The Journey across Midnight (Updated 07SEP03)

Originally posted on Against the Shadow, as The Journey... this is a story of heroism, or something

In Medias Res

The corpse rose from the broken soul, its hands worn, from digging, the flesh was charred, and crisped, to a darkened black, yet still clung to the bone and muscled underneath. It dragged itself into the darkness of the night, and stood to its full height, just less than five feet, with a stocky build of decaying muscle and blackened flesh. It lacked a head, as it fell to its knees and fumbled around, feeling for its wayward head. The hands despite the lack of living tissue were still nimble, as nimble as a dead dwarf could be, but they were nimble. His fingers led him to his head, and placed it top his neck, and spent a few moments readjusting his head, the flesh and bone growing to reattach the head back to its errant body. The dwarf chuckled, its voice raspy, the laughter was the only sound in the darkness amidst the grassy planes of Central Erenland.

Even death would be denied to this warrior. The dwarf had nothing left, no family, no life; all it had was vengeance, and a means to kill. The sword, it was his only salvation, and the instrument of his corruption, when everything else was lost to him, it had been there, a constant friend, always looking out for his best interests. The creature had not even realized it was digging, digging like a frantic madman, but there was no lethargy in his bones, no exhaustion of effort, it could keep this up forever if it wished. But the sword was not deep, only a few scant feet under the damp soil, wrapped in a bundle. The bundle was quickly ripped away, to reveal a gleaming short blade, the pommel was bound in tight black leather, at the bottom blossomed into a black jewel, which seemed to have limitless depth. As he held it the blade took on an ephemeral glow of fire, the flames licked the air, but did not harm the dwarf in the slightest.

“Welcome back Borca, you didn’t think I would let you go that easily, did you dear?” the blade spoke in a soft female voice, in a whisper that only the dwarf could hear.

Borca grinned, a teeth falling from his wretched skull, “What have you done to me?” his voice giddy, despite his irritation.

“I did what you wanted me to do, you made the choice to jump the chasm, you never wanted to be alone, and you must know that despite your best hopes your family is not waiting for you on the other side, because there is no other side,” the blade replied in the soft sultry voice.

“So you gave me the mockery of life,” Borca scowled, “I did not ask for this.”

“Then blame the ones who did this to you, I can help you regain what death has taken from you, but it will take some sacrifice on your part, my dearest Borca. I must feed, feed the blade, and I can help you regain what you have lost,” the blade whispered softly.

Borca grinned once more, “You best not be lying to me, but for now I will do what you ask. Besides I can repay the favor the ugly Dorn, and that harlot did to me.”

“You will have vengeance, Borca, and more, you can always rely on me, I will never forsake you my dearest Borca,” the blade replied lovingly.

Deep within the steel folds of the blade, a darker essence brooded. The foul essence trapped with the prison that was the blade. The dark spirit lashed out at the prison, a female essence of temptation, she fumed, for nearly two centuries she had railed against her prison, and for two years she had railed to no avail. The demon was a mighty temptress and sorceress in her time, and had been a consort of several legates, until one of her lovers tricked her, and then betrayed her to create the blade she was now housed in. Her only consolation was that she was able to corrupt one of his closest allies to slay him, and claim the blade for himself.

She has passed through so many hands that that the demon could not even recall all of their names, nor did she care to. They were of simple consequence, but Borca, he had potential. If only because he could possibly bring the demon closer to her freedom; the heart’s blood of an elven virgin would free her from her prison, and she would be free to wreak her terrible vengeance on those who would dare control her. Of course she was even more incensed because none of those responsible still lived, but she could always pick someone to take her anger out on. She was quite flexible in focusing her always-present hatred.

But first she had to get free…

The Old Man

Along the trails of Eredane tales spread among those who fight against the resistance of an Old Man who spreads a message of hope to those who have nothing left to cling to. Perhaps it is just an old tale but the man walks many roads, he has been seen in many places, and his tale or variations thereof have been heard from the fest halls of the north, to the open plains of the south. The elves if they know his name do not speak it, but they know him as a friend of the Fae, perhaps the Witch Queen knows his true identity.

He was a mystery, his smile, is ocean-like eyes, his very presence seemed to bring ease and comfort, and yet he was not one to converse he spoke very little. Always accompanied by his companion, a dove that seemed to be his eyes and ears in the world. What it knew the Old Man knew, the two shared a bond, that much was known. But nothing else, if the man is truly real he has been walking the roads for centuries. His appearance usually preceded the appearance of great heroes, heroes that brought hope during the darkest of times.

But the times have become far darker, and far more desperate as the minions of the One God, slowly break the spine of the insurgency, and claw away at the strongest lines of defense versus full subjugation; the fae. Ninety-nine years of tyranny, ninety-nine years of bloodshed, and ninety-nine years of fear have made Hope become all but a withered dream. Many have all but given on the ideal that a hero, let alone a band of heroes would rise and deliver them from the darkness.

But the Old Man has not given up Hope; in many ways he is incapable of losing any semblance of hope. He continues to walk the roads, and keep the faith that the time of heroes has not passed. He watches as young men and women fight a losing war against the blood drenched legions of the Shadow, he feels the pain of the huddled masses as the legates enforce brutal justice, and he smells the decay of a world sliding steadily into dissolution. As the maelstrom of evil and darkness grows, so does the ever-flaming beacon of hope within his breast. He knows that those he calls to the role of heroes will face hardship, sacrifice, and perhaps death. But he knows that ever sacrifice must be done, he must do what must be done to keep the flaming light of hope alive, and he knows that good men and women will die because of it.

But the price is worth the sacrifice.

They were Heroes

The large brutish orc grinned as he took aim from the shore, watching the canoe come into view. His brethren grunted a command, “Shoot the elf first, it may know magic.” The orc strained his bow, and aimed for the elf, his yellowed tusks were jutted upwards in a wry grin, as he let the arrow fly, the shaft sinking deep into the chest of the jungle elf.

The orc laughed, as the jungle elf clutched at the arrow, and his two companions a massively built dworg with a scar across his face and a Dorn, tried to paddle their canoe closer to the shore. The orc drew another arrow back, as his companion lit the tip afire, and he let the arrow fly, once again his aim true, causing the Dorn to try and frantically put out the flames as best as he could.

“Korg, you play with them, kill them quickly, I am hungry,” the shortest of the four orcs spat out, drawing his vardatch, testing its weight, as he watched the canoe come closer to the shore.

Korg snorted, as he took careful aim at the elf once more, “The elf is,” he let the arrow fly as he spoke, “dead.” The black shaft struck the jungle elf in the chest, causing him to reel back in the canoe, and slump over. His companions drawing their weapons, as the canoe hit shallow water.

The short orc, waded into the water, a second orc warrior following his vardatch drawn, as the dworg stood and drew a vicious greataxe, stained with black blood. Korg took careful aim, as his brethren waded into vicious melee, and took a shot at the Dorn, the arrow grazing his shoulder. Korg cursed his luck, as he watched the short orc get cut down by the massive dworg. He growled watching the hated half-breed continue his greataxe into the side of his blood brother, Gorn. Korg drew another arrow and let it fly, this time it stuck into the Dorn’s leg, impeding his movement as he leapt from the boat and slashed his bastard sword and short sword into Gorn as well bringing down the orc-warrior in a spray of black blood.

Korg growled as he dropped his bow, and drew his vardatch and charged into battle, his jagged vicious blade ready to draw blood, as Hrua smashed his vardatch into the dworg bringing the half-breed down in a spray of blood. The insurgent stumbled back into the water, his blood spilling into the shallow water. The Dorn cut down Hrua, with flash of his blades, the short sword stabbing deep into Hrua’s chest, and the bastard sword taking his head clean off his shoulders.

Korg smashed his vardatch into the Dorn’s shoulder, if it were not for the scale mail the large human wore, his arm would have been taken clean off. Korg could feel as a blade smashed against his gut, but did not pierce and he used his shield to deflect the larger bastard sword. Korg retaliated with a powerful slash across the Dorn’s chest drawing blood, and causing the large warrior to stumble back and fall into the water with a splash. Korg pressed forward with gleeful hatred in his eyes, and raised the blade high.

But it would never strike.

An arrow sailed out of the darkness, straight and true right through the back of Korg’s head, and out his eye. The orc fell to his knees and then face first into the water, his black blood spilling into the water. The Dorn looked up to see a lone figure in the darkness. He thanked his ancestors as he scrambled to his feet, and pulled the burly dworg from the water, he was thankfully alive, if only by the slimmest of threads.

From her vantage point the women, could see that the man was still living and tending to his unlikely ally the dworg. She had spared their lives if only briefly until she could know for sure what side they were on. She had hope that they were on her side.

Somewhere overhead a dove flew, seeing all, and somewhere an Old Man smiled.

The Task at Hand

Corine trained her arrow on the Dorn as he drug his companion from the water, wrapped a quick bandage around his chest to stymie the black-red blood. She spoke harshly, “Identify yourself stranger,” not sure yet if she was dealing with a friend or foe, the man had only one choice, to give her honest answers.

The Dorn looked up and scowled, but his scowl turned to a grimace as he realized he was wounded as well, “Dae, my friend and I are injured, and I am not your enemy.”

She glanced down to the dworg, his body still, and his breathing slight. She kept her arrow trained on Dae, as he held up his empty hands, and stepped back trying to appease the woman as best as he could. Corine spoke again lowering her arrow, “You fought and killed orcs, for now we are on the same side. Help me carry your companion, I know a safe place,” as she thought, at least safe as any place can be in these lands.

Dae nodded and helped Corine lift the dworg; the two humans carried the large half-breed into the woods, and along a faint trail, as quickly as they could. Dae’s arms ached, and his injuries wrought great pain across his body, as he struggled to keep pace with the smaller woman. The two made haste under cover of the thick canopy of trees, and the darkness of the moonlit sky. Until they arrived at the woman’s safe haven, a ruined and forgotten tower.

Inside were several individuals, some of them reaching for their weapons as the trio entered the tower. A dwarf reached for his warhammer, his long brown beard braided in several place, singing freely over his dwarf wrought chainmail. Another Dorn stood, his head shaved, and tattoos adorning his bare arms, lifting a well-kept bastard sword, towards the three. A halfling carrying a spear stood as well, more so because the others did, then out of any alarm, it was obvious fighting was not his best trait. Another human of Erenland stock, stayed seated, his eyes watching the scene with great interest and worry, but thankfully Corine pulled her hood back, allaying some of the fear and suspicion in the room.

Corine cleared her throat, “Relax Borca, Salas, they are with me, we just fought some orcs out near the Eren, a patrol from Hope Point.”

The dwarf grinned, “Aye I see you keep busy, it seems like you have a penchant for picking up strays,” as he lowered his warhammer, and rested his hand on the hilt of his short blade, the bottom fitted with midnight black jewel. Salas sat back down, resting his blade across his knees, and closed his eyes, but his ears were still alert.

Corine and Dae place the dworg on the floor, clearing a place for the wounded warrior, the slim human male and approached the dworg, “His injuries are grievous, but this dworg seems to have somehow held on to the world of the living, Tuk fetch me my things, he will need immediate help.”

The halfling sprang to his feet, and scampered towards a pile of gear, and rummaged through them, as the male Erenlander knelt down, uttered words of arcane power, his hands took on a brief, as light danced between his hands, and placed them on the dworg’s chest, the glow washing over the injured warrior, as the others watched in awe. The dworg opened his eyes, and sat up jabbering in the language of the dwarves, confusing the poor Erenlander as he stared at the dworg in confusion.

Borca though understood the dworg, “Calm down lad, you are in a safe place. We is not here to hurt ye, Valthis, the man kneeling next to you used his magic to heal you. Oh and me name is Borca, Borca Ironguard. And if you were killing orcs you is alright by me.”

The dworg focused his attention on the dwarf first nodding, and then replying, “Thanks for your help, please tell Valthis that I am thankful. My name is Malstrom, and I have to say that among all the dwarves I have met, you are nicest so far outside of my mother.”

Borca snorted, “The way I see it lad, if you fight the Shadow, and you kill orcs, you is good in my book. Besides we is in this together, if we can’t get along now, then this war is already lost eh?”

The rest of the insurgents watched as the two jabbered on in dwarf, seeing the both were in good spirits the mood relaxed. Questions would be asked, and decisions would be made, but at least for a moment, things seemed to be going well. But as all things in Eredane, such moments of levity did not last…

***********************************************

The orc soldiers tried their best to keep pace with their prey, but he was proving to be much more nimble, and knowledgeable then they had originally anticipated. Already they could feel themselves becoming winded, under their heavier armor, as the spry elfling dropped from his perch, and ducked into the shadows, keeping his shortbow ready, and a keen eye out for his pursuers.

The elfling breathed a quick sigh of relief as the orcs took a moment to rest., and squabbled with each other in the Black Tongue, disgust in their voices as a goblin scout relayed back the fruit of his forays, which was precious little. It had been nearly six hours since the hunt began and the elfling, had faith that he could keep the pace up at least long enough that the orcs may give up the chase. But then again, he was thinking optimistically.

It was an ambush he had realized a thousand times over, Sildarin must have either been in trouble or perhaps dead, and his two allies Velshana and Gilthanis were dead killed by orcs while he was scouting around. If anything someone had betrayed them, but who, and how and why? Maybe there was no traitor, maybe they were just unlucky, and the Shadow was everywhere, after all.

Well Semmarin don’t let the Shadow take you, if I can live maybe I can contact Sildarin, and find out what to do next, or-, the elfling thought, as a stray arrow, jarred him from his thoughts. The goblin had spotted him, he ducked as a second arrow sailed towards him. He took careful aim and let the arrow fly, finding the goblin’s throat as he bounded off again, through the forests.

The goblin gurgled a scream, as Semmarin ran through the forest, his footsteps light, as he used the trees, the brush and his size to his advantage. The larger orcs were stronger, but the wilds were his home, he could feel the pulse of nature around him, and it barred no path to him, as he continued to run. But only the Shadow knew how long he could keep running…

The Hunt

Morning dawned on the tower, the light from the sun filtering through the ruined roof, and the several cracks apparent in the walls. The insurgents, many of which did not sleep easily were already, outside of the halfling Tuk, who dozed lazily on an itchy mound of hay. Malstrom stood poised, his hands resting on the haft of his mighty greataxe, while Corine, sat against the wall her foot resting on a stone mound as she tended to her long, straight sword. Borca sat in a makeshift chair of stone, and rested his hands on his lap, watching the others to see who was awake, and who was not.

Corine broke the silence from her position, as she glanced up to the rest of the insurgents, “We can’t hide in this tower forever, and with the knowledge brought in the message, we know that the Shadow plans to install a black mirror somewhere nearby.”

“I must be stopped at all costs, we can plan an ambush about six days north of here along the road that would most likely used to bring this artifact to its destination,” Valthis replies as he stands.

Malstrom nodded, “Then I say we get to work, we know what needs to be done, and we know where to go, lets move out.”

Borca nodded, “I concur,” as he rested his hand on the hilt of the short blade, and his other hand on the shaft of his warhammer.

The insurgents rose as one, but before they could exit the tower, a slim youth. His brown close cropped hair, was wet with sweat, and his skin was pale with fear, and exhaustion. The news he had was dire, but the choice that had to be made even more so…

*************************************************

Semmarin rushed through the darkness, and ducked to take a moment of rest, it was brief, as he could hear the war horn of the orcs behind him. They were close now, or there were more of them, neither was a blessing to the young elfling, as he clutched his shortbow tightly in his dark hands.

He ducked low as an orc soldier strode past him in the darkness peering about, his tusks jutting upward, and his face had red bars running across it, in an X pattern. He sniffed the air, and scowled, as his scale mail armor clinked in the silence of the moonlit forest. The soldier tried to do his best to search for the nimble elfling, but Semmarin, was well hidden at least from this one. It continued along the trail, and Semmarin slowly stood, preparing to move, when he froze, his eyes locking with another orc soldier standing amidst the brush a mere forty feet away.

The elfling quickly raised his shortbow, and fired an arrow right into the orc’s shoulder, sending it stumbling back against a tree, as it clutched at the wound, black blood dripping over his armor. It roared at the fae, but Semmarin was already gone, running through the trees quickly, if he could only throw them off his trail, if for only a moment, so that he could rest, his bones, and his mind were growing weary from the hunt.

Semmarin ran until his senses told him he should stop, he caught more movement, and stood still allowing another war party to pass his trail. But this party had no orcs among them, only a Dorn, a halfling, a dworg, and a woman of Erenlander stock. Cautious as he was, he waited till the halfling who was bring up the rear passed him, and then he stood out, and spoke to the small man in the language of the wee fae, “You should not go that way, there are orcs in this forest.”

The halfling squealed at first in fear, but then in joy, realizing another of the fair folk was in their midst, “An elfling, my stars an elfling, look an elfling,” he motioned to the rest of the party.

The strange troupe paused and turned, suspicion mixed with fear in their eyes, as they took in the small slight form of Semmarin. Semmarin regarded the strangers with curiosity, but the threat of the orcs never left his mind, he spoke in Erenlander, “You should not go this way, this road is patrolled by orcs.”

The Dorn and the Erenlander woman both nodded, as the dworg looked on with confusion, he did not speak the tongue of the men, and waited for the Dorn to translate to him, what was said. The woman looked around and then motioned for the party to vacate the road, as a troupe of nearly twenty orcs came stomping down the road, in an orderly manner, scanning the area for the elfling.

They found their wounded ally, and the apparent leader; a powerful looking orc with waist length hair of ebony, tied in braids strode forth, his armor black, and clean, and his weapons of the finest caliber, as he regarded the wounded orc.

The orcs went silent, as the leader began to speak, “Where is the elfling?” as he gestured to the broken shaft of the arrow, still lodged in the orc’s flesh.

The soldier growled in the orc tongue, “It was nearby, and it shot me, I do not know where it is now, it escaped my eyes.”

The larger orc breathed a sigh of irritation, “How unfortunate for you, you do not know where it went then?”

“No,” the lesser orc countered.

The larger orc, nodded and drew a long curved dagger, and slid it between the armor plates of the lesser orc, twisting the knife, and then ripping it back out, causing black blood to spray the moist forest floor. The orc collapsed in a heap, and his fellows quickly stripped it of its armor and weapons. The warriors would eat well that night.

The larger orc turned to a powerful looking orc, a beauty among her people; she nodded, as a large wolf, sat at her heels. The demon inside sniffing the air for more exotic prey, it continued forward, and the woman simply nodded to the longhaired orc. He turned and blew a war horn, and the troupe continued on with their meal in tow.

The night was still as the motley party came out of hiding, it seemed that for a moment, the danger had passed. Semmarin had found some peace, and stability in numbers, as he looked from eye to eye and then uttered words in Erenlander, “I am Semmarin, I am alone in these lands, and as you can see, this forest is crawling with the forces of the Shadow.”

The woman spoke first in the tongue of the Erenland, “Well Semmarin, I am Corrine, this is Tuk,” she gestured to the halfling, “and that is Malstrom, and Dae.”

Malstrom nodded, and spoke to Dae, “He seems to be in the same lot we are, if you have no qualms with him, then lets bring the elfling with us for now,” he spoke using a charm given to him by the Old Man, a stone that allowed one to speak to another with a similar stone in any tongue and they would understand them. Between the party they had three stones, “Speaker Stones”, is what the Old Man had called them.

Dae nodded, “I agree,” as he turned to Semmarin, “You don’t have to be alone, come with us, there is safety in numbers against the Shadow,” the large Dorn spoke, crouching down some to speak to the diminutive fae.

Tuk grinned widely, “An elfling is a good omen it is.”

***********************************************

Valthis and Borca approached the old tree where the hangings always took place. The two had decided to handle this alone, it was best, the rest of the agents had to go North to stop the shipment of the Black Mirror, if anything it was the best thing for the Resistance. Besides he knew that if anything, he was in good hands with Borca, the dwarf was trustworthy, and he was a good fighter, capable of handling himself, and more importantly keeping the orcs away from him.

Borca gritted his teeth, as the rain continued to pour on the two insurgents as they approached the scene of the execution. It was not the rain, but an internal battle of wills that perturbed him. He was growing cold inside, a festering wound of loss, which had never quite healed.

Times were never easy, but the times were better then, when he had his good wife, Kora to depend on and his young strapping son, Jorda, named after Borca’s own father. The boy had the potential had the potential to be a great soldier, he was strong and disciplined. Borca was hard on him, but he knew the boy had to learn quickly the world was harsh, and cold. It was very cold.

His teeth chattered before he realized that he was still walking towards the four men who were preparing to execute an agent of the insurgency. Valthis placed a hand on Borca’s shoulder, and nodded to him, as the young channeler, felt the surge of magic coarse through his slight frame, and leap outward in a burst of light, blinding the men. Borca could only grin, as he rushed forward and raised his warhammer, smashing it into the first human soldier, causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap. Blood spraying across Borca’s face, it was hot, against his cold nearly numb skin.

One of the men flailed grabbing for a short blade, and tried to stab Borca, but he parried the attack and smashed the man’s knee, causing him to collapse, and then smashed the weapon into his chest, with a spinning motion causing the man to spit up blood. Valthis shuddered at the brutality but the alternative was even worse.

The third man recovered from the blinding light, as he tried to run Borca through, his blade glancing off the fine dwarven chain, that adorned the brutal fighter, Borca could hear the familiar whisper, giving him feint knowledge of the other human moving to flank him. He swung his warhammer in a wide arc, catching the soldier in the should, and then spun, causing the other man to step back, not wanting to collide with the massive weapon. The wounded man groaned as he tried to run, grabbing his now broken arm.

Valthis loathed to use more magic, but he focused his power, and called upon the spirits of the world to grant him strength, as he unleashed more arcane power, causing the fleeing human to stumble and collapse into enchanted sleep. By the time he turned back to Borca, the other human lay on his back, his face smashed in, and the dwarf was dripping with visceral, slick rain, mud, and the blood of the fallen. He looked like a demon, draped in metallic armor, but in these dark times, brutality was needed.

Valthis approached the accused, and helped him down, as Borca stood over the last sleeping human. He could hear the familiar whisper, the ever-present friend, that protected him, as he raised the warhammer over his head, and finished the bloody business at hand.

Somewhere a woman smiled…

The Accursed Forest

It was raining, it was cold, and three days passed, for the motley band of insurgents. One could even dare to call them heroes, for they did what few had the strength or courage to do, they fought against the Shadow, the One God. They knew fear, but continued to fight, because the alternative for them, was far worse.

The cold stinging rain, made the ground slick with mud, and the journey made the travelers weary as they huddled from the fury and dark power of the elements. Corine shivered as she kept her cloak, close about her, Semmarin following closely behind, his sharp eyes watching the surroundings as the party sloshed through the rain slicked darkness. The moon overhead was yellow, and looked sick in tone, it’s light blocked by the frequent and thick gray clouds, passing overhead.

As the troupe broke through the tree line they found a desolate and deserted hamlet, it was quiet, even as the rain pounded against them. There was no life here, corpses littered the fields, the animals were thin, before they died, suffering from hunger before they died, or perhaps something else. Cobwebs dangled from the homes, and small spiders flitted through the shadows, as the parties split up to more thoroughly investigate the small hamlet. The rain was constant, and the smell of the decaying corpses was even more so, many of them wrapped in blankets of silk-like spider webs. Corine fought to keep her wits as she and Tuk stepped inside of a low-roofed hovel, the interior was filthy, dust, mud, and cobwebs seemed to fill every nook and cranny.

Tuk crouched low, ducking the maze of webs present inside, the small hovel. Corine shivered, she knew that the party was close to the Forest of Danath, the Accursed Forest. It was a place of evil, and these unfortunate serfs must have tried to eke out an existence far from the talons of the Shadow, and instead, encountered a foul evil of a different sort.

There was crash, and a scream.

Tuk squealed, as Corine, drew out her longsword, and rushed back out the door towards the sounds of fighting. By the time she had arrived, Malstrom, was bleeding from a stab wound, in his side. Both Semmarin and Dae, had their blades drawn, and a corpse lay on the ground its head separated from its body. Corine could recognize the scent of death, this hamlet was a breeding ground for the fell.

The party spread out and began gathering the corpses, it was nasty work but it had to be done. It was methodical, swift, and thorough, after a half-hours time, a pile of headless bodies sat in the center of the hamlet. Corine would have preferred a fire, but the rain did not allow them the choice. They had picked the hamlet clean of anything useful, which was not much, but then that was expected.

The party conferred in a small hovel out of the rain, although the roof was leaky, and in need of repairs. But it was cover, that spared them from the stinging cold rain. Malstrom spoke in a low rumble, “So we cross the forest, how far must we travel to cross it?”

Corine replied flatly, folding her arms across her chest, “We will be in the forest for three days at best, if not more due to the weather.”

Tuk shivered, “This place is scary, can we not go around?”

Corine shakes her head, “No, it will take much longer to go around then to just move forward, and press on. This forest may be known as the Accursed Forest, but it is not impossible to cross, not by a long shot.”

Malstrom nodded his Speaker Stone translating her words for him, “I agree, we have a mission to accomplish.”

Corine turned to Dae, “And what about you?”

Dae nodded, speaking in Erenlander, “I am not afraid, we go forward.”

Tuk groaned, “I hate this idea, but I am not afraid, not so much. Are you sure we couldn’t-“

“We are going through Tuk, and that is final,” Malstrom spoke forcefully.

Semmarin watched, and a placed a reassuring hand on Tuk’s shoulder, “Do not worry,” he spoke in the halfling tongue, “we are all in this together, we will survive.”

Corine stood, seeing the decision had been made, and the party proceeded to enter the Accursed Forest. The trees were pale, and many had thin sheets of spider webbing layered upon them. The deeper they forayed into the forest, the thicker the cobwebs became, although they could hear the rain overhead, very little seemed to pierce the veil above them, thin trickles of droplets fell from above but nothing like the downpour they had previously encountered. But in the darkness sounded a great and powerful war horn, the troop froze, recognizing its terrible blare. An orcish war horn, in all its glory was echoed by another, the orcs were still behind them, and the Accursed Forest laid ahead, and all around them.

Corine quickened her pace, following Malstrom who was at home in the darkness, although he could only see black, white and gray, it was enough to tell that the webs were getting thicker, he tightened his grip on the shaft of his greataxe, as the rest of the party followed his path.

Everyone felt the same emotion, fear.

*****************************************

Garnak stood proudly on the rise overlooking the Accursed Forest, he heard the second blare of the war horn off to the west of his position, meaning his other forces were moving into position. He loathed entering the forest, but if the ruse were to work, they would have to press, he did not like playing the bait, but there were greater gains at stake.

Garnak turned and looked to the female orc, she was a priest mother, and despite his rank, he had to defer to her wisdom, despite her actual lack of intelligence or wit. It was something Garnak was becoming more, and more annoyed with, the apparent stupidity of his race, but he brushed it aside, such thoughts were tantamount to heresy.

Vuna spoke, “We have them boxed in; give the order to press forward, Garnak, the tribe grows hungry for victory.”

Garnak paused, “That is the Accursed Forest, it may not be wise to press directly through it, if anything the demon spider will finish them off before they ever get across. We could skirt the edges, and encamp here and draw them into a well placed trap,” he replied making sure to keep his tone even and not patronizing.

Vuna thought for a moment, “We follow, the One God’s will. Do not tell me you grow soft, Garnak, Izrador does not honor the weak.”

Garnak scowled, and turned, she is as stupid as she is beautiful, manipulative little… Garnak turned to his brethren and roared, “Stand my brothers; we have the Lord’s work to do. We hunt till dawn, we will not stop until we have their heads. We know not fear, and we know not pain, stand and blow the horn, Visk, we have a hunt to finish!”

The orcs stood and roared to the heavens above, the roar mixed with the sounding of the war horns made for a terrible symphony or rage.

******************************************

Corine slashed her blade at the oncoming spider, it was nearly as large a dog, its spindly legs skittering across the moist ground trying to flank her. Dae laid still, his body limp with poison as another black spider loomed over the Dorn. Tuk tried to ward it away with his spear, but his aim was shaky, and he stumbled trying not to get too close to the abnormally large spider.

Malstrom swung his greataxe, and cracked a spider wide open, bringing the massive blade into a second spider, with a resounding crack, spilling its internals to the floor. Semmarin swung his shortsword, keeping another at bay, as Corine swung her blade taking a spider’s leg, she finished it with a piercing blow through its bulbous abdomen, leaving it a dying convulsing mess.

Malstrom turned to the spider trying to drag Dae off to fee, and smashed its head with a well place blow, Tuk following up with a jab from his spear, stabbing it in the side, adding more insult to its injuries. There was a delicate stillness to the air, as Corine drew ragged breaths, spider venom was coursing through her veins, but not to the same extent as Dae.

Semmarin crouched near the poisoned warrior and examined his injuries, and checked his breathing and pulse, “He will live, the poison is not fatal, but he will need much time to rest.”

“Time that we don’t have,” Corine replied, as she relayed the information to Malstrom via the Speaker’s Stone.

Tuk glanced around warily, “Perhaps we should camp, and wait for him to get better?”

“That could take days,” Semmarin replied to the halfling, “I can help him, but I will need to gather, some roots, to make a salve, the rest of you wait here, keep him safe.”

Semmarin crept through the forest alone in the darkness, his eyes keen, still could see quite well, even with the waning moonlight. He was wary being alone, in this forest of webs and spiders, but they could not wait for the Dorn to rest and heal, it would simply take too long. Luckily the elfling found what he needed, and worked his way back to his newfound allies quietly, he sat down and set to work on the salve. With that task completed, he applied it to Dae, and then Corine, even with the salve, recovery would still take several hours before the Dorn was back up on his feet.

The party rested, even as the sounds of the orc war horns grew closer, they rested. They had no choice, by the time dawn approached, Dae could move, though his muscles were stiff, and nowhere near where he should be, but his muscles could at least shift and move. The war horns sounded once more, and the resolve was steeled, and the party pressed on. The scuttling of spiders both large and small did not deter them, for even greater loomed behind them. There was no way in telling just how many hunting parties were following, but the multiple sounds of horns, alerted them to the effort involved in trying to find them.

Malstrom took the point, the horns sounded less, as the breaking of dawn came upon the party, it was now time to press the advantage and put some distance between the following orcs. The rain was thick, and slick, and pounded the canopy of webs, and branches above the party, by midday the ice-cold rain, had turned to almost unnatural snowstorm, buffeting the Accursed Forest like a demon.

But the party pressed, huddling in their clothes for warmth, all but the Dorn felt the numbing touch of the cold. The freeze that gnawed at their muscles, and threatened to eat to the bone, coursed through the heroes, as they braved the storm. The forest gave them no reprieve, and the infrequent blasts of the horn, kept the urgency of their situation in their minds.

That was when Malstrom fell.

The party had reached a sharp gully, and the mighty dworg warrior slid on the ice, and fell down the steep incline into the floor of the gully, nearly sixty feet down. He groaned from the pain, but the dworg was made of iron it seemed, as he rose to his feet, the snow and ice, obscuring his vision, as he tried to get his bearings.

Semmarin shouted loudly, “Malstrom, can you hear me?!” hoping that the Speaker’s Stone was still intact.

Malstrom heard the call, and turned toward the voice, “Semmarin? Semmarin where are you?” he called his voice nearly a roar.

Semmarin squinted, and tried to make out Malstrom in the snow flurry, instead he caught sight of something both huge and horrid. Across the gully, he spied a massive spider the size of a house, with long spindly legs, and a mirror black chitin all across its massive horrid body. The eyes gave off the eerie glow of hell fire, and burned with malice, and something Semmarin could think of as evil. It shot out a web across the gully, forming a roof over the gully, and then scuttled downward towards Malstrom.

Malstrom shouted again, “Semmarin, can you hear me, I can’t see you!” he stumbled about, holding his greataxe, trying not to freeze, as he felt or for a better word did not feel, the cold of falling snow flakes. He looked up, and saw a scintillating roof of snow flakes caught in the massive web above him. Malstrom turned quickly, as the demon spider slammed its mandibles into the dworg, causing him to sail through the air, and land on his back. The massive warrior rolled to his feet, and brought his weapon to the ready.

Semmarin turned to his allies, “Malstrom needs our help, that thing will kill him!”

Corine nodded taking careful aim with her longbow, and loosed an arrow into the air, it sailed straight and true, on any lesser creature it would have been mortal but this thing was a corrupted creature. Its skin was harder then stone, and the arrow left a slight gash, but did not pierce the chitin. Semmarin drew his shortbow and fired an arrow, it flew straight and true, but it glanced off the chitin, leaving not even a scratch.

Tuk watched, his knees shaking, threatening to collapse at any moment, as the demon spider ripped into Malstrom once again, drawing more red-black blood, causing the dworg to stumble, but maintain his mettle, the punishment was terrible, but somehow the mighty warrior stood. He retaliated with a mighty swing of his greataxe, and was rewarded with a glancing strike off its stone-like chitin. Dae drew his own longbow, and fired an arrow, and it struck true, cracking the chitin, causing a fiery red liquid to spray outward with a sizzle.

The creature scuttled forward trying to push Malstrom back, but the warrior ducked and rolled underneath it, out of harms way for the moment, as he tried to hack into its underbelly, but the chitin was proving much stronger then he had anticipated. Both Semmarin and Corine continued to rain arrows down on the nigh-unstoppable demon spider, as another blast of the orcish war horns sounded, they were closer now. Tuk in a surprising move of boldness charged forward and leapt through the air, and slammed his spear into the bulbous abdomen of the demon spider, sadly his strike did little harm, but the spearhead was lodged into the stone chitin, and allowed the halfling to ride atop the thrashing creature.

Semmarin smirked, “Tuk the Spider Rider,” he shook his head, as he let another arrow fly towards the demon spider.

Dae seeing the halfling’s boldness, rushed down the incline, and leapt the last quarter of the way down, he rolled for a moment in the snow, and then raised his bastard in a swing, hacking a rear leg completely off, causing the creature to lose balance and stumble. Malstrom stumbled back trying to avoid being crushed as he swung his greataxe into the hard underbelly of the demon spider to no avail. Tuk crawled forward using his spear for leverage, only to slide forward right in front of the massive demon spider, as t slammed its mandibles into Tuk. Tuk screamed in pain as it tossed him aside, his life’s blood staining the snow red, his breathing was light, but for the moment the halfling was alive, but dying.

Dae spun his blades the bastard ripping through the underbelly as the steelblooded warrior, carved a path of destruction, causing the creature to try and turn to face this new threat. But the missing leg was hampering its movement, as the combined might of Dae and Corine brought the creature down, in a fury of arrows and blades. Dae finished the deed, by hacking its head off, spilling burning fiery blood guts across the snow-covered floor. Malstrom stumbled away from the creature, as Corine rushed down the incline, and placed her hands on the diminutive halfling, a slight glow coming to her hands, as she channeled magic power into Tuk, sealing his wounds. Now she would have to let time do its work, he would heal, it would just take.

The heroes had won the day, but knew that they still had many leagues yet to travel. Behind were the orcs, and ahead, an uncertain destiny, but this minor victory at least for the moment seemed sweet, they had succeeded where surely many others had failed.

Somewhere an Old Man smiled.

The current cast of Characters with some additions and stuff

The Honored Dead

Malstrom the Dworg Fighter 2: A brave soul, who was Ironborn, a noble man born of a twisted heritage. He got killed by an ogre.

Tuk the Halfling Commoner 1/Rogue 1: A brave if somewhat foolish soul, with a curious nature, slain by one of the fellow party members in an act that will perhaps come back to haunt him at a later date... (NPC)

Jungle Elf Channeler 1: Killed by an orc, as the party tried to enter Hope Point, to deliver a message for the resistance. He was a strange one, and is not missed...

The Living

Semmarin the Elfling Wildlander 3: A crafty, and agile hero, whose skill with the bow is second to none, and whose ability to stay alert to the world around him, has kept the heroes alive more often then they count. He is a Nature Friend, and is at home in the wilds. He aims to become an Elven Raider one day...

Dae the Dorn Fighter 4: A large warrior from the North, he wields a bastard sword in one hand, and a shortsword in the other. He has already been tempted by a dark evil, he is the Steelblooded one.

Craven the Elfling Channeler 2: A young agent of the Witch Queen sent on a dangerous mission to find out the whereabouts of a lost and beleived dead agent. He is a Hermetic Channeler, and is on the Healer Path.

Dartago the Snow Elf Defender 2: Another agent of the Witch Queen, he travels with the elfling channeler, and is one of the Quickened. Time will tell if he will survive.

Misha the Snow Elf Fighter 2: A warrior who has hardened his soul to the harsh reality of the world, he travels with the other fae, as their soldier and blade. He is highly skilled with his fighting knives, and is of the Painless path. (NPC) Inspired by the artwork in Against the Shadow...

Corine the Erenlander Wildlander 3/Channeler 1: She is the sole female in the traveling party, and she has saved the rest of the heroes on plenty of occasions. Her loyalty though has been in question... (NPC)

Drega the Gnoll Fighter 1: Drega is one of the People of the Plains, a gnoll, who so far seems to be on the side of the heroes, after her capture in the last session, she has proven her worth, and now travels with the heroes freely by her own will.

I am aware that not all of these creatures have been introduced, but they will be, in due time.

The Best Laid Plans

The party broke the tree line, with Malstrom, taking the point, they were haggard, wounded, and tired, but still they pressed on. The war horns sounded all around them, and before them was a wide plain of low laying grassland. They would be out in the open, exposed, with little to no cover. It was risky, but they had to get to the other side, so they pushed on across the expanse.

It was more a light jog, then a march, as the tired party made haste across the open expanse. Corine and Semmarin scanned the grasslands, as they heard another sounding of horns. They were just about to the other side, when a large figure moved to block out the waning sunlight, its massive wings were spread wide, yawning to swallow the whole of the maroon sky. It was a fearsome spectacle, it was both true terror, and true majesty; it was a dragon in the tongue of men.

Its scales were harder then steel, and they shimmered, red and black in the setting sunlight, from head to tail, it was well over one hundred feet in length, and its wings nearly five times that from tip to tip. It descended upon the Accursed Forest, and landed causing a flurry of white snow, as it flapped its massive wings, when it landed it roared. The roar, shook the very earth, and sent a chill down the spines of the heroes, it was a fury that was both ancient, and nigh unstoppable. It was an engine of destruction, and nothing they wanted to toy with.

Corine turned to the party, “Lets go, we can’t stand around and gawk,” even as she turned back and spotted its massive neck craning above the trees. She could not be sure, but she thought for a moment, it may have looked right at her, the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and quickened her step. The others followed.

It may have been hours later, as the party continued in silence, working their way through this thin forest on foot. A light snow, settled on the forest floor, but it was melting quickly, whatever storm, or fury had produced the cold, it was quickly retreating. Corine proceeded cautiously, and she rarely jumped now, whenever she heard the war horns of the orcs, there were more horns now, it was as if the orcs were trying to pen them in.

Tuk shivered, “It is so cold, I could go for some hot cider, that would warm us right up, it would.”

Malstrom grumbled, “Shut up Tuk, be silent, these woods are filled with-” the Malstrom never finished, as figures stepped forth from the darkness, their bows ready. The party was surrounded, by slim, short figures. They wore masks, and suits of dark green and black, Semmarin recognized them right off, and they were the Caransil, the wood elves.

Tuk grinned as he recognized the warriors for what they were, “Elves we are saved!”

Corine scowled, “You are too optimistic, Tuk.”

A slim elf, stepped forward, pulling back his mask to reveal a slim sharp-featured face, to a human it was both feminine and masculine at the same time. Sharp yet delicate features framing dark green eyes, and long black hair, draped about his delicately pointed ears. He was shorter then Corine, but he seemed in no way intimidated by her size, in many ways Corine, was intimidated by him.

Malstrom growled in his dwarven dialect to Dae, “I don’t like this.”

Dae nodded, as he kept his weapons out but held down towards the ground, waiting to see what happened.

The wood elf paced by Corine, without a word and focused on Semmarin, “Elfling, you traveled with Sildarin yes?”

Semmarin nodded, responding in High Elven, “Yes, I did,” he choked the words out, “but I have not seen her in some time, she has been missing, and our other companions were betrayed and put to the sword by orcs.”

The wood elf nodded, “I see, then come, the Avatar will wish to speak with you, I am sure. Tell them to sheathe their weapons they are in our care now.”

Semmarin nodded, and motioned for his allies to sheathe their weapons. The party complied, and followed the troupe of warriors deeper into the woods, where more wood elves waited, watching the party with suspicion and curiosity.

At the center of the grouping of elves was a woman, sitting cross legged on the soft snow, she seemed to be deep in meditation, and her pale skin, clashed with her dark hair, and ruby red lips. She was a slim athletic beauty, and despite her size, she wore a finely crafted suit of chainmail, it twinkled the gleam of mithral, it was nearly as light as a feather, and twice as hard as steel.

The Avatar opened her black eyes.

She spoke in a voice that was rich, and powerful, “Welcome the I am the Avatar of the Witch Queen, Aradil, she who is most wise of us all, she bids you good tidings.”

Corine bowed her head, having learned the tongue of the High Elves early in her travels. Semmarin and Tuk both bowed their heads in reverence, while Malstrom and Dae watched with some awe confusion.

“Step forward the one that is named Semmarin,” the Avatar spoke.

Semmarin stepped forward slowly, his head bowed in proper respect. Never meeting the eyes of his better, as is proper in elven society. Semmarin spoke quietly, “I am Semmarin.”

The Avatar gazed at the elfling, and nodded in approval, “What is the fate of our sister, Sildarin?”

Semmarin replied, “She is lost milady, I have come into the company of agents who fight the Shadow,” he gestured to the party, “and they have told me that she gave them her ring, and the missive scrawled at the behest of the Witch Queen. Even now we work to fulfill this dangerous quest, and stop the shipment of a Black Mirror.”

The Avatar nodded, as she closed her eyes, “Bring forth the ring, so that we may see it.”

Semmarin turned to Dae, and spoke in Erenlander, “I need the ring that Sildarin gave you.”

Dae nodded, and pulled the ring from his satchel, and dropped it into the small hand of the elfling. Semmarin turned back to the Avatar, and bowed his head, presenting the ring to the Avatar. The Avatar, glanced over the ring, her black eyes scanning its minute details, before placing it back in Semmarin’s hands.

The Avatar spoke, “This ring is her Life Ring, and it is given to those agents who are often far from our homeland. If she has given it up, then she believes she was to die. We shall not give up hope, for Sildarin’s survival, but we must assume the worse, and press on.”

Semmarin replied, “I will not give up, no body has been found, Sildarin was skilled, she may yet still live.”

“We agree, but we must look forward, rest tonight. We will heal your wounds, and give you food. You have traveled far, take rest and be at peace. Tomorrow we leave this place,” the Avatar turned, she had finished her piece.

The party rested, their bones weary, their wounds were tended to by elven magic, and they were given elven food, warm and sweet. It was strange to both Dae and Malstrom, but the rest had sampled elven foods before, and were used to the flavors. The elves gifted the party with magical gifts, as well, for their service to the resistance. Tuk was given a charm that granted him luck, Dae and Malstrom were given potions of healing, Corine refused any gifts, revealing her elven wrought leather armor she wore as giuft enough, and Semmarin was gifted a Cloak of the Elves that seemed to shift and blend in color, enhancing his already considerable stealth skills.

Morning came all too soon, for the heroes, and they found that the elves had already left. They were refreshed for the journey ahead. And set out once more, there was hope yet in the world.

*************************************

They called him Runt; he was the smallest of the orcs. He had a bad attitude, he was gruff, spiteful, and rude, and he often did not realize that he was as small as he was. But that made the others even more wary of Runt, he did not know when to give up, a flaw he had turned to his advantage, time and time again.

Perhaps that is why Runt was in charge of this scouting party, he just didn’t know how to quit, and he enjoyed a good challenge. He sniffed the air, and turned to his comrade, a larger brutish orc with one eye, “I smell fae, you head around that way,” he pointed, “I will report to the Holy Mother.”

The larger orc nodded as Runt rushed back to the remaining orc party, and bowed once he was in the presence of the Holy Mother. Vuna scowled, watching the wretched little orc, bow to her.

Vuna spoke curtly, “What have you to report, are they close?”

Runt replied quickly, “Yes Holy Mother, they is real close, perhaps your Holy pet can sense their magic,” he looked down to the wolf nervously.

Vuna grinned, and bade her wolf to go and hunt down the fae, she could feel success coursing through her bones, “Find them my pet, find them!” she sneered, and turned to Runt, “Gather the rest of the soldiers, we have fae to hunt!”

**********************************

Corine crouched against the tree, the orcs were close now, and she could hear their shouts as they stalked through the darkness. She glanced through the brush, and spotted the wolf walking at their side, and she knew in that terrible moment, that things would only get worse before they got better.

Semmarin was the closest to her, as he drew an arrow and took careful aim, while Tuk just tried his best to be quiet and not draw any attention to himself. Both Malstrom and Dae stood behind trees, their weapons out and ready. Corine knew there was a way that they could survive, but she would have to act, and there was no guarantee, that it was the right choice.

Semmarin lifted his arrow, as Corine whispered to him, “Hold your arrow, I have a plan.”

“Huh?” the elfling answered, as he turned back to the orcs, looming closer.

“Just stay here, whatever I do, don’t follow,” she replied.

Semmarin looked confused, as the realization of what was to come next finally hit him. He watched as Corine turned and ran into the darkness, the flash of movement drawing the orcs, on her as they turned and ran, the wolf bounding after the young Erenlander. The rest of the party threatened to follow, but Semmarin motioned for them to stand still, as a troupe of orcs followed in her wake.

The forest was still, Tuk broke the silence, “We should follow her, Corine can’t survive on her own.”

Malstrom nodded, “She won’t make it alone.”

Dae just grunted, “She might…”

Semmarin mulled over the words, “Corine knew what she was doing, she did the only reasonable thing. We have to press on, for the resistance, she knows what she is doing, and we have to do our part, now lets go,” the elfling turned and started down the path once more, at least I hope she knows what she is doing…

The Archwizard

I hope I know what I am doing, things could get out of hand quickly if I don’t, Corine dashed through the forest, she could hear the orcs shouting as they bounded after her, but the real threat was the wolf. It was quick, and she would be caught soon, if she didn’t do something drastic. Corine could see the sharp bluff ahead, and doubled her pace; she leapt high into the air, as she reached the edge, her eyes widened as she saw just how far she had to fall.

She fell nearly sixty feet through air, curling herself up, as her shoulder crashed into the snow and mud far below, she rolled several feet, her head woozy, and terrible pain aching through her shoulder. She stumbled to her feet, and looked up through blurry eyes, and saw her pursuers had not elected to follow, although one, had drawn an arrow, and let it fly, she instinctively ducked, and started to run, with a hobble in her step.

I must keep going, I won’t let these orcs take me down without a fight, she stumbled forward mumbling the words to a minor healing spell she had been taught by an elf, during her early days in the resistance. Her hand glowed white with power and she applied it to her should, as she stumbled behind a tree, just as another arrow slammed into its trunk. The curing magic eased the ache in her shoulder, it was a dull throbbing pain, but it felt somewhat better. Another arrow in the tree, jarred her back to the task at hand, and she started to running, a trail of arrows following her through the brush, she did not fear them, the surrounding brush was giving her cover, at least she could take comfort in that. She knew the wilds better then most, and could survive, now she could only hope that the rest had taken this chance, pressed on or her sacrifice would have been all for naught.

****************************************

Runt grunted, as he lowered his bow, the human insurgent had rushed behind cover, and was gone now from their sight. Vuna scowled, as she stood behind the short orc, “You let her get away,” her voice dripping with venom.

Runt turned quickly and bowed his head, “She is hurt Priest Mother, she will not get far, we must find a way down this bluff.”

Vuna turned to Garnak, who just leaned against a tree, with that same knowing grin on his face, “She was a decoy.”

“What!” Vuna shouted as she stalked towards the orc chieftain, “and you did not say anything?”

Garnak stood towering over the smaller woman, “You made it clear your word was law, Priest Mother, I did what I was expected to do, I followed.” He could see the flame of anger burning in the Priest Mother’s eyes, as she turned and stalked back to the gathered orcs, awaiting her next orders. The wolf seeing the Priest Mother’s mood sauntered back to her and sat eyeing the orc chieftain with contempt.

Runt cleared his throat, “She is getting away Priest Mother, we must move now to find her,” he bowed his head.

Vuna turned, but held her tongue; Runt was useful, he had skills that most other orcs did not possess, and despite speaking out of turn, he was wise, and knew the forest well. Vuna nodded, “Runt, take Ukla and Hamu, follow the woman, hunt her, if you can kill her then do so. May our Lord favor you with his blessing, the rest of you, follow me, we have work to do.”

Runt nodded, as the other two orcs stood by him, they were larger then Runt, and bore many scars. The uglier of the two glared down at Runt, it was obvious he was sizing up the smaller the orc. Runt glared back up, his eyes flickering red, the larger orc eventually turned his face and sniffed the air. Runt grinned, “Ukla, Hamu, we go down this way, take it slow, and do not tumble.”

The trio of orcs descended down the incline, the ice and moist earth making it much more difficult then it originally looked. But the hunt was on.

*****************************************

Malstrom was at the point, his greataxe, in hand. It was a comfort to him, as he stalked the cold, icy forest. The rain and ice and had passed but the cold remained. Following Malstrom, Semmarin kept his bow ready, it was strangely quiet, and the silence did not give him ease either. Tuk and Dae followed huddling in the cold, still air. Tuk’s face was creased with worry, he did not like the idea of Corine going off on her own, but the others seemed to think that it was for the best, and that she could handle herself. But he wasn’t so sure, there were many orcs, and if they found her they would surely kill her.

The party though trudged on, the sounding of war horns in the distance, forcing their resolve, there would be no rest for their weary bones; they would have to press on. Malstrom pauses as he was the first to break the tree line, and stare out over an open field, in its center was a ruined tower. The walls were crumbling, and it was obvious this tower, for whatever purpose it had served had seen better days.

Malstrom glanced over his shoulder to his companions, and it was obvious that a chance to get out of the cold, even if for a moment, would help. Malstrom lead the way across the ice and snow covered grass. It was a quick jaunt, and they reached the wooden gates, hanging in the entranceway, off the hinges. Whatever had occurred here, it had been violent, burn marks scarred the stone and wood. Any corpses that may have lingered were long gone, perhaps picked clean by scavengers, decomposed, or perhaps became the fell.

Semmarin scanned the interior from outside the gate, and motioned when he saw movement within the interior of the crumbling walls. He squinted and spotted a squat, spindly goblin wearing, and a long cloak for warmth. Semmarin drew an arrow and effortlessly let the arrow fly; it struck the wretched creature in the leg, and sent it tumbling. The rest of the party moved forward weapons drawn, as the surrounded the creature.

The goblin reached for the arrow, but froze as it saw the party surrounding it, weapons at the ready. It was obviously outclassed, and the fear shined brightly in its eyes. Its long crooked nose sniffled from the pain, and gibbered, its breath easily visible in the air.

Malstrom knelt down and spoke in orcish pidgin, “What are you doing here?”

The goblin squealed, shielding its face, “I am seeking shelter from the cold, I mean ye no harm, I swear it!”

Semmarin scowled and looked to Malstrom, “We should kill it quickly, and move on, this place isn’t safe.”

Dae nodded, “Finish it Malstrom.”

Malstrom nodded, and turned to the creature, “It seems your luck is done, you die now,” he emphasized bringing his axe to bear.

The creature cringed in fear, “Please, spare me, I mean nothing, I am worthless!”

Malstrom stayed his hand, “Your whining will not save you, stop crying, wretch. As if you would show us mercy, if you stood in a position in strength.”

The creature began to laugh, its voice and mannerisms shifting, its very form, growing, and melting into a new shape. Its face elongated and became a handsome male face, with dark brown eyes, and long black hair. The ragged clothes, became a fine robe, and the arrow fell to the ground, leaving not a mark, as the man stood. The party was both in awe, and fearful with suspicion, it was obvious the human before them, was no simple conjurer of petty tricks.

Malstrom kept his greataxe ready, “What sorcery is this!”

The man bowed his head, his voice condescending and cultured, “My sorcery, dworg, oh please lower your weapon if truly meant you harm, you would be dead now.”

Malstrom growled, “Is that a threat?”

The man bowed his head, and then stepped back, he began a complex series of movements with his hands, as he murmured arcane words of power, and then breathed a sigh as if it took great effort to complete the spell, “There that should aid everyone in understanding me.”

Semmarin was amazed at the casual nature the man had towards his magic, he moved to speak, but held his mouth closed, and decided to just observe for the moment. Tuk watched amazed, any fear replaced by a sense of awe.

Dae scowled, “Who are you?”

The man bowed with a flourish, “You may call my Vykos, First wizard of the Order of the Black Dragon, and so on and so forth, but I think from now I shall simply be referred to as the Archwizard. I am sure you may have heard of me.”

The party looked at each other with looks of bewilderment and confusion. Semmarin finally spoke, “I have no idea who you are, but we really do not have time for this. A war band of orcs is following us, and I would really like to get in out of the cold.”

“You shall refer me to as Archwizard,” Vykos replied with a cold smile, “and as far as getting into the tower, I can help you get inside, but I doubt you will have the capability to open the door of the tower and enter.”

Malstrom looked to the door, and then returned his gaze back to Vykos, “Why is that Archwizard?”

“Because he door is locked, and only I can open it,” Vykos replied as if the answer should have been obvious.

Semmarin sighed, “Can you open the door for us then?”

“I could but I really do not know what you are doing here, or what your intent is, you did shoot me after all with an arrow,” he glanced to Semmarin, to emphasize his point.

“You looked like a goblin,” Malstrom interjected.

“So you hate goblins then?” Vykos replied.

“We hate the Shadow, and do everything in our power to stop its advances,” Dae replied growing irritated.

“Oh you hate the Shadow, you wish to fight the Shadow, the One God with what sword, axe, and arrow? You think you can challenge a god and win? You think there is hope? Hope is forsaken in these lands. You will end up just like anyone else that faces the Shadow, a corpse, in a forgotten field, or worse you will rise to serve the very thing you tried defeat. Such is the fate of heroes,” Vykos replied.

A war horn sounded in the distance followed by two more soundings. The orcs were getting closer.

Malstrom scowled, “It seems you have made your decision, such a powerful Archwizard, and yet you linger out here in the wilds far from civilization. If you are so powerful then why are you out here?”

“Because I am an Archwizard, dworg,” Vykos replied with a roll of his eyes, “the One God despises magic, and those that study its arcane arts are hunted. I for one like to steer clear of those who would do me harm.”

“So you are afraid, then?” Semmarin replied with a wry smile.

“I call it being pragmatic, how can I ever become the greatest Archwizard Eredane has ever known if I am killed long before my time. It would be a great disservice to this world. I fear to see just what the women would do, if they learned of my untimely demise,” Vykos replied with a grin.

Malstrom couldn’t help but smirk, “You’re a pompous fool, stand aside, coward, and we have work to do. If you will not help us, then we are through here.”

Vykos chuckled, “So touchy, dworg, I never said I wouldn’t help you, like you I serve the resistance.”

“But you said you had no qualm with the One God,” Semmarin replied.

“Well on principle alone, I do not have any qualms with the Shadow,” Vykos grinned, “But he does persecute the arcane arts, and that is where I take offense with him. I am an Archwizard after all.”

Malstrom rolled his eyes, “Of course you are.”

Vykos gestured to the tower, “Shall we retreat inside for a moment, to avoid the orcs, I have a plan, but it requires for you all to be out of sight.”

****************************************

Runt crouched in the brush, the horrible glowing orb, which burned in the sky, was setting, and the darkness was settling over the icy forest. This human female was proving very clever prey. She knew the land, she could glean its secrets, and she had even killed Hamu, using cover, and hit and run tactics. He did not feel any loss for Hamu, indeed, Ukla and Runt ate well that night, but still it was a loss that he could have gone without.

Runt grinned though, she was in hi sights, as he drew his bow, she was getting tired, it was obvious, a mistake was bound to happen. And now he was ready to capitalize on it, all he needed was a more seconds, just a breath, as he focused his aim. The arrow flew straight and true, and pierced the woman’s shoulder. She screamed, and drew her longsword and started running, cursing in the tongue of the Erenland.

Runt grinned as he saw Ukla leap after her; he swung his vardatch and the agile Erenlander brought her smaller longsword up in a parry. Steel clashed with steel, as sparks flew, but the melee was joined. Runt stood and slowly drew another arrow, as Ukla try to chop the smaller Erenlander with his vardatch. The blade was nearly as tall as the woman, and the serrated edge had bits dried blood, and gristle clinging to it. The woman ducked left and then feinted right, drawing the orc forward.

The woman was quick, as she drove her longsword forward right into Ukla’s gullet, the point of the blade sticking out of his back. Runt scowled, as she ripped the blade from his gullet, spraying hot black blood over the icy ground. His eyes locked with the woman’s as they stared at each, hate boiling between them.

A war horn sounded, two quick notes. Runt kept his aim true, as he heard the horn; it was a rare call, the call of retreat. He could take the woman; he could put the arrow right between her eyes with ease. That would be a simple thing, but she was battered and bruised. She still had the will to fight, despite the hunt, and despite her injuries she was not broken. Runt lowered his bow, pointing the arrow to the ground.

He motioned with his head for her to run. The woman snarled a curse, but slowly realized that the orc was not going to kill her. She looked confused, but she stumbled away, clutching her wounds, and fled into the darkness.

Runt walked over to Ukla, and knelt down, taking his fill for the evening, so that he did not go hungry, and to make sure that he did not return as the fell. Runt glanced up after the retreating woman; he wasn’t sure why he spared her, it just seemed like a good decision. With Ukla and Hamu dead, he could say whatever he liked, and none would be the wiser, and most importantly, he never liked either of them anyway. It would be a simple matter to say that she escaped him when the horn sounded, that would be believable and the truth, as a matter of sorts. As the saying went, The Shadow favors the strong, but he favors the clever even more so.

******************************************

Corine stumbled through the woods, as a tower came into view. Perhaps she could seek shelter; perhaps she was running out time. She was so tired; she had not even removed the arrow, each step becoming a labor, as her eyes became blurry. She would die in this place, alone. It was not a comforting thought, but then again, she had saved her newfound allies, and perhaps she could take solace in that.

She fell.

Corine lay on the ground face first in the icy dirt. She tried to stand up, but she had no will left. It was getting hard to breathe. Hard to even think as she struggled to remain alive, were those feet, who was it, an orc? Thoughts raced through her mind, as a rough hand picked her up, she tried to struggle, but she could barely move. All she could do was close her eyes.

She awoke.

She was lying on a bed of hay, a bandage wrapped around her shoulder. She was alive, as she brushed her dark hair from her face. Sitting at her side was Tuk, though he was dozing. She couldn’t help but smile; the little halfling was loyal at least. There were others, the rest of her companions, and men she did not recognize, but for a moment, she felt hope. She had survived, against all hope and she had survived.

Somewhere an Old Man smiled, as he walked down a lonely dark road.

This storyhour is great. I especially like the way we get to see the bad guys working on their plans while the heroes are doin' their thang.

And your heroes do a great job of exemplifying Midnight's setting