The Watcher
Explorer
Hello enworld! I am The Watcher, and am a DM as well as a player. A little while ago I moved and joined a group that plays a pathfinder game in the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. The character I made is a Psion, and I decided to begin chronicling our adventures here. Hope you enjoy!
As requested, some background on our heroes!
Mr. Worlds: A psion and our protagonist. A human of 28 he is very intelligent, aloof, and confident in the powers that stem from his own mind. This makes him arrogant, especially when dealing with "God-slaves". If there is one thing he can do however, it is respect those with power. Believing both good and evil to be limiting in his own search for immortality, he remains True Neutral.
Mr. Chronicle: A sun elf Magus who mixes spell and sword. Almost as arrogant as his psion companion, and twice as aloof, Mr. Chronicle has spent almost 200 years wandering, searching for ever more potent arcane spells. Always acting out of self interest, he is Neutral Evil and remains something of a mystery.
Red/"Sarge": A human gunslinger and sniper in past Amnish conflicts, Red is constantly improving the rifle he believes to be the weapon of the future. Realizing the potential wealth to be gained by adventuring, Red is currently on extended leave from the military, and is lawful neutral, knowing good and evil are objective, but believing that order should be upheld.
Wren: Half ninja assassin, half street performer and smooth talker, there doesn't seem to be a skill Wren doesn't have. A free spirit and avid gambler, he sometimes seems to actively promote Chaos in the lives of others. He is Chaotic Neutral.
Bahn: Growing up amongst hot desert dunes, he is a cleric of the Sun god Amaunator. Constantly at odds with Mr. Worlds, he refuses to tell him his will save, and remains True Neutral.
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Worlds had never enjoyed riding horses. Having a creature larger than himself moving under him was alien, the rocking motion never becoming a comfortable rhythm. That and his childhood memory of watching as a horse trampled a guardsman to death, bright red blood being stamped out, causing the horse to scream even more. Having a perfect memory could be... tiresome. Rubbing his eyes he left his reverie and listened again to Wren's never ending story.
"..and you know what Black Lotus goes for on the market, so you can imagine what that Flaming Fist berk was thinking when he cracked open every one of my barrels and saw what was inside. Thought he was going to make a fortune after he locked me up- only to see I've got barrels full of old bananas!" He let out a laugh and slapped his thigh, no one else acknowledging that he was speaking. If he noticed it, it didn't show, and after he caught his breath and looked at his companions he continued unabated. "Yup... oh, now that wasn't my first run in with the Flaming Fists, oh no. And trust me, when you first catch their eye you don't want to be trying to climb into a magistrate's third story window, ho ho no..."
Wren continued spinning tales, and the woods grew heavier around their small winding road. It had taken them weeks to reach the northern Dalelands, travelling north through the Snakewood, east to the Dragon coast, and sail north to Cormyr. The madness of that place, the goblin and orc tribes warring against the knights of the purple dragon, and logistics of trying to travel without walking into a bloodthirsty horde made Worlds shudder even now. They were luckier then most, able to help in the fight against the orcs, giving them access to royal and military routes. Many refugees seemed to simply live on the roads, fearing if they ever stopped travelling it would mean their deaths. Peace, it seemed, was in short supply.
And all for a favor. Red had received a message from an old friend from the Amnish army saying he lived in the Dalelands now, working at some big outpost north of Essembra. He had an opportunity for Red, one that he had promised would be lucrative for them all. It had taken some convincing them, the Cleric most. Travelling to the north, into the trees and away from the harsh gaze of the Sun he worshipped seemed counterintuitive to Worlds. But he had accepted as the others had, nothing tethering any of them to Amn. He snuck a look at the Cleric, wrapped tight in his robes and smiled to himself at the discomfort the colder climate and shade were no doubt causing him.
The road curved gently uphill, and at long last they saw a clearing in the trees, the timber turned into palisade walls and high towers. Wren let out an excited yelp, and Red spurned his horse into a faster trot. Weeks of travel and uncertainty- Worlds was glad the outpost still existed. It wasn't known as the "Battledale" for nothing. Only Chronicle didn't react, simply peering at the fort with a mix of aloofness and disgust Worlds suspected he kept in reserve for human settlements and burying corpses.
As the party approached the rough wooden gate, Red felt behind him to the smooth wood of his rifle-stock. It was a habit, and the familiar weight on his shoulder was more then a simple comfort. He hadn't seen Havren since his service to Amn spent in the jungles of Maztica, and it was there he had learned a very important lesson: you don't survive war unless you are friends with the quartermaster. It had been almost ten years, and wondered what could have been worth enough money to drag him all the way here.
A single guard met them at the gate, and was waving them through before Red finished saying Havren's name. Their horses trotted in, and as they dismounted Red got his first look at the interior of the fort. It was well built, heavy oak that wouldn't burn easily made up the bulk of the buildings and high wooden walls. Just a glance told Red that the fort was operating with a skeleton crew- two men patrolling between wall posts where six should have stood. His brow furrowed with concern, a look Worlds didn't fail to see. Wren was making a show of giving his horse to a guardsman to be stabled, while Chronicle stood to the side, an impatient look already revealing the nature of his next inquiry.
"Where is this comrade of yours? I find this place... disagreeable." Chronicle spat, his grace and timelessness contrasting with the mud splattered guard slouching next to him.
"Where does anyone find the quartermaster? Just follow the wagons..." Red said, taking off for deeper in the fort. Bahn the cleric followed, Wren, Worlds, and Chronicle behind. Before long they were entering a building surrounded by wagon tracks.
Inside the two story building was everything a functioning army could want- arms, ammunition, cuts of meat and barrels of salt. Men moved to and fro, pushing carts of supplies; cloaks, tents, winter bedrolls, quivers of arrows, and giant rolls of bandages. As the party stood gazing, a voice called out from above.
"Spotted first: never a position a sniper wants to be in." Red's eyes flitted up to see the face of Havren peering down the staircase at him. "Ha ha! Against all hope and sense you've come! By god, when the Sargent owes he pays and let no man say otherwise!"
Havren came down the stairs and clasped arms with Red who's face broke out into a wide grin. The man was tall, and in good shape- certainly a fighter in his day. On his hip was a short sword with a red jewel in the pommel, and a small stone figure wrapped in leopard fur was tied to his belt, and bumped against his leg whenever he walked.
Havren saw Worlds take note of the fetish, "Got that during my long stay in Maztica- and I never took sick or injured. Haven't since either!" before Red broke in "Maybe if you saw combat once you would have." Havren let out a roar and motioned for the party to come upstairs. "Come, come. We have much to discuss! And introductions of course." The party climbed the wooden stairs and passed through a heavy padlocked door to reach the second floor of the quartermasters domain. Here there weren't barrels of pork and lard, but weapons of superior quality, bags of coins to be distributed to troops, potions and scrolls lining locked cases.
Through another locked door was his personal quarters, a room full to the brim with different items, some valuable, others merely curious. "My apologies, I know its cluttered. Slept these past twenty years amongst the foodstuffs and weapons- old habits die hard. Sit, there are plenty of chests to rest upon, I have drinks somewhere here..." he moved quickly down small trails he knew well through the forest of trunks and cabinets.
"Do you remember what we used to call you? Havren the black." Red called out after him. "Looks like your famous locks aren't quite dark as pitch any longer."
They heard the clink of glasses being brought and a laugh from Havren. "I haven't been 'Havren the Black' for a long time now, more 'Havren of the Salt and Pepper'." He returned and pulled up a chair to the small round table, sliding glasses to the adventurers as he poured them. "Though I can assure you, I haven't gotten any more grey hairs here."
He sipped his drink, then leaned forwards "Truly though, I appreciate you responding to my letter. I have need of someone I can trust, who knows how to fight but isn't connected in any way to the politics of the Dales." He unrolled a map of the immediate area, pointing with his finger to the road beyond the fort.
"We are known as the Battledale for a reason- conflict is constant, meaning that there is always someone willing to hire soldiers. Now, this also means that caravans to forts, such as this one, can sometimes never arrive. In the past few weeks caravans have been robbed and burned, more then the... usual amount."
"Why not get the military to do something? Looks like you hold some considerable sway here." Wren spoke up.
"The problem with that is I report caravans getting robbed at least once a month- but now they actually have started getting robbed."
Wren smiled. "So that's why you need us. To stop whoever is doing this, so you can go back to... reporting caravans being stolen from."
Havren leaned back. "I make no apologies, and I have to retire on something more then a quartermaster's pay someday. The reason I'm telling you is this: stop the brigands, take whatever they have if you wish, and I will reward you all. They aren't just taking what I skim off the top of the shipments, this is valuable supplies that needs to be sent out to men all over the dale. To do my job properly, and to profit from it properly, I need your assistance. What say you?"
Red chuckled, "Still making sure everyone prospers including yourself; I think I speak for everyone when I say we haven't travelled all this way to turn you down."
Worlds spoke up, drink untasted in his hand "What more can you tell us about these thieves? I assume the caravans are guarded?"
Havren nodded tersely "Of course, but these aren't simple arrow ambushes or trees across the road. Each caravan attacked has been scorched by magic; overkill if you ask me, but something the men here would most likely end up scorched from as well."
Cleric cleared his throat, "And what has the weather been like recently? Has it been this cloudy for a long time, or just in the past few days?"
Havren paused, "It's been clouded for the past few months- does that have anything to do with the attackers?"
"No." Bahn sighed, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Damn this grey north and their sunless sky.
"Well here is the map, I've marked where the attacks have occurred before. Tomorrow there is supposed to be another shipment, but I know they are delayed due to a lack of fresh oxen. The perfect way to draw out these attackers like poison," he spat. "I have quarters set up for you all for the night, and if you need anything to make yourselves more comfortable I trust you know who to ask." He smiled and stood up. "Now please excuse me, my work is never done, and I will leave you to your plans. Again, you have my thanks."
And there, amongst the clutter, they planned.
Elsewhere and later...
His toad was squawking loudly in protest. Protect and Shield. Those were her duties and she intended to fulfill them, repeating them over and over in her head, a steadying mantra, a cadence to live by. She watched the road, waiting for the caravan to come. This was the seventh by her count- seven caravans they had raided since the red apprentice had come up with this plan to impress his master. The idea was laughable, but Myr never did. She knew that acting like commoners and killing a few old men and boys wouldn't mean a thing to the red wizard- only arcane power and mettle could impress him, and that was something the boy and his toad lacked. Even as she watched the road she kept the apprentice in the corner of her vision. Shield and Protect. She could hear the men around her start to talk, bored with their hours of sitting. The boy croaked at them to stop and they did, out of amusement more then respect.
Her shield and longsword were up and in the direction of the flash of light before the sound had even hit them. One of the men dropped a fraction of a second later, blood pouring from his throat. She threw herself towards the apprentice, keeping as much cover as she could, relief flooding though her as she saw him, twenty yards off hiding behind a tree. I am the Shield. Protect. She should have never let him stray so far, even though he had commanded her to stay close to the men.
Her relief turned to rage as a form dropped down from the trees between them. The graceful figure wielded a glaive, spinning it with practiced ease. Without hesitation she charged him, closing more distance to her charge. Her raised shield took the first blow from his pole arm and turned it aside, swinging her longsword in to follow. If she could take away his advantage of reach, the fight was hers. He was fast though, this elf, and turned her blade aside with the haft of his own, using his dexterity to redirect her blows. He stepped back and swung again, low this time. She had to move fast, but knew the fight was over. Catching the glaive with the bottom of her shield she pressed down, trapping it and moving in with a wide powerful swing. His only option was to dodge and let go of his only weapon, or to lose his head.
Instead she saw the glow of arcane magic a moment too late as he grabbed her sword arm, blistering cold radiating from his tight grasp. The elf grinned wickedly as she gasped, but didn't expect the mailed boot she brought up to kick him in the gut. He let go, and she fell back, her opponent's glaive free again. His magic was nothing compared to what had been used on her during her training as a thayan knight, and she had spent many hours ignoring wounds much more severe.
She spared a look at the apprentice again, who was in the midst of casting a spell. A warning, if he could get a warning back to the Red Wizard then everything would be alright. She parried another blow from the glaive, praying her numb fingers would keep holding onto her sword. The spell finished, and the second loud crack echoed in the wood. Instead of escaping he had sent a lightning bolt crashing towards where her and the elf fought, though slightly off to the side. Suddenly she looked behind her, as a man dove to the forest floor with incredible reflexes. She hadn't seen him sneaking up on her, but his intent was clear as the kusarigama he whirled above his head, which started to glow red hot with magic.
She wanted him to run, to flee and live, but couldn't give the boy an order. Protect. I am but the Shield. This new opponent was too much, she had to reach her charge. She moved closer to a tree to try and put a barrier between herself and the sun elf as she turned to face this new threat. His chained weapons whirled, sparks flying off her armor as she turned his blows aside. Sweat poured down her shaved head as the elf moved in, taking the offensive again, and she turned to meet him. They were tiring her out, both striking from either side when she couldn't effectively defend herself. She rushed the man, slamming her shield into him, throwing him to the ground with a satisfying crunch. She turned quickly to meet the elf's glaive before she could finish the man, which arched with electricity, making her teeth grind together and her stumble. Again she looked for the boy.
The boy was in a trance, casting another spell. Behind him she saw another man, bald like her, with swirling tattoos covering his head and arms. Light spilled from them, and his eyes were a nexus of glowing energy. He reached out towards the boy.
She screamed.
The elf looked taken aback but knew better then to look behind him. She drove him back with a series of savage wild blows. The boy stopped casting and looked behind him, eyes full of fear for this new opponent. The glowing man slashed his arm down, and a stream of flame flew at the boy who instinctively covered his head with his arms. The flames barely singed his robes however, and he was chanting before the smoke cleared.
Extending his own hands several orbs of pure force shot forth with unerring accuracy at his opponent. The glowing man didn't react as they bounced harmlessly off of an invisible barrier in front of him, instead staring with calm intensity at the apprentice. His toad croaked again, and the boy nodded his agreement, drawing himself up again for another spell. The glowing man brought his staff to bear, slashing it towards the boy, who felt the telekinetic energy behind the blow. He closed his eyes again, but was rewarded with no feeling of pain. Instead he felt his leg grow warmer.
Looking down in horror he saw both halves of his familiar tumbled out of his severed pocket to the forest floor. He gripped his heart and fell to his knees, so dizzy he had to fall to all fours.
She knew it was over. The elf stopped attacking her, just keeping her at bay with his superior reach, grinning as she was forced to watch the death of the red apprentice. She tried to charge again, but her legs were burning and the elf swatted at her with his glowing pole arm, another jolt of electricity jarring her.
The boy reached in his pocket for the potion, the tiny glass bottle eluding his grasp. His eyes were screwed shut when he died, any mental defenses he had being swept away by the man who glows.
She felt failure. It was her last feeling as Wren appeared behind her, stabbing his glowing kama's into her back, driving her to the ground.
"That is for cutting my face!" He yelled, blood pouring from wounds where her shield had cut him.
Chronicle grinned. Almost a worthy foe, and one he had truly defeated before she died. It had been a good day.
Worlds looked down at the young wizard in front of him, more a lad then a man yet. Reaching into his robes he pulled out his spell-book, a bag of coins, and a tiny bottle filled to the top with clear liquid. Curious. He looked at the remains of the toad then took off towards his companions.
A minute later Red came out from the trees closer to the road, rifle over his shoulder with an unfamiliar leather sack in his other hand.
"Here is all the gold they had, nothing else of too much value. Did anyone encounter a spell-slinger?"
"Taken care of." Chronicle said before Worlds could speak.
"Lets debrief after I get these wounds healed. Where's that damn cleric... probably trying to scare the clouds away..."
Red stopped talking as the cleric walked towards them through the trees, no less then four arrows sticking out of his armor. His tan face looked pale and his eyes unfocused.
"You know... when you're ready."
As requested, some background on our heroes!
Mr. Worlds: A psion and our protagonist. A human of 28 he is very intelligent, aloof, and confident in the powers that stem from his own mind. This makes him arrogant, especially when dealing with "God-slaves". If there is one thing he can do however, it is respect those with power. Believing both good and evil to be limiting in his own search for immortality, he remains True Neutral.
Mr. Chronicle: A sun elf Magus who mixes spell and sword. Almost as arrogant as his psion companion, and twice as aloof, Mr. Chronicle has spent almost 200 years wandering, searching for ever more potent arcane spells. Always acting out of self interest, he is Neutral Evil and remains something of a mystery.
Red/"Sarge": A human gunslinger and sniper in past Amnish conflicts, Red is constantly improving the rifle he believes to be the weapon of the future. Realizing the potential wealth to be gained by adventuring, Red is currently on extended leave from the military, and is lawful neutral, knowing good and evil are objective, but believing that order should be upheld.
Wren: Half ninja assassin, half street performer and smooth talker, there doesn't seem to be a skill Wren doesn't have. A free spirit and avid gambler, he sometimes seems to actively promote Chaos in the lives of others. He is Chaotic Neutral.
Bahn: Growing up amongst hot desert dunes, he is a cleric of the Sun god Amaunator. Constantly at odds with Mr. Worlds, he refuses to tell him his will save, and remains True Neutral.
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Worlds had never enjoyed riding horses. Having a creature larger than himself moving under him was alien, the rocking motion never becoming a comfortable rhythm. That and his childhood memory of watching as a horse trampled a guardsman to death, bright red blood being stamped out, causing the horse to scream even more. Having a perfect memory could be... tiresome. Rubbing his eyes he left his reverie and listened again to Wren's never ending story.
"..and you know what Black Lotus goes for on the market, so you can imagine what that Flaming Fist berk was thinking when he cracked open every one of my barrels and saw what was inside. Thought he was going to make a fortune after he locked me up- only to see I've got barrels full of old bananas!" He let out a laugh and slapped his thigh, no one else acknowledging that he was speaking. If he noticed it, it didn't show, and after he caught his breath and looked at his companions he continued unabated. "Yup... oh, now that wasn't my first run in with the Flaming Fists, oh no. And trust me, when you first catch their eye you don't want to be trying to climb into a magistrate's third story window, ho ho no..."
Wren continued spinning tales, and the woods grew heavier around their small winding road. It had taken them weeks to reach the northern Dalelands, travelling north through the Snakewood, east to the Dragon coast, and sail north to Cormyr. The madness of that place, the goblin and orc tribes warring against the knights of the purple dragon, and logistics of trying to travel without walking into a bloodthirsty horde made Worlds shudder even now. They were luckier then most, able to help in the fight against the orcs, giving them access to royal and military routes. Many refugees seemed to simply live on the roads, fearing if they ever stopped travelling it would mean their deaths. Peace, it seemed, was in short supply.
And all for a favor. Red had received a message from an old friend from the Amnish army saying he lived in the Dalelands now, working at some big outpost north of Essembra. He had an opportunity for Red, one that he had promised would be lucrative for them all. It had taken some convincing them, the Cleric most. Travelling to the north, into the trees and away from the harsh gaze of the Sun he worshipped seemed counterintuitive to Worlds. But he had accepted as the others had, nothing tethering any of them to Amn. He snuck a look at the Cleric, wrapped tight in his robes and smiled to himself at the discomfort the colder climate and shade were no doubt causing him.
The road curved gently uphill, and at long last they saw a clearing in the trees, the timber turned into palisade walls and high towers. Wren let out an excited yelp, and Red spurned his horse into a faster trot. Weeks of travel and uncertainty- Worlds was glad the outpost still existed. It wasn't known as the "Battledale" for nothing. Only Chronicle didn't react, simply peering at the fort with a mix of aloofness and disgust Worlds suspected he kept in reserve for human settlements and burying corpses.
As the party approached the rough wooden gate, Red felt behind him to the smooth wood of his rifle-stock. It was a habit, and the familiar weight on his shoulder was more then a simple comfort. He hadn't seen Havren since his service to Amn spent in the jungles of Maztica, and it was there he had learned a very important lesson: you don't survive war unless you are friends with the quartermaster. It had been almost ten years, and wondered what could have been worth enough money to drag him all the way here.
A single guard met them at the gate, and was waving them through before Red finished saying Havren's name. Their horses trotted in, and as they dismounted Red got his first look at the interior of the fort. It was well built, heavy oak that wouldn't burn easily made up the bulk of the buildings and high wooden walls. Just a glance told Red that the fort was operating with a skeleton crew- two men patrolling between wall posts where six should have stood. His brow furrowed with concern, a look Worlds didn't fail to see. Wren was making a show of giving his horse to a guardsman to be stabled, while Chronicle stood to the side, an impatient look already revealing the nature of his next inquiry.
"Where is this comrade of yours? I find this place... disagreeable." Chronicle spat, his grace and timelessness contrasting with the mud splattered guard slouching next to him.
"Where does anyone find the quartermaster? Just follow the wagons..." Red said, taking off for deeper in the fort. Bahn the cleric followed, Wren, Worlds, and Chronicle behind. Before long they were entering a building surrounded by wagon tracks.
Inside the two story building was everything a functioning army could want- arms, ammunition, cuts of meat and barrels of salt. Men moved to and fro, pushing carts of supplies; cloaks, tents, winter bedrolls, quivers of arrows, and giant rolls of bandages. As the party stood gazing, a voice called out from above.
"Spotted first: never a position a sniper wants to be in." Red's eyes flitted up to see the face of Havren peering down the staircase at him. "Ha ha! Against all hope and sense you've come! By god, when the Sargent owes he pays and let no man say otherwise!"
Havren came down the stairs and clasped arms with Red who's face broke out into a wide grin. The man was tall, and in good shape- certainly a fighter in his day. On his hip was a short sword with a red jewel in the pommel, and a small stone figure wrapped in leopard fur was tied to his belt, and bumped against his leg whenever he walked.
Havren saw Worlds take note of the fetish, "Got that during my long stay in Maztica- and I never took sick or injured. Haven't since either!" before Red broke in "Maybe if you saw combat once you would have." Havren let out a roar and motioned for the party to come upstairs. "Come, come. We have much to discuss! And introductions of course." The party climbed the wooden stairs and passed through a heavy padlocked door to reach the second floor of the quartermasters domain. Here there weren't barrels of pork and lard, but weapons of superior quality, bags of coins to be distributed to troops, potions and scrolls lining locked cases.
Through another locked door was his personal quarters, a room full to the brim with different items, some valuable, others merely curious. "My apologies, I know its cluttered. Slept these past twenty years amongst the foodstuffs and weapons- old habits die hard. Sit, there are plenty of chests to rest upon, I have drinks somewhere here..." he moved quickly down small trails he knew well through the forest of trunks and cabinets.
"Do you remember what we used to call you? Havren the black." Red called out after him. "Looks like your famous locks aren't quite dark as pitch any longer."
They heard the clink of glasses being brought and a laugh from Havren. "I haven't been 'Havren the Black' for a long time now, more 'Havren of the Salt and Pepper'." He returned and pulled up a chair to the small round table, sliding glasses to the adventurers as he poured them. "Though I can assure you, I haven't gotten any more grey hairs here."
He sipped his drink, then leaned forwards "Truly though, I appreciate you responding to my letter. I have need of someone I can trust, who knows how to fight but isn't connected in any way to the politics of the Dales." He unrolled a map of the immediate area, pointing with his finger to the road beyond the fort.
"We are known as the Battledale for a reason- conflict is constant, meaning that there is always someone willing to hire soldiers. Now, this also means that caravans to forts, such as this one, can sometimes never arrive. In the past few weeks caravans have been robbed and burned, more then the... usual amount."
"Why not get the military to do something? Looks like you hold some considerable sway here." Wren spoke up.
"The problem with that is I report caravans getting robbed at least once a month- but now they actually have started getting robbed."
Wren smiled. "So that's why you need us. To stop whoever is doing this, so you can go back to... reporting caravans being stolen from."
Havren leaned back. "I make no apologies, and I have to retire on something more then a quartermaster's pay someday. The reason I'm telling you is this: stop the brigands, take whatever they have if you wish, and I will reward you all. They aren't just taking what I skim off the top of the shipments, this is valuable supplies that needs to be sent out to men all over the dale. To do my job properly, and to profit from it properly, I need your assistance. What say you?"
Red chuckled, "Still making sure everyone prospers including yourself; I think I speak for everyone when I say we haven't travelled all this way to turn you down."
Worlds spoke up, drink untasted in his hand "What more can you tell us about these thieves? I assume the caravans are guarded?"
Havren nodded tersely "Of course, but these aren't simple arrow ambushes or trees across the road. Each caravan attacked has been scorched by magic; overkill if you ask me, but something the men here would most likely end up scorched from as well."
Cleric cleared his throat, "And what has the weather been like recently? Has it been this cloudy for a long time, or just in the past few days?"
Havren paused, "It's been clouded for the past few months- does that have anything to do with the attackers?"
"No." Bahn sighed, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Damn this grey north and their sunless sky.
"Well here is the map, I've marked where the attacks have occurred before. Tomorrow there is supposed to be another shipment, but I know they are delayed due to a lack of fresh oxen. The perfect way to draw out these attackers like poison," he spat. "I have quarters set up for you all for the night, and if you need anything to make yourselves more comfortable I trust you know who to ask." He smiled and stood up. "Now please excuse me, my work is never done, and I will leave you to your plans. Again, you have my thanks."
And there, amongst the clutter, they planned.
Elsewhere and later...
His toad was squawking loudly in protest. Protect and Shield. Those were her duties and she intended to fulfill them, repeating them over and over in her head, a steadying mantra, a cadence to live by. She watched the road, waiting for the caravan to come. This was the seventh by her count- seven caravans they had raided since the red apprentice had come up with this plan to impress his master. The idea was laughable, but Myr never did. She knew that acting like commoners and killing a few old men and boys wouldn't mean a thing to the red wizard- only arcane power and mettle could impress him, and that was something the boy and his toad lacked. Even as she watched the road she kept the apprentice in the corner of her vision. Shield and Protect. She could hear the men around her start to talk, bored with their hours of sitting. The boy croaked at them to stop and they did, out of amusement more then respect.
Her shield and longsword were up and in the direction of the flash of light before the sound had even hit them. One of the men dropped a fraction of a second later, blood pouring from his throat. She threw herself towards the apprentice, keeping as much cover as she could, relief flooding though her as she saw him, twenty yards off hiding behind a tree. I am the Shield. Protect. She should have never let him stray so far, even though he had commanded her to stay close to the men.
Her relief turned to rage as a form dropped down from the trees between them. The graceful figure wielded a glaive, spinning it with practiced ease. Without hesitation she charged him, closing more distance to her charge. Her raised shield took the first blow from his pole arm and turned it aside, swinging her longsword in to follow. If she could take away his advantage of reach, the fight was hers. He was fast though, this elf, and turned her blade aside with the haft of his own, using his dexterity to redirect her blows. He stepped back and swung again, low this time. She had to move fast, but knew the fight was over. Catching the glaive with the bottom of her shield she pressed down, trapping it and moving in with a wide powerful swing. His only option was to dodge and let go of his only weapon, or to lose his head.
Instead she saw the glow of arcane magic a moment too late as he grabbed her sword arm, blistering cold radiating from his tight grasp. The elf grinned wickedly as she gasped, but didn't expect the mailed boot she brought up to kick him in the gut. He let go, and she fell back, her opponent's glaive free again. His magic was nothing compared to what had been used on her during her training as a thayan knight, and she had spent many hours ignoring wounds much more severe.
She spared a look at the apprentice again, who was in the midst of casting a spell. A warning, if he could get a warning back to the Red Wizard then everything would be alright. She parried another blow from the glaive, praying her numb fingers would keep holding onto her sword. The spell finished, and the second loud crack echoed in the wood. Instead of escaping he had sent a lightning bolt crashing towards where her and the elf fought, though slightly off to the side. Suddenly she looked behind her, as a man dove to the forest floor with incredible reflexes. She hadn't seen him sneaking up on her, but his intent was clear as the kusarigama he whirled above his head, which started to glow red hot with magic.
She wanted him to run, to flee and live, but couldn't give the boy an order. Protect. I am but the Shield. This new opponent was too much, she had to reach her charge. She moved closer to a tree to try and put a barrier between herself and the sun elf as she turned to face this new threat. His chained weapons whirled, sparks flying off her armor as she turned his blows aside. Sweat poured down her shaved head as the elf moved in, taking the offensive again, and she turned to meet him. They were tiring her out, both striking from either side when she couldn't effectively defend herself. She rushed the man, slamming her shield into him, throwing him to the ground with a satisfying crunch. She turned quickly to meet the elf's glaive before she could finish the man, which arched with electricity, making her teeth grind together and her stumble. Again she looked for the boy.
The boy was in a trance, casting another spell. Behind him she saw another man, bald like her, with swirling tattoos covering his head and arms. Light spilled from them, and his eyes were a nexus of glowing energy. He reached out towards the boy.
She screamed.
The elf looked taken aback but knew better then to look behind him. She drove him back with a series of savage wild blows. The boy stopped casting and looked behind him, eyes full of fear for this new opponent. The glowing man slashed his arm down, and a stream of flame flew at the boy who instinctively covered his head with his arms. The flames barely singed his robes however, and he was chanting before the smoke cleared.
Extending his own hands several orbs of pure force shot forth with unerring accuracy at his opponent. The glowing man didn't react as they bounced harmlessly off of an invisible barrier in front of him, instead staring with calm intensity at the apprentice. His toad croaked again, and the boy nodded his agreement, drawing himself up again for another spell. The glowing man brought his staff to bear, slashing it towards the boy, who felt the telekinetic energy behind the blow. He closed his eyes again, but was rewarded with no feeling of pain. Instead he felt his leg grow warmer.
Looking down in horror he saw both halves of his familiar tumbled out of his severed pocket to the forest floor. He gripped his heart and fell to his knees, so dizzy he had to fall to all fours.
She knew it was over. The elf stopped attacking her, just keeping her at bay with his superior reach, grinning as she was forced to watch the death of the red apprentice. She tried to charge again, but her legs were burning and the elf swatted at her with his glowing pole arm, another jolt of electricity jarring her.
The boy reached in his pocket for the potion, the tiny glass bottle eluding his grasp. His eyes were screwed shut when he died, any mental defenses he had being swept away by the man who glows.
She felt failure. It was her last feeling as Wren appeared behind her, stabbing his glowing kama's into her back, driving her to the ground.
"That is for cutting my face!" He yelled, blood pouring from wounds where her shield had cut him.
Chronicle grinned. Almost a worthy foe, and one he had truly defeated before she died. It had been a good day.
Worlds looked down at the young wizard in front of him, more a lad then a man yet. Reaching into his robes he pulled out his spell-book, a bag of coins, and a tiny bottle filled to the top with clear liquid. Curious. He looked at the remains of the toad then took off towards his companions.
A minute later Red came out from the trees closer to the road, rifle over his shoulder with an unfamiliar leather sack in his other hand.
"Here is all the gold they had, nothing else of too much value. Did anyone encounter a spell-slinger?"
"Taken care of." Chronicle said before Worlds could speak.
"Lets debrief after I get these wounds healed. Where's that damn cleric... probably trying to scare the clouds away..."
Red stopped talking as the cleric walked towards them through the trees, no less then four arrows sticking out of his armor. His tan face looked pale and his eyes unfocused.
"You know... when you're ready."
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