Scattered Embers: Flames Rekindled (story)

[Bloodstalker]

Bloodstalker brought his mount to a stop, letting his gaze scan the immediate area quickly before sliding down from the saddle. Taking a moment to stretch his legs out, he considered his options. His meeting with Delin had gone wrong at some point, and instead of simply comparing notes and discussing possible courses of action, Bloodstalker had somehow wound up suckered into this little jaunt. Delin had been persuasive indeed, insisting that he needed more information to accuralty guage the potential threat to Windhaven while at the same time hinting that someone needed to look in on a couple of the homes that lay farther out form town. It had all made a great deal of sense at the time, as did the fact that Delins men were much better suited to town patrols than this kind of thing. It had been a simple conclusion that Bloodstalker, being much more at home in the wilds, would be the safest choice to take a look around and be able to report back without either getting lost or killed in the process. And Delin simply hated delays.

Truth be told, Bloodstalker found he didn't really mind the trip as much as he was fast coming to the conclusion that it was a grand waste of time. He'd been riding for the better part of the morning, letting his course take him generally north, and had simply come across nothing out of the ordinary. He'd abandoned the roads early, sticking instead to the less travelled trails and wooded areas that would better conceal any gathering raiding party, but all he had managed to smoke out so far was a couple rabbits and a squirrel. He still had a good area left to cover however, and although he hadn't allowed his guard to drop, he couldn't help the impatient feelings that came over him from time to time. He much prefered a head on fight to this sort of detective work.

A loud snort snapped his head back around in time to catch Cobalt stamp impatiently.He grinned wryly at the notion that he apparently wasn't alone in that regard. One thing he could say about the horse after these past few years was that Cobalt was damned near the most tempermental animal he'd ever laid eyes on. It was one of the reasons Bloodstalker had bought the horse after the first time he'd ridden him on a long journey of rooting out goblins in northern Amn. While Cobalt was willing to allow himself to be ridden(most of the time), BS doubted that the animal would ever become what you could actually call tame. He admired his spirit, and wouldn't change it for anything. Even on the odd occasion that the stallion became irritated at something he'd done and attempted to take a bite out of him. Which, if the way Cobalt was rolling his eyes and tossing his head was any indication, was about to happen if he didn't get a move on.

"Alright already, I'm going" BS chuckled as he took the reigns and lead the horse down the slight ravine to the stream, letting loose the reigns once Cobalt had begun to drink. He had no worries that the horse might bolt now that his demands had been met, and walked a distance up the stream, taking in the surrounding area. On both sides of the meandering current the land rose steeply, if not very high. Possibly thirty yard at the most, with trees thick along the crest of both embankments. The slopes themselves were littered with high grass, boulders, and assorted bushes and smaller trees, effectively cocooning his present location from any chance of being detected unless someone knew exactly where to look.

Settling down on a log, BS took a few moments to rest while he drank from his flask. It was as comforting and peaceful as he could wish for, and for a while he got caught up in the simple pleasure of lazing about, letting the sound of the running water sooth away his cares. Inevitably his mind came back to his reson for being here in the first place however, and he found he had to force himself to get up again.

Walking back to retrieve Cobalt, he took the reigns and lead the horse off, thinking to walk awhile and give them both a break. He still had a good distance to cover, and while things to this point had been noneventful, he didn't want to take a chance that he'd stumble into trouble while riding a tired horse. Better to be safe than sorry he mused, as he resumed his journey north.

[Aegis]

It was not difficult for Gypsy to quickly pick up another lead as to where more of the twisted abberations that where the blackened orcs perverted the forest, not that it was her mind-set of such things. She cared little for the forest, aside from the fact it made a rather nice place to visit. Truthfully, she was here, along with Aegis, simply for the fact the two of them had seen a rather long, uneventful trip from the southern reaches of the Sword Coast, and were looking to 'spread their wings', so to speak. She could not help, however, to be slightly awed when looking on the thick canopy of lush foliage, or the well tended patches of flora, or even the majesty of what few animals dared be seen during the looming threat of orcish demise. It all had a natural beauty to it, one that she was unaccustomed to seeing, having grown into maturity in the arid deserts of Calimshan.

She stood up from where she had been examining some deep impressions, obviously made by an Orc of quite imposing stature. Placing her hands on her hips, her fingers brushing lightly upon the hilts of her Dragonfang blades, she issued forth a small sigh. Aegis, who had been leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree, titlted his head at the sound, one he was not familar with coming from his exotic companion.

"Either that means we've run out of fun, or..." his voice trailed off as he moved to stand next to the woman.

Gypsy took a moment to register both the words, and the movement, glancing his way only after he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Must be the weather." she lied. "I can feel the moisture in the air. It makes it somewhat uncomfortable, especially when active. In the south, the dry air wasn't quite so heavy, or thick."

"It is not the water in the air, dear," started Aegis as he took a step forward, following the blatant orc tracks before him, "it is the taste of war. It is something that lingers on a battlefield. It goes from being tension and anticipation for the coming battle, to something soaked with blood and death." He took a deep breath, as though he could tell the current status of the conflict.

"It is something that none truly become used to. The best you can hope for, is to simply learn how to ignore it." He swung the shaft of his glaive across his shoulders, and turned back to Gypsy, flashing a carefree smile her way, one completely inappropriate for the conversation of death and battle.

Gypsy looked at her companion for a moment, her mouthing twisting into a gape of astonishment, mixed with confusion, unsure of how to take his sudden change of mood. After a moment, she shook her head, and chuckled lightly to herself. "It's a wonder you haven't gotten yourself killed yet, you know that, right?" She stepped over to Aegis, running one of her arms around his waste, and lightly touching her forehead to his right shoulder. As she withdrew from him, she gave him a light rap across the back of the head. "It's also a wonder I haven't done the job myself!"

Gypsy pursed her lips, as though trying to look angry with him, but her eyes betrayed the nature of the situation. Aegis rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, the corner of his lip being tugged into a small smirk.

"Well, I just like to think I have a gaurdian angel looking over my shoulder." Gypsy smiled, and started to follow the trail before Aegis added under his breath, "though she could be a little more gentle about it..." he smiled to himself, and followed the woman down the path.

[Aegis]

Gypsy had picked up the trail easily. The orcs cared little to hide their tracks, as if working under the assumption that someone would find them, follow them, and then witness the destruction they had wrought. It was not uncommon for an orc to leave easily identifible tracks, thought Aegis. They were, after all, large cumbersome beasts with little mind to hide where they went, mostly because they lacked the mental capacity, anyway. These tracks, though, were different: They were structured, uniformed, and deliberate, as though whatever caused them wanted anyone within the forest to follow them. Whatever was leading the Black Orcs was deliberatly leading the denizens of the forest towards the fighting. The thought was unsettling to Aegis.

Gypsy had moved ahead breifly, working her way up onto the crest of a hill. The forest was quiet, any outside sounds muffled by the canopy of trees and the dense undergrowth, obviously the work of the Druids that lived in the Tethyr forests. Occasionally, a particularly thick bit of brush barred her way, masking the progression of the tracks. A recurring enchantment, Gypsy muttered to herself silently as her Dragonfang weapons cut through the growth. It proved a slow process, working both up the slope, and through magical growth.

She could feel the slope begin to level, and the air begin to open up. She was coming near the crest of the hill. Flecks of sunlight dotted the sparse areas clear of vegetation. Gypsy issued a small, thankful smile. While the forest was hardly dark, direct sunlight is something she had not seen since the edges of Tethyr. She gave another quick swing of her blade, cutting the last bit of obstruction from her path, and finally ending the climb. She took a moment for herself, breathing in a deep breath, before looking across the forest from her vantage point. As she did so, her eyes widened, and her lips tightened. Behind her, she could hear Aegis working his way up the hill before the growth returned.

"You know, this is why I typically prefer the open fields." Aegis muttered to himself, his hand held in front of his face to keep the numerous twigs and branches from scraping across his face, and quickly spitting out bits of growth that had somehow been caught in his teeth. "Far easier to move, and a better breeze." He stopped beside Gypsy, brushing off his shoulders and pants.

After a moment without one of Gypsy's barbs returning to him, he glanced over. He squinted his eyes, looking at the bewildered face on his companion. "Hon? You alright?" He waved a hand across her vision. "What's wrong?"

In response, Gypsy slid her hand into Aegis' free one, and directed his gaze out towards the forest. Aegis' eyes widened slightly as well. The forest was burning, a tide of a black and green surging through the few open spaces of trees, the Druid communitiy pulsing with activity, the sounds of battle ringing through the air. The trail lead down the hill, towards a large building caught in the midst of the community. They had walked into the middle of the war.

[The Z]

Erudish’s vision swam between a veil of crimson and reality. Slowly, his life was draining from him; it seemed as though every part of his body was aching and bleeding. Ahead of him lay the throne room, but he could barely make it out because of the haze. Firelight danced before him while a nagging ringing sound buffeted his eardrums. He wanted to collapse, to fall, to rest – to sleep. Never before had his body yearned to stop, longing to end the incessant corroding of its muscles. Blissful peace awaited him. All he needed to do was to ease himself to the ground, close his eyes and…

“Warboss! We found the building empty except for this one.”

The Black Orc shoved a slight, delicate half-elf child in front of Erudish, while handing the half-orc a healing potion that had been pilfered from the druids. The brew was quaffed almost immediately and the pain gradually subsided. But it didn’t disappear. Near-death experiences never left, always leaving a scar to remind the victim of how close he’d been to the hells. Chills ran up his spine as the orc continued.

“Our troops are mopping up the last of the resistance. This worthless grove is ours.”

"Where is the high druid and her companions?" the general asked the child icily.

“Please sir…don’t hurt me,” the girl stammered in between a sob and a gasp for air before clasping his large hand in her tiny one. It was warm to the touch and soft – soothing almost. The last time Erudish had ever felt such a sensation was those fleeting moments before his mother and he were forced to flee. Angrily, he shook the memory away. What sort of general felt comforted by the hand of the child of a man he’d slain?

“I say we eat the wretch. What would a little girl know? But if you want to hand her over to our soldiers…”

“No,” the half-orc said, studying the half-elf while thinking of his mother, “She’s too young.”

“Tell that to those idiots you call warriors. They want to mate with anything that breathes,” the soldier growled in response.

“Feed them the dead. That should subdue them for awhile.”

The Black Orc wandered off, shaking his head at the thought of having to deal with is lesser cousins.

Shyly, the girl spoke again, staring at Erudish with wide amber eyes that pierced the vault where he’d sealed his tormented past away. The waves of forgotten emotions – passion, compassion, love – seeped through the chinks in his armor, washing over him – taking over him. She reminded him of his rude awakening from the dream that was his childhood. Violence and suffering forced young ones such as themselves to face the world too soon.

“They…your friends…they…they hurt my father. He…he’s never coming back now…is he?”

Surprised at her candor, Erudish grimaced and replied, “No. I’m sorry. He’s gone to the heavens.”

She looked as if she might burst out into tears, never to be free from sorrow’s grip, but courageously, she held back the ocean and let only a drizzle come forth. Again, those unforgettable eyes faced him and he felt himself writhing under the humanity that had been awakened; it coursed through his veins.

“You…you aren’t as mean as...” she shuddered, “the others.”

“I am only half like them as you are only half an elf,” the warrior replied, brushing away a tear that trickled down her face like a mark of despair. Something compelled him to reveal to her a side of him that he didn’t know existed. He hated it, he wanted it to leave, but like a ghost by its grave, the compulsion haunted him. What was he becoming? Perhaps his duel had damaged him more then he remembered.

“You’re…you’re like me…”

His eyes shut and he tried to squeeze the rampant emotions from his mind. Then he sighed, something that he didn’t do often. “Yes.”

“Then why…they…why haven’t they hurt you?”

There was no suitable answer, so he didn’t give one.

“Wha...what are you..going to do with me? Are...are you my new watcher?” She was now spasming in a supreme effort to avoid bawling and the frequency with which the tears dropped was picking up, much like how rain morphs into a storm.

The half-orc couldn’t bear the pangs of pent up morality any longer. He could not stare into such an innocent face, untouched by the slings of the world, and not want to preserve it. How could he not comfort something so similar to what he was? How could he let another hapless victim fall prey to a fate like his? Glancing around quickly to make sure none of his guard was around to observe, he abruptly knelt down and pulled her close, as a father with his child does. Fighting his fatigue and nature, he held her close as his mother had done with him whenever those inevitable tears flooded his vision. As gently as he could, he smoothed her flowing black hair and pressed his bloodstained cheek to hers.

“I won’t hurt you,” Erudish whispered, choking back tears of his own, “and I swear on my life I will never let anything or anyone ever lay a hand on you.”

For a brief moment, the forest disappeared and all that remained was a child and her self-appointed guardian. At that moment an unbreakable bond linked them at the hearts and intertwined their fates as two very different entities that had led two very similar lives. For a brief moment, the hearty general was human, free from the chains he’d placed upon himself – free to feel what he was born to feel.

A branch snapping and the rattling of plates signaled the approach of a soldier, snapping the stupor. Erudish quickly stood up and eased the child away from him. He motioned her to be still. She bit her lip, nodded, and then stood silently while he bound her hands with leftover vines from the earlier battle.

“Don’t worry, that's to protect you,” the half-orc said, giving her hand a lingering squeeze before turning towards the trail. The moment of weakness was purged for the time being as his thoughts returned to conquest, though he still struggled to think of an adequate reason for keeping a half-elven child alive. Erudish exhaled with relief as he felt his cold, war-like countenance return. Hopefully he'd be able to work as well as he did before he met the girl. Somehow he doubted he would.

It was then he realized that he could barely stand, let alone walk. Apparently he was more wounded then he had thought...

[Aegis]

Aegis and Gypsy moved down the slope with practised ease. Though neither prefered the forest over the open plains, or desert, they moved with the grace of one who had spent their life moving through such obstacles. As they came closer to the Grove, the sounds of battle grew louder, but more drawn out. The conflict, it sounded, was coming to close. The brunt of it, at least. As the two came to the bottom of the hill, Aegis came to a stop, leaning his body against a massive oak tree, knelling down, hiding behind the brush. Gypsy stooped next to him, both peering towards the building. It seemed to be reletively untouched by the majority of the fighting. The entrance that they saw had been destroyed, rough edges casting off splinters, bits of the worked wood hanging from their last strands.

For a moment, nothing happened. No activity, just the sounds of dying battle, mixed with occasional celebration of the orcs that deemed victory was nothing less than imminent. Aegis began to rise from behind the tree, his hand moving to push through the brush, intent on heading towards the building. While he had no intentions of fighting an invading force, the building ahead of them looked to have been breached by little more than a small force of orcs. Just before he could move, though, he felt a gentle hand on his forearm. Aegis turned, about to question Gypsy, only to be met with her green eyes issuing a silent warning, bringing a finger over her lips calling for silence. Aegis tilted his head slightly, then turned back to the building in time to watch as a group of blackened orcs exitting, the lead orc grumbling something about 'inferior cousins' and 'lacking of standards'. Aegis could only wonder what it was talking about.

The two waited another couple of seconds, until the group of Black Orcs had turned the corner of the building, and were out of sight. Then, with the same ease they had come down the hill, the two moved through the brush, and towards the building. Aegis gripped the shaft of his glaive tightly, Gypsy following close behind, both Dragonfang weapons running along the edge of her forearms. They were across the small clearing in short time, unseen and unheard, and into the building.

[The Z]

Gritting his teeth, Erudish took a small step forward, then another, and yet, another until the pain became second nature. Talking with the child seemed to have made him forget that Blackoak had nearly bested him. He lurched forward only to stop and cough up a mouthful of blood. Disgusted, he spat it from his mouth and wiped his maw.

“You’re hurt,” the girl said, losing her stutter.

“Shhh,” the half-orc shushed, “don’t say a word.”

“But I can help—“

“Not now. Can’t you women ever take orders?”

“I’m not a woman yet.”

With that, Erudish rolled his eyes and gave up. Her innocent banter would be sure to get him killed and for a fraction of a second he pondered beheading her. As if on cue to that motive, the Black Orc returned. The general greeted him and tried to distract him from the little girl who stood uncomfortably close to his leg.

“How are the troops?”

The response was growled, “They’re still itching for action, but for the moment, they’ll be fine. You don’t look good Warboss.”

“Neither do you,” he hissed.

“Whatever you say. The sappers are beginning to move their equipment in. By midday tomorrow, most of the forest around here should be burnt down and we can begin the second stage.”

“What’s a second stage?” interjected the child.

Both warriors turned to glare at her quizzically. Erudish felt his spirits melt. Now there’d be no way his aide wouldn’t mention her. The Black Orc continued on, still staring at the girl with evident hatred. She stepped behind her bulky guardian and peered curiously at the ebon soldier from safety.

“That’s when we kill all of your kind, girly,” the orc sneered.

The child wilted and clutched Erudish’s leg even tighter.

“Why are you keeping her? We need all the food we can get, to feed those walking stomachs,” he rambled, gesturing towards the camp. “You aren’t getting soft are you? Half-orcs have a tendency to lose their touch after awhile…” he said, while pulling his weapon from his belt.

The Black Orc’s fingers danced lightly upon the glimmering pommel of his longsword and he stepped closer, issuing a challenge. Both men knew that Erudish was in no condition to fight, but the half-orc unhooked his great axe anyways; but he let go of it and left it hovering in place while he unsheathed his saber. His opponent frowned slightly but continued to inch closer, intent on stealing the burden of leadership and claiming the crown of general. Erudish beckoned the axe to attack and it shot forward – right past the target and into a nearby tree – much to the Black Orc’s amusement.

“Nice trick. It’s a shame you haven’t learned to aim yet.”

The soldier raised his sword as if to strike, but to both his and Erudish’s surprise the child ran between them and began shrieking as loud and as a little girl can.

“Stop you big, ugly, stupid, beast! He’s my friend and I know where a druid went to get help but I’ll only tell him. It's a secret!”

[The Z]

Slowly, the sword came down to the soldier’s side, only to be raised again.

”You’re lying, little girl.”

Erudish looked on incredulously and stood dumbfounded, as the half-elf continued to bravely defend him.

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“What?! No, YOU are lying and I will KILL you!”

“Then you can’t have the secret.”

“You’re LYING. There IS no secret!”

“I know you’re lying, but what am I?”

“Aaaaaagggh!”

Evidently, the thought that the half-elf might truthfully know where help was coming from was as good a reason as any for the soldier to avoid slaughtering her. The general could barely suppress his laughter as the child talked circles around his comrade to the point where the Black Orc was so humiliated that he stomped back to camp, fuming about how he ‘knew what she was, but didn’t want to say it to a little girl’. Erudish fell to his knees, partly to stop laughing, partly because pain was overwhelming his body.

“You’re a smart kid,” he chuckled.

“I can heal you,” she said, her voice now soft and serene.

“Pardon me?”

“The druids told me that when I sing, magical things happen. They taught me a song that makes the cuts and bruises go away.”

“You’re joking.”

“My father told me to always be honest,” she cooed, hurt by the reminder of her fallen parent.

At this, Erudish stood up quickly, only to fall back to the ground, wincing in pain. “So you really do know where they escaped to,” he whispered.

She didn’t reply, at least not directly. A haunting melody escaped her lips and it seemed to be carried by the wind itself as it echoed amongst the trees. The half-orc was entranced by her voice, which seemed to have aged while enraptured in song. It was soft, quiet, and unassuming, but vibrant with energy and it filled his body with hope. Wounds retreated and new flesh took their place, tingling with strength. Erudish saw not a child any longer, but a beautiful woman, with long, flowing black hair that spread across her shoulders like wings upon a dove. The eyes remained though; growing golden with an inner light that made his own eyes water. For as long as he could, he stared at the angelic creature, until he was forced to turn away. When he faced her again, she was a child.

[The Z]

Looking up at his newfound treasure, he spoke reverently.

“You aren’t really a little girl are you?”

She giggled, much like a child, “If I’m not a little girl, then you aren’t a man.”

“You’re impossible,” he smiled.

“Father told me that anything’s possible,” she replied, saddened at the remembrance of her father.

Erudish felt guilty for having reminded her of the cruel world and let her lean upon his leg as he got up and walked. Taking his axe from the tree it was stuck in, he made his way to the blasted entrance to the druid’s stronghold. He halted at the sight of two armed humans making their way into the stone structure. The old rage began to build once again. They were intruding on his conquered grounds, his land! The pair sought to kill his kind; he knew it. The axe now hovered in place, eager to bite its victims. Erudish unsheathed his saber.

“Stay out here, child. But make sure none of my men see you.”

She nodded, and the half-orc began to enter the complex only to inexplicably turn at the last moment.

“Do you have a name?”

“Amelie.”

Satisfied, he gave her a reassuring look, a squeeze on the shoulder and then returned to his task. The axe followed him dutifully. Looking around to make sure no one saw her, Amelie stalked after her guardian, worried that she might lose yet another friend to the fangs of war.

[Cuchulain82]

Trotting out of town in the late afternoon was refreshing for Setanta. No one else liked to move in the heat of the day, which meant he was the only one moving, and that was the way he liked it. Snirf was in no condition to travel, and he probably would be too loud anyway. How can I hide with a gnome and lizard cart? There's no way... I need to be quiet on this trip. Setanta didn't want Snirf to think that he was running away- he would be back- but he didn't have a good way to tell Snirf. The next best thing, in his mind at least, was to take something that belonged to Snirf. So, after rummaging through the war wagon for a while, Setanta took something that looked like a small, hard, pseudo-magical rock. Well, I don't know what this is, but I'll bet Snirf does. If it's important to him he'll find it, and when he does he'll find me. That was simple enough- problem solved!

Setanta swallowed hard and thought about his dream. Setanta didn't like to be overly superstitious, but orcs and old memories were bad omens.

Setanta reached into his bag and pulled out a small ring Just a little insurance, just to make completely sure I don't draw anyone's attention on the way out of town. And, like that, he was gone, trotting off in the afternoon to find this half orc and make some sense out of the situation.

[Aqua-chan]

Amara waited patiently for her visitor to finish informing her of his tidings. She could only gaze at the sleek falcon, a Peregrine, so high up in the tree that she had to crane her neck to see it amidst the leaves. Despite how strong she tried to be as the bird wordlessly explained to the druid the travesties it had seen at the Grove she still shuddered at the knees and her teeth chattered. Her eyes, watering, would wander from it to the ground, but the falcons yellow stare held fast to Amara, seemingly unfazed by any sort of grief.

"I understand," she replied when it asked. To speak aloud was no more effective than speaking through a telekinetic bond, but Amara was so shaken that it sort of slipped. Sytze, to had been lightly dozing not far away, only stirred momentarily.

The Peregrines eyes bore into her for a moment more, to which she responded aloud again. "Encompass the area. Should your keen eyes see danger approaching this place come back here and warn us, if you will."

For a third time the falcon kept eye contact with the druid. Amara nodded her head slowly. "If it comes to that, I would be most grateful for your guidance. Once we near the city we should be relatively safe."

The bird did not pause again, but instead turned around on the branch on which it stood and lept off, using its wings to catch the draft. After looping close to the earth it caught a gust of wind and took to the sky.

With the messenger of the Groves fate gone Amara was finally able to near the tree and slump against it miserably. The Archdruid Faldorn was doubtlessly alive yet: Faldorn had the ability to shapeshift into many creatures of the woodland, and in the chaos of man and beast battling abominations, who would take notice of one panther or wolf among many others fleeing into the depths of the forest? The candidates of heirs to the Grove would also probably be alive yet, though they were mostly young children. They would be able to hide well in the brush, and the wood spirits would watch over them. Blackoak... Blackoak would never willingly leave his grounds, Amara forced herself to admit. Vanaheer and Harlikher, just like Blackoak, were excellent warriors, adamant about leaving the Grove, and probably were dead.

Amara slid down against the rough tree; its bark scraped off the wood with crunching snaps as she did so. Taking in a shuddering breath she sat there, tired, dirty, and already fed up with the entire matter. Regardless of her sorrow and frustration Amara refused to let herself cry.

"What's wrong?" came the sleepy voice from not far away. Amara put a hand to her face to hide her expression, not answering Sytze. He was still half asleep and not entirely aware of his surroundings. Just like she had predicted, with her silence the rogue went back to his dozing once more.

Night was about to fall, and even then she knew she should be more cautious, Amara decided to sleep. The Peregrine would be their watcher tonight, and Amara would deal with her aching soul in her dreams.

[Ned Flanders]

Emerging into the clearing, monocle over his right eye, Pharis was relieved to see Tashara in human form waiting in the maple tree. During the moments he was leading the bulk of the orc force to slaughter at her hands, he pondered the improvisation potentially needed should Tashara still be in spider form. He hadn’t really arrived at any solution resembling a positive outcome, yet he maintained a grin rationalizing his reckless trickery was worth it. At any rate, she had restored herself to her original form and guessed she was prepared to do her part.

He removed the monocle, orcs now filling into the clearing unaware of the illusion before them. “Wolves no follow” Pharis said, gesturing back towards the dark of the forest, to the handful of orcs closest to him. Some orcs froze in place at mention of the word ‘wolf’, others slowly craned their necks in the direction from whence they came. Pharis slowly stepped away from the scared band of orcs attempting to catch the attention of the woman in the tree. Simultaneously, he was communing with the alpha male of the wolfpack, Kael. He projected his thoughts to the gifted wolf, issuing detailed instructions providing an escape route and rendezvous for the wolves who had played the role of pursuer. Additionally, he told Kael to keep all wolves from entering the clearing save protecting Tashara.

Kael projected back an acknowledgement inferring complete understanding of the masters’ wishes and comprehension of the battle at hand. Pharis was lost in a moment of admiration. It was Kael who had taught him the art and the gift of telepathy. Years back, while learning to hunt with the pack shortly after his acceptance, Kael coached him in the methods and techniques utilized to bring down larger prey opening wonderful channels of communication, truly communing with nature. It was a beautiful thing, a true reminder of his youth.

Pharis often wondered about the abilities of the wolf pack that had become his ‘family’. Was it something in the wood or the water granting them their enhanced faculties? Perhaps it was the druids themselves who had selected these animals to be the beneficiary of a special magic. If it wasn’t for his time spent with the druids, maybe the wolves would not have admitted him into their ranks.

The druids; his mind continued to venture through the past pausing at the memory of the druids, those who had raised him since infancy. The forest of Mir, lessons of balance, the study and wonder of nature itself. He recalled their slaughter when he was naught but a boy, he couldn’t even remember their names almost as if these memories weren’t really his own. But they were, and such memories were the representation of his existence; the necessity of running and burying the past to manifest and preserve a new present. Pharis found no joy in the concept of leaving behind the life he currently led. If he had ever known happiness and loved at all, this was certainly it. He simply knew he could not let go of the majesty that was the pack, his family, and there was no other choice than to defend it with his life.

The air around him erupted in flames of orange, the force of the explosion knocking him to the ground snapping him back to reality, his armor protecting him from the flames. It appeared Tashara had caught his signal.

[Ned Flanders]

Pharis wretched at the stench in the air. Most of the orcs engulfed in the spells’ blast radius lay dead, the remainder squealed and screamed on the ground. He was impressed with the accuracy of her casting, the forest taking minimal punishment from the fireball. The orcs avoiding the blast huddled together in fear scanning the landscape for the fire wielding assailant. Seconds later, two of the orcs were fighting one another, others wandered aimlessly into the clearing. A few stared into nothingness. Pharis himself struggled to retain focus of the situation, trying to resist Tashara’s newest enchantment. An unseen voice called to him. His mind drifted from the battle.

In his confusion, he sat down in the clearing. Glancing around, he saw someone approaching; blade drawn, but he ignored it. Whatever it was seeking his attention remained a mystery. The word ‘Cayell’ echoed in his head, rebounding at an almost painful frequency. The persistency of the invisible entity succeeded in drawing Pharis from his haze with impeccable timing as he registered both the beckoning of Kael and the slowly advancing, confused orc.

Pharis regrouped into a crouching position facing the orc, and stepped to his left. Even though he hadn’t donned the armor, Drital, in quite some time, he was still very much aware of the range the phantasmal sphere yielded and played it perfectly. The advancing orc continued and raised his blade to strike the illusionary seated orc, unaware of Pharis’ true form. Kukris drawn, he used “Battousai” to hamstring the orc while “Glimmer” drove up and under the raised right arm. The orc, dazed from the chaos spell, didn’t register the fatal blows it was dealt. Pharis removed his blades and eyed the wolves vanquishing the remaining confused orcs who had now gathered near the base of Tashara’s Maple.

Turning his thoughts to Kael’s calling, Pharis learned two of the pack, Pads and Seryll were in pursuit of an orc who had fled in the direction of their original approach. Pharis sent his approval to Kael, the deserting orc was a potential messenger. During his communiqué, more orcs crashed into the clearing. Pharis crept into the fringes of the wood observing the orcs interpret the battlefield. As they marched towards their engaged kin, a green fog descended quickly vaporizing all moisture within it. The orcs dropped as quickly as they had arrived. Pharis internally questioned how long they could maintain an advantage, outnumbered as they were.

Across the clearing Pharis espied the orc leader and his entourage enter the clearing. “Tha mage is in the tree over there, we must try to bring her down with arrows!” the orc leader bellowed.

“Dammit.”, Pharis muttered to himself as Tashara had been found. The six orcs with the leader took up their bows and began to rein fire on the tree. He crept along the tree line of the clearing navigating behind the leader and his throng of archers. It was time to see if his bracers still functioned.

[Ned Flanders]

Pharis slipped along the tree line with ease. His passage went undetected by the horde attempting to evict Tashara from her perch. Behind him, more orcs again crashed through the woods into the clearing, and faced no arcane obstacles as they sprinted to join the fray. He knew he had little time before Tashara was overrun and Drital’s hunger was beginning to affect him. The host’s blood could not maintain the illusionary magic for long and he felt the armor drawing on his own life force to support the mirage. While the armor was impressive for deception and assassination, it had little place on the open battlefield. He made haste towards the archers.

As last, he had the orcs in range. The leader broke from his archers streamlining towards a descending Tashara. The archers dropped their bows and drew swords and axes to follow his charge. Pharis raised his left arm in the direction of the orc archers. Contracting his forearm muscles, he fired a dart from the bracer, frowning when it bounced off the rear torso plate of armor. The orc swung around; Pharis used the opportunity to fire again this time catching the orc in the upper leg between armor plates. The poison on the dart worked quickly, the orc dropping seconds later. The remaining five orcs turned to face the forest. The illusionary orc wasn’t hard to find although it didn’t immediately register as an enemy. Pharis brought his right arm up and fired three times into the crowd, felling another enemy. He drew his kukris, readying himself for their charge.

“You two, go Zadrk. We kill him.”

The pair sprinted off towards their leader, the remaining two flanking Pharis. He briefly reveled in the improving odds. As the orcs closed, he charged one using his illusion to fullest advantage. The illusion came in, blade high, the orc parried the attack. Steel rang, and Pharis surprised the unsuspecting orc slashing his kukri’s double low. The first caught the orc below the breastplate, ichor cascading from the wound. The second kukri dug deep above each knee causing a loss of balance. The orc stumbled backward unaware of what had removed him from the battle.

Pharis whirled to face the second orc, but he was already on him. The orc drove his blade into the abdomen of the illusionary orc. Pharis partially dodged the blow, the orc’s blade caught him just above the waist. He grimaced in pain as blood welled from the wound. Drital was also wounded and spat out the hosts blood used to maintain the illusion through exposed leathery viens. Pharis dropped to a knee while the illusion remained standing. The orc brought his blade down on the illusionary orc dispelling the magic. All that remained was a wounded human, the orc was eager to finish the task.

“Kill you dead”, he chided the wounded man seeking to sate his bloodlust.

Pharis rose, the right side of his body burned with pain. The orc, smelling blood and weakness, immediately went on the offensive. He swung the blade in a clumsy overhead arc. Pharis parried the attack with his kukris, unable to counter under the force of his attack. The orc removed one of his hands from the hilt of his blade and used it to punch Pharis in the face. His nose crunched under the force of the blow and his vision blurred as blood collected in his sinuses. The orc came on, pressing hard, again using the double handed overhead swing. Pharis parried again desperate to find a hole in the orc’s defenses.

The exercise continued, Pharis never able to score more than a few minor hits through the orcs heavy armor. While the orc didn’t seem to tire, Pharis certainly had and the orc’s next overhead assault drove him down to the ground on his back. The orc moved over him to apply the death blow. “Puny human”, he taunted. Pharis’ final option was the one remaining dart on his left bracer, but he couldn’t decide which of the three orcs he now saw through bloodied eyes to shoot at. The orc raised the blade up; Pharis closed his right eye and opted to fire at the orc he saw on the right. It appeared to strike the orc on the chin; unsure, he braced for the worst. He heard the orc’s blade hit the ground, the orc following, falling, a lifeless lump.

Pharis moved to an upright position, gathering his kukri’s and wiping the blood out of his eyes. He proceeded to plug each nostril individually, while blowing the blood out of the other. Shaking his head, vision returning, he scanned the battlefield. Orcs littered the clearing. A few of his ‘family’ were down as well. Kael was leading several of the wolves finishing off the few remaining orcs. At the base of the maple, Pharis’ eyes rested on two prone forms: the orc leader and Tashara.

He began his crawl across the clearing.

[Ned Flanders]

Pads loped through the woods, alone. He and Seryll had caught and killed the orc they chased, but she did not survive the fight. While he mourned her loss, the urgency to report to Kael helped carry him forward. Ignoring his own injuries, he raced as fast as possible towards the clearing. He saw a few more of his own, fallen from the battle. Crossing the clearing, he came upon the crawling form of the master. He stopped alongside him and gave him a nudge. Pharis turned and paused laying down on so he could pet the loyal and valiant wolf.

“Where’s Seryll, Pads”

Pads offered only a humble whine bringing tears to Pharis’ eyes. How many more were dead? Why was an entire orcish battalion looking for one woman? Who was she? For an instance, the presence of Tashara angered him, though she was not to blame. It had been tranquil here during his respite here. It had been the reason he remained so long. If she still lived, he would have his answers. He forced himself to an upright position and stumbled in her direction.

With the orcs finally finished, Kael made his way to Pharis. He relayed thoughts of confusion of the attack. Why had this happened? Prong, Remus, and Hazel were dead. He paused, giving Pads a glance; and Seryll. The rest will live though some will take a while to mend.

What about Tashara? Pharis projected.

She lives, but deeply wounded. She is strong and fought well but she is not moving and needs aid, now.

He instructed Kael to retrieve his medicinal herbs from the den. Kael, unhurt in the battle, sprinted off in the direction of the den. By the time Pharis made it to Tashara, he had returned. He opened the sack and dumped the contents on the ground. Immediately, he opened a small box, grabbed a couple of leaves, and began chewing on them. Within moments, he felt vibrant and the pain was easing in his right side and his nose. The wolves that could move gathered around him. One by one, he placed a dollup of a salve on their tongues and they loped off to tend to their own wounded. He treated the bleeding laceration on his right side with large leafs spread with the same salve.

Tashara was going to need more extensive work. He started by uncapping a tube from the kit and spreading the liquid under her nose. Pharis cradled her head as she slowly regained consciousness. She looked up to find a smiling familiar face gazing down at her.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“For now. You’ve taken quite a beating.”

“So have you.” Tashara quipped back, examining his own bloodied and beaten form.

“And how was that sunset?” Pharis coolly asked.

Tashara thought briefly of viewing the sunset in spider form from using his ring and her brow furrowed, irked with his trickery. She made to sit up and was wracked with pain from her shoulder.

“Fiery to the last.” he barked. She shifted in agony. “Easy now. Here, chew on these.” He folded up a pair of the same leaves he had chewed on and placed them in her open mouth.

In moments, she felt better, awake, her pain ebbing. She attempted a smile of gratitiude.

“It’s wonderful stuff!” chirped Pharis. “But it only hides the pain. We’ll give it a few, awright. Your armor’s got to come off if I’m to mend your shoulder.”

She nodded her agreement.

Pharis gently set her down. Kael had returned and offered himself up as a pillow for her. He was blood soaked and reeked of orc ichor, but he was still soft. Pharis gripped his own armor at the base of the breastplate and yanked. The veins of the armor each made a slushy pop as they exited Pharis’ body. The orc’s blood, and his own, drained from the armor’s veins as he threw it to the ground. Tashara eyes were wide with horror.

“What is that?” she exclaimed.

He turned around to look at the armor. “Dangerous stuff.” was all he said. “How do you feel?”

“Never better” she replied, her eyes out of focus. “Wher’d you fin’ the plants.”

The leaf she chewed was having an intoxicating effect, common to those unused to the power of the plant. He began undoing the clasps of her armor. “Tashara, I need to remove your armor and it will probably be painful.”

“Da sunshet was bee-yoo-tee-ful.”

He took that as a yes and yanked the front of her armor up and over her head.

Tashara didn’t even have time to cry out as her world went black.

[Ned Flanders]

Pharis was removing Drital as Tashara was regaining consciousness. The bond existing between the armor and its’ owner imbued the onyx leather with the gift of regeneration, provided the owner was willing to use his own blood as a host. It was an exercise Pharis endured several times in the past, the covenant between the animate and inanimate evolving into a symbiotic relationship. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to rid himself of the cursed armor.

Tashara opened her eyes to find herself on the comfort of the forest floor. She lay in a makeshift bed of thick, plush greens of the forest itself. It was quite comfortable, she thought to herself. She was groggy, but managed to prop her head up and was surprised to see she wore elegant, flowing robes of crimson in lieu of her regular attire. Pharis turned to look at her as she awakened.

“Where are my clothes, Pharis?” she inquired, yawning.

“You can thank Kael for the bed. Another of his talents is the manipulation of nature herself” was his reply. "He’s barely left your side."

“I see” she answered. “It’s splendid. I’d like to get back to the matter of my clothes, however. Did you….”

He grinned, shrugging his shoulders, an estranged expression crossing Tashara’s face. “I suppose you’d have rather recovered in a blood soaked tunic and broken suit of armor.”

Her lips pursed as if about to speak. ‘Still, he’s got a point. The accommodations were comfortable’ she thought to herself. “How long have I been out?” she asked.

“At dusk it will have been three days since our encounter with the orcs.” Her eyes widened, Pharis continued. “You’re a lucky woman, if that axe had driven any deeper, it would have bit your heart. I’ve managed to mend your armor a bit, as well as supplies out here will allow. It’s right over there along with your sword. You were calling out for it a few times during your slumber. I certainly understand the bond people form with weapons they’ve carried for a while, so it seemed best to keep it close to you.”

She was relieved to catch sight of her possessions. Slowly, she peeled back the left shoulder of her crimson gown and found the injury to near completely healed. Tashara prodded the injury with her right hand. It was pain free.

“The power of nature is the power to heal, a wise man once said.” Pharis preached. “It might not work as fast as healing from the scho