally they wanted to victimize the other races for persecution and oppression. It was proper that these women understood the gut-wrenching pangs of fear and horror that Erudish had overcome in his childhood. The Orcish Pantheon demanded chaos and pain to be wreaked upon the other races. After all, his mother’s sense of goodness resulted in her downfall.

As the half-orc tried desperately to refocus himself on the ensuing battle, the human instincts gradually receded like the tide and slowly crept from his thoughts. But as usual, they refused to be broken and beaten away. The waves crashing upon the shore always return, never to completely leave the land, never to cease its breaking of the sand.

[Ned Flanders]

Pharis, removing his monocle and grinning ear to ear, turned to head deeper in the woods having gleefully observed Tashara struggle with the transformation from woman to arachnid. She’ll be none too pleased, he thought to himself, glancing through the dense forest canopy stealing a glimpse of the crimson, gold, and mauve waves in the western sky, but what a view through those eyes. His thoughts wandered to her companion, suspicion rising again at the sight of the faerie dragon. Magical, mischievous, and inquisitive, he wondered if the dragon was able to detect the strong dweomers present in his kukri and armor and the consequences it might bring should the dragon relate any information to her.

Picking up the pace and activating his invisibility ring, he made not a sound while rambling across the forest floor. Howls from the pack echoed in the distance indicating they had located the orcs and were corralling them in the proper direction. He angled his way through the forest settling on leaning up against a large oak to wait patiently for their arrival. He continued to hold his armor, Drital, in his right hand and pausing, made to unsheathe one of the two kukris he had strapped on the right of his belt. He took a deep breath and grasped the handle of Belbau d’dro, waves of emotion invading his mind, the two words, duul’sso ussa, ricocheted in his head. He submitted to the telepathic request, and drew the blade from its sheath, her diatribe beginning immediately.

Is that any way to treat one who’s been so loyal to your cause over the years? The gratitude I receive for sustaining your life far longer than one of your kind deserves. If I had known you were to turn out so soft, I would’ve never…

Begged me to take you with me, Pharis playfully interrupted.

I did not beg, the blade proudly stated.

Really? You’d still be sitting on the bottom of Donigarten were it not for your incessant whining…

It should be you sleeping with the fishes.

Zuul’shaa is the dimmest dark elf to ever wander the underdark. Knowing you as I do, I dare say you betrayed your former master.

Silence.

And?!

I’m thirsty., the kukri whined in Pharis' head.

And so shall you drink.

Again there was a pause...Orc!? It’s been over a year and the best you can serve for an inaugural dish is orc!? I refuse. The blade had taken a rather haughty tone with its' master, apparently unimpressed with the snack prepared for her.

I can sheath you for another year, Pharis chided the sentient weapon.

You wouldn’t dare! Relations would be much smoother if you would just admit to yourself how much you need me.

You’re daft. Sometimes I wish you were created by a man.

A male couldn’t craft such beauty.

Well, whatever. Lick your chops, lady, lunch is served.

Belbau d’dro sent a mild, uncomfortable shudder through Pharis’ body, intentionally so, symbolic of the blades' disdain for its upcoming meal. The orcs made an enormous racket, aimlessly romping through the forest, away from the cries of the stalking wolves. The bulk of the force, some two dozen, made a wide path through the wood, passing quickly, unaware of the predator in their midst. Pharis selected a straggler headed in his direction. The unlucky orc passed right next to the great oak tripping on Pharis’ outstretched invisible foot. His invisibility dispelled, Pharis tossed the armor in front of the prone orc as he slowly regained his senses. He crept up behind the orc until he was within reach, completely silent in his steps, the orc fixated on the armor in front of him.