The Journey across Midnight (Updated 07SEP03)
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Tokiwong said:but Midnight has a been a blast to play, and the players are really getting into the setting
Hey Tokiwong! I only saw a copy of Midnight for the first time the other day and it looked really good.
Low magic...NO CLERICS!
Can't buy magic...gotta love it.
Makes for a campaign and play based on wits not power.
Now I gotta read your story!
Edit: Now I'm caught up! When you gonna continue?
Last edited:
Tokiwong
First Post
The Black Mirror
The plan was set.
The course was made as Vykos gathered the insurgents in the main room of the tower. All were present now, including Borca, Salas, and Valthis. There were also several Erenlander youths looking for a chance to prove their mettle against the Shadow. Vykos glanced around the table, besides Borca, the faces were young, and idealistic. Hope sparkled in their eyes, the caravan had been spotted, now it was only a matter of time before the ambush was to be staged. A major blow would be struck, if they could somehow take the Black Mirror without destroying it, and perhaps find out what makes them so important. But either way its destruction could not be done, the death would be too widespread. Or so he had been told, and read, and despite his arrogance, Vykos was not one to tempt fate. He had made it to the title of Archwizard, even if the title was self-proclaimed.
He turned his attentions to Corine, young and beautiful, though most would see her as an athletic beauty, she was strong. Her skin was somewhat weathered, and her brown hair was worn short. She rarely smiled, but then there was very little to smile about, he supposed.
Next to her sat the halfling, Tuk, his skin was a light mahogany, and he seemed to smile about everything. He was a slim form, a slave, with tattoos across his body, obviously from his previous employer. He was no soldier, but he seemed to want to fight the Shadow if for no other reason then because he really had nowhere else to go.
Across from Vykos sat the dworg, Malstrom. He was a large figure for a dworg, and a scar split his face, a remnant of his youth. He wore chainmail armor, and despite his fierce demeanor, the dworg was well known for his nobility, and use of manners. Vykos admired that fact, it was a pleasant change from most dour and grim warriors. Next to him sat the large Dorn, Dae. He was neither particularly handsome nor ugly, but he was large, and powerful. He wore a long coat of wolf’s fur, and wielded two weapons better then most men could wield a single blade. He was not overly bright, but he did fight well, and that suited him fine.
Borca spoke breaking the long silence, “Our scouts report they are bout two miles east of us, Vykos. Are the elves and the Sarcosan riders in position?” speaking in the Erenland tongue with a strong accent born of the Kaladrun mountains. Borca’s scalp was balding, and his dark hair, against his pale weathered face, made him seem older then he ought to be. Creases of weary formed wrinkles in his face, and his beard was thick and full, layered with braids. His dark brown eyes, always gave Vykos pause.
Vykos replied as he reclined in his chair, “The elves are in position, and the Sarcosan riders will strike when I give them the signal. It will be unmistakable and quite flashy. The middle wagon is our target, we will have to strike it first. That is the wagon that carries the Black Mirror. It must not be destroyed, or no one will survive. We must capture it, at all costs.”
Valthis nodded, his slim boyish features made him handsome. He glanced around the table, before speaking, “We will not have much room for error, but with faith, we will prevail.”
Malstrom nodded, “Then I believe we are committed.”
Corine agreed, “Today we strike a blow for the resistance.”
Semmarin remained silent. The dark skinned elfling, wore his dark hair in short dreadlocks, and pulled his elven cloak close around him. He was small, perhaps the smallest of the group outside of Tuk, but he knew that his size did not matter when it came to the fighting the forces of the One God. The thought cause him to speak, “Then lets get out and prepare. We have orcs to kill, and a Black Mirror to steal.”
***********************************
Runt scanned the road as he marched at the point of the caravan. A cold wind blew over the distant plains, and the moon hung fool, giving a soft glow to the plains. He sniffed the air, and paused to feel the ground. He placed his ear to the ground, causing the other orcs around him to pause and stare curiously at the strange little orc.
Runt listened, he could hear the telltale signs of riding animals. Not the rumbling behind him, but something distant, he stood satisfied, and marched ahead. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. He had thought it was odd to call a retreat so soon, and form up with the caravan, but the pieces were coming together for the orc scout.
He and his brethren were bait.
The thoughts made him curl his mouth with distaste, the rest of his kin did not realize that they were only here to die. The Priest Mother surely knew, along with his chief, Garnak, but the rest. But Runt just grinned, being the bait would just be more challenging.
It was at that blessed moment that the wagon just in front of the center wagon exploded into flames. Runt dove for cover, and rolled to his feet, drawing his bow, and instinctively moved for cover. He could smell the odor of burning flesh, wood, and worse. He could hear screams, and war cries. He saw a human charge from the trees, and let an arrow fly, it was straight and true, right into the man’s breast.
Runt turned, already lining up another target, an elf that had foolishly moved from cover. He smiled and let the arrow fly, but scowled, when the arrow fell short, and stuck the elf in the leg. He ducked, as a barrage of arrows slammed into the wagon. An orc screamed, clutching at his throat. Runt reached down and ripped the arrow from the orc’s throat, it was still whole, and he grinned as he knocked another arrow.
Runt ran towards another wagon, and dove clear as the wagon exploded. He felt the rush of heat, followed by the smell and the screams. He closed his eyes because the flames were almost too bright for his eyes. He turned, and allowed his vision to clear and spotted a riding Sarcosan rider, he let the arrow fly, and placed the elven wrought arrow right into the Sarcosan’s breast. The warrior continued to charge and raised his lance. Runt ducked to the side, and rolled forward drawing a kukri, and slashed across the rider’s leg. Runt rushed after the warrior as he turned his horse about, he sprung up into the air, and tackled the warrior with a mighty blow.
Runt and the warrior landed hard on the icy ground, but the orc had the advantage. He stabbed his kukri into the warrior’s neck, with precision, the warrior struggled, reaching for his sword, but it was too late. Runt crawled forward, and grabbed his bow, and moved for cover. He could hear the chaos around him, as he crouched and got his bearings. Runt drew another arrow and looked for another target.
***********************************
Malstrom and Dae charged across the field, they rushed through the broken ranks, their weapons at the ready as they cut down the wounded orcs and human. They gave no quarter and expected none. Malstrom hefted his blade with skill, as he cleaved his enemies in two, causing the orcs to give him pause. Dae wielded his blades in a dangerous dance, bastard sword in one hand, the shortsword in the other. He kept his foes off balance, feinting with one blade, and killing with the other.
Near the tree line Corine, took aim with her longbow. The Erenlander sent an arrow flying, and brought down an orc in a spray of black blood, as the elves followed suit, tearing into the orcs with a fury of arrows. They rained death, and the screams below, spoke volumes of their success.
Malstrom shouted to the other insurgents, “We must take that wagon,” as he brought his greataxe into the back of a retreating human. Spilling his lifeblood onto the icy earth.
Dae nodded, as he parried a vardatch with his shortsword, and used his bastard sword to take the head of his opponent. Black blood spewing forth covering the large Dorn as he moved forward to face more orcs, it was to his credit that some paused, considering to tackle the large warrior.
Following them Semmarin shout his bow at close range and then changed to his shortsword, as an orc charged towards the small elfling. Using his size and strength to bully the elfling back, a murderous gleam in his eyes.
Tuk followed in the wake of the two large warriors, flanking their opponents and doing what he could to keep them safe. It was all he could do not to flee in terror, but there was bravery in the small halfling. He jabbed his spear into an orc, distracting him long enough for Dae to finish him.
Victory looked to be in sight.
*************************************
Garnak glanced to Vuna from underneath the large tarp, on the wagon. His men packed close together, as they heard the fighting grow even fiercer. Vuna gave the chieftain a nod, her consent. Garnak grabbed the tarp, and pulled it aside, revealing to the charging and weakened insurgent forces, that their sacrifice, all the bloodshed, was for not. There was no Black Mirror, only death.
Garnak shouted “Onward brothers, crush these fools, and bring me their heads!” The orcs poured off the wagon in a fury, the insurgent forces looked to each other in shock, and confusion. Before they realized what had transpired many of them were cut down. Garnak glared at the charging dworg and Dorn, and stepped off the wagon moving towards them, as Vuna watched with a satisfied grin. Her wolf sat beside her mimicking her demeanor, as the icy wind, made her cloak billow in the wind, framing her lithe form against the moon.
The dworg, was bleeding from several cuts as he locked eyes with Garnak. The Dorn was fending off several orcs, but he was losing ground, even with the help of a halfling. Garnak drew his vardatch, its blade was midnight black, and its edge was sharp. The dworg shouted a war cry and charged, slamming his axe down on the orc chieftain, he raised his shield, and the axe blade slid harmlessly away.
Garnak seemed amused, the dworg was incensed, but he had much to learn. He stayed on the defensive as the dworg pressed the attack, slamming his blade against the orc’s shield and blade. Garnak dipped forward in a feint, and the dworg stepped to defend against it, realizing too late the fate he had made. Garnak swung his blade high and carved a path across the dworg’s chest, cutting through bone and flesh. The dworg stumbled and then collapsed, black-red blood oozing from his mortal wound.
Garnak looked up to see a large orc, Yuth, cut down an elfling with a powerful slash, sending the fae to the ground in a spray of blood. He would have to remember that Yuth would be well rewarded for his kill.
It was too easy.
Garnak looked around and saw the insurgents fleeing towards the trees. He raised his shield to fend off some arrows. The elves were going to cover the retreat, how noble for them. He pointed and shouted, and a drummer drummed out his commands to the rest of the orcs, as they pressed the fight to the elves. Garnak turned and saw the Sarcosan riders trying to retreat, it was a route. The ambush had worked better then he could have imagined.
Garnak turned back, and saw the Dorn dragging the dying dworg away, he moved to follow, but another blast sent him sprawling. He scowled, it had to be the outlaw wizard, Vykos. He rushed to his feet and scanned the tree line, but the blasted human was gone for sure, and left a little parting gift.
***********************************
Corine helped to cover the retreat, as Dae scrambled up the hill with Tuk guarding his back. The elves fought bravely, but it was obvious that if there lines were breaking. Corine scanned the caravan, and could see corpses, many orcs, but many more insurgents. She turned from the scene, and followed her allies.
The mood was somber as they retreated back to the tower. They were fewer in number; Borca, Valthis, Vykos, Tuk, and Dae had survived the battle. She shook her head, as Dae placed Malstrom’s corpse on a bed of hay, his eyes staring up at the sky. She noticed those missing and looked to Dae, “Where is Semmarin, where is Salas?”
Dae replied, “An orc slew him, I could not help him.”
Borca replied to Corine as well, “Salas died at the hands of an orc as well. He died with his sword in his hand, as a warrior should.”
Corine scowled, “That was an ambush. They knew.”
Borca nodded, “Seems that we may be dealing with a spy in our midst.”
Vykos sat down, “We can’t begin to point fingers, Borca.”
“There was no Black Mirror,” Dae said, glaring about the room.
“I think that was obvious,” Vykos replied.
Corine turned curiously as she noticed a small dove sitting next to Malstrom. The bird scampered up onto Malstrom’s chest and gently pecked at his flesh. The rest of the room watched as a soft glow, filtered over the warrior, and his wounds sealed, and he drew a breath. His eyes opening as the bird flew up fading from view.
Corine gasped, “A miracle?”
*********************************
The forces of the insurgents were scattered to the four winds before Garnak Mansplitter, he grinned, as much as his tusks allowed a grin. The corpses littered the ground all around the supply wagons, the trap had worked better then he had hoped, if only they had succeeded in slaying the Archwizard, Vykos then all would have been perfect. But alas the crafty wizard had proven to be a worthy adversary for the forces of the Shadow.
An orc soldier grunted as he approached Garnak, human and elf blood splattered on his black scale mail armor. Mixed with a smattering of his black blood, he saluted before speaking in the tongue of the orcs, “We have the heads of the Sarcosan leader, and elves, although a few escaped,” he paused looking around, “shall we burn the corpses?”
Garnak glanced to Vuna as she gently rubbed the mane of her wolf, she spoke sternly to the soldier, “Our Lord, Izrador demands that these corpses join his embrace, leave them, and let them become the fell,” she spat the words through her yellow teeth.
Garnak nodded, shifting his weight as he turned and looked out over the plains, “At least we know that we have a spy in our midst,” his visage growing stern, “this ambush is evidence enough that somehow the insurgents are monitoring our communications.”
Vuna turned to Garnak and nodded, brushing her black mane from her face, for an orc she was in a word beautiful, to the lesser races, she was a brutal lethal creature savagery. Her lips curled in a sneer as she spoke, “Garnak the tribe will have many honors for this victory, we have taken many heads, and nearly crushed the resistance in this region. The spy has been a boon, if anything.”
“We still do not know who it is,” Garnak spat back, as he cleaned his black-bladed vardatch, the edge was never dull, even so out of habit he inspected the edge
“It does not matter, we have our own spy in their midst,” she replied with a vicious smile, “it is only a matter of time, the Shadow favors his children this day. We will know only victory.”
Garnak grunted in reply, he did not have Vuna’s confidence, but there was little he understood about the Priest Mother. He just knew that she had the power to keep track of their enemies. But he knew the gleam of ambition burned in her breast; it would only be a matter of time, before he would have to put her in her place. That was the way of the Shadow, only the strong survived.
Overhead amidst the scattered black birds, and scavengers, a white dove surveyed the scene of carnage, the smashing of a thousand hopes as Shadow prevailed on the battlefield. Yet hope lingered on, as the remnants of the resistance regrouped. That much was certain, the war would not end.
Garnak looked up as if to gaze upon the now darkening skyline, the moon was a beautiful sight, in the sky. Unlike the burning sphere that burned his eyes in the day, the darkness was comforting, and welcoming. He squinted slightly as he spotted a white flicker among the black flecks of birds in the sky.
Garnak paused and looked to Vuna who had busied herself with ordering the soldiers about, as they prepared to move out, he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was tired, and he doubted that Vuna would even know what the significance of the bird would mean. Not that she wouldn’t posture and lie to that effect, but he knew she was not much smarter then the rest of his blessed race. Something that sadly Garnak was not blessed with, his mind was sharp, and it was as much a curse as it was a boon. His men fell into orderly formations as Vuna assumed her place on the wagon. Garnak, reached his seat, and ordered the caravan forward. There was never any rest for the wicked…
***********************************
The white dove landed next to Semmarin’s corpse and gently pecked at him. His form glowed slightly, as he took a breath, it was painful. It was strange it was like waking up from nothing. There was no dream, there was nothing, he just opened his eyes and regarded the bird with a curious look.
The dove spoke, “Treachery is the way of Shadow. There is evil in your midst. What I have done for you, I cannot do again, but you must try and have hope. If it is lost nothing will survive. The Shadow will have won. Now go, they wait for you in the tower.”
The bird then flew off into the distance. Semmarin stood, and made his way towards his companions.
The plan was set.
The course was made as Vykos gathered the insurgents in the main room of the tower. All were present now, including Borca, Salas, and Valthis. There were also several Erenlander youths looking for a chance to prove their mettle against the Shadow. Vykos glanced around the table, besides Borca, the faces were young, and idealistic. Hope sparkled in their eyes, the caravan had been spotted, now it was only a matter of time before the ambush was to be staged. A major blow would be struck, if they could somehow take the Black Mirror without destroying it, and perhaps find out what makes them so important. But either way its destruction could not be done, the death would be too widespread. Or so he had been told, and read, and despite his arrogance, Vykos was not one to tempt fate. He had made it to the title of Archwizard, even if the title was self-proclaimed.
He turned his attentions to Corine, young and beautiful, though most would see her as an athletic beauty, she was strong. Her skin was somewhat weathered, and her brown hair was worn short. She rarely smiled, but then there was very little to smile about, he supposed.
Next to her sat the halfling, Tuk, his skin was a light mahogany, and he seemed to smile about everything. He was a slim form, a slave, with tattoos across his body, obviously from his previous employer. He was no soldier, but he seemed to want to fight the Shadow if for no other reason then because he really had nowhere else to go.
Across from Vykos sat the dworg, Malstrom. He was a large figure for a dworg, and a scar split his face, a remnant of his youth. He wore chainmail armor, and despite his fierce demeanor, the dworg was well known for his nobility, and use of manners. Vykos admired that fact, it was a pleasant change from most dour and grim warriors. Next to him sat the large Dorn, Dae. He was neither particularly handsome nor ugly, but he was large, and powerful. He wore a long coat of wolf’s fur, and wielded two weapons better then most men could wield a single blade. He was not overly bright, but he did fight well, and that suited him fine.
Borca spoke breaking the long silence, “Our scouts report they are bout two miles east of us, Vykos. Are the elves and the Sarcosan riders in position?” speaking in the Erenland tongue with a strong accent born of the Kaladrun mountains. Borca’s scalp was balding, and his dark hair, against his pale weathered face, made him seem older then he ought to be. Creases of weary formed wrinkles in his face, and his beard was thick and full, layered with braids. His dark brown eyes, always gave Vykos pause.
Vykos replied as he reclined in his chair, “The elves are in position, and the Sarcosan riders will strike when I give them the signal. It will be unmistakable and quite flashy. The middle wagon is our target, we will have to strike it first. That is the wagon that carries the Black Mirror. It must not be destroyed, or no one will survive. We must capture it, at all costs.”
Valthis nodded, his slim boyish features made him handsome. He glanced around the table, before speaking, “We will not have much room for error, but with faith, we will prevail.”
Malstrom nodded, “Then I believe we are committed.”
Corine agreed, “Today we strike a blow for the resistance.”
Semmarin remained silent. The dark skinned elfling, wore his dark hair in short dreadlocks, and pulled his elven cloak close around him. He was small, perhaps the smallest of the group outside of Tuk, but he knew that his size did not matter when it came to the fighting the forces of the One God. The thought cause him to speak, “Then lets get out and prepare. We have orcs to kill, and a Black Mirror to steal.”
***********************************
Runt scanned the road as he marched at the point of the caravan. A cold wind blew over the distant plains, and the moon hung fool, giving a soft glow to the plains. He sniffed the air, and paused to feel the ground. He placed his ear to the ground, causing the other orcs around him to pause and stare curiously at the strange little orc.
Runt listened, he could hear the telltale signs of riding animals. Not the rumbling behind him, but something distant, he stood satisfied, and marched ahead. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. He had thought it was odd to call a retreat so soon, and form up with the caravan, but the pieces were coming together for the orc scout.
He and his brethren were bait.
The thoughts made him curl his mouth with distaste, the rest of his kin did not realize that they were only here to die. The Priest Mother surely knew, along with his chief, Garnak, but the rest. But Runt just grinned, being the bait would just be more challenging.
It was at that blessed moment that the wagon just in front of the center wagon exploded into flames. Runt dove for cover, and rolled to his feet, drawing his bow, and instinctively moved for cover. He could smell the odor of burning flesh, wood, and worse. He could hear screams, and war cries. He saw a human charge from the trees, and let an arrow fly, it was straight and true, right into the man’s breast.
Runt turned, already lining up another target, an elf that had foolishly moved from cover. He smiled and let the arrow fly, but scowled, when the arrow fell short, and stuck the elf in the leg. He ducked, as a barrage of arrows slammed into the wagon. An orc screamed, clutching at his throat. Runt reached down and ripped the arrow from the orc’s throat, it was still whole, and he grinned as he knocked another arrow.
Runt ran towards another wagon, and dove clear as the wagon exploded. He felt the rush of heat, followed by the smell and the screams. He closed his eyes because the flames were almost too bright for his eyes. He turned, and allowed his vision to clear and spotted a riding Sarcosan rider, he let the arrow fly, and placed the elven wrought arrow right into the Sarcosan’s breast. The warrior continued to charge and raised his lance. Runt ducked to the side, and rolled forward drawing a kukri, and slashed across the rider’s leg. Runt rushed after the warrior as he turned his horse about, he sprung up into the air, and tackled the warrior with a mighty blow.
Runt and the warrior landed hard on the icy ground, but the orc had the advantage. He stabbed his kukri into the warrior’s neck, with precision, the warrior struggled, reaching for his sword, but it was too late. Runt crawled forward, and grabbed his bow, and moved for cover. He could hear the chaos around him, as he crouched and got his bearings. Runt drew another arrow and looked for another target.
***********************************
Malstrom and Dae charged across the field, they rushed through the broken ranks, their weapons at the ready as they cut down the wounded orcs and human. They gave no quarter and expected none. Malstrom hefted his blade with skill, as he cleaved his enemies in two, causing the orcs to give him pause. Dae wielded his blades in a dangerous dance, bastard sword in one hand, the shortsword in the other. He kept his foes off balance, feinting with one blade, and killing with the other.
Near the tree line Corine, took aim with her longbow. The Erenlander sent an arrow flying, and brought down an orc in a spray of black blood, as the elves followed suit, tearing into the orcs with a fury of arrows. They rained death, and the screams below, spoke volumes of their success.
Malstrom shouted to the other insurgents, “We must take that wagon,” as he brought his greataxe into the back of a retreating human. Spilling his lifeblood onto the icy earth.
Dae nodded, as he parried a vardatch with his shortsword, and used his bastard sword to take the head of his opponent. Black blood spewing forth covering the large Dorn as he moved forward to face more orcs, it was to his credit that some paused, considering to tackle the large warrior.
Following them Semmarin shout his bow at close range and then changed to his shortsword, as an orc charged towards the small elfling. Using his size and strength to bully the elfling back, a murderous gleam in his eyes.
Tuk followed in the wake of the two large warriors, flanking their opponents and doing what he could to keep them safe. It was all he could do not to flee in terror, but there was bravery in the small halfling. He jabbed his spear into an orc, distracting him long enough for Dae to finish him.
Victory looked to be in sight.
*************************************
Garnak glanced to Vuna from underneath the large tarp, on the wagon. His men packed close together, as they heard the fighting grow even fiercer. Vuna gave the chieftain a nod, her consent. Garnak grabbed the tarp, and pulled it aside, revealing to the charging and weakened insurgent forces, that their sacrifice, all the bloodshed, was for not. There was no Black Mirror, only death.
Garnak shouted “Onward brothers, crush these fools, and bring me their heads!” The orcs poured off the wagon in a fury, the insurgent forces looked to each other in shock, and confusion. Before they realized what had transpired many of them were cut down. Garnak glared at the charging dworg and Dorn, and stepped off the wagon moving towards them, as Vuna watched with a satisfied grin. Her wolf sat beside her mimicking her demeanor, as the icy wind, made her cloak billow in the wind, framing her lithe form against the moon.
The dworg, was bleeding from several cuts as he locked eyes with Garnak. The Dorn was fending off several orcs, but he was losing ground, even with the help of a halfling. Garnak drew his vardatch, its blade was midnight black, and its edge was sharp. The dworg shouted a war cry and charged, slamming his axe down on the orc chieftain, he raised his shield, and the axe blade slid harmlessly away.
Garnak seemed amused, the dworg was incensed, but he had much to learn. He stayed on the defensive as the dworg pressed the attack, slamming his blade against the orc’s shield and blade. Garnak dipped forward in a feint, and the dworg stepped to defend against it, realizing too late the fate he had made. Garnak swung his blade high and carved a path across the dworg’s chest, cutting through bone and flesh. The dworg stumbled and then collapsed, black-red blood oozing from his mortal wound.
Garnak looked up to see a large orc, Yuth, cut down an elfling with a powerful slash, sending the fae to the ground in a spray of blood. He would have to remember that Yuth would be well rewarded for his kill.
It was too easy.
Garnak looked around and saw the insurgents fleeing towards the trees. He raised his shield to fend off some arrows. The elves were going to cover the retreat, how noble for them. He pointed and shouted, and a drummer drummed out his commands to the rest of the orcs, as they pressed the fight to the elves. Garnak turned and saw the Sarcosan riders trying to retreat, it was a route. The ambush had worked better then he could have imagined.
Garnak turned back, and saw the Dorn dragging the dying dworg away, he moved to follow, but another blast sent him sprawling. He scowled, it had to be the outlaw wizard, Vykos. He rushed to his feet and scanned the tree line, but the blasted human was gone for sure, and left a little parting gift.
***********************************
Corine helped to cover the retreat, as Dae scrambled up the hill with Tuk guarding his back. The elves fought bravely, but it was obvious that if there lines were breaking. Corine scanned the caravan, and could see corpses, many orcs, but many more insurgents. She turned from the scene, and followed her allies.
The mood was somber as they retreated back to the tower. They were fewer in number; Borca, Valthis, Vykos, Tuk, and Dae had survived the battle. She shook her head, as Dae placed Malstrom’s corpse on a bed of hay, his eyes staring up at the sky. She noticed those missing and looked to Dae, “Where is Semmarin, where is Salas?”
Dae replied, “An orc slew him, I could not help him.”
Borca replied to Corine as well, “Salas died at the hands of an orc as well. He died with his sword in his hand, as a warrior should.”
Corine scowled, “That was an ambush. They knew.”
Borca nodded, “Seems that we may be dealing with a spy in our midst.”
Vykos sat down, “We can’t begin to point fingers, Borca.”
“There was no Black Mirror,” Dae said, glaring about the room.
“I think that was obvious,” Vykos replied.
Corine turned curiously as she noticed a small dove sitting next to Malstrom. The bird scampered up onto Malstrom’s chest and gently pecked at his flesh. The rest of the room watched as a soft glow, filtered over the warrior, and his wounds sealed, and he drew a breath. His eyes opening as the bird flew up fading from view.
Corine gasped, “A miracle?”
*********************************
The forces of the insurgents were scattered to the four winds before Garnak Mansplitter, he grinned, as much as his tusks allowed a grin. The corpses littered the ground all around the supply wagons, the trap had worked better then he had hoped, if only they had succeeded in slaying the Archwizard, Vykos then all would have been perfect. But alas the crafty wizard had proven to be a worthy adversary for the forces of the Shadow.
An orc soldier grunted as he approached Garnak, human and elf blood splattered on his black scale mail armor. Mixed with a smattering of his black blood, he saluted before speaking in the tongue of the orcs, “We have the heads of the Sarcosan leader, and elves, although a few escaped,” he paused looking around, “shall we burn the corpses?”
Garnak glanced to Vuna as she gently rubbed the mane of her wolf, she spoke sternly to the soldier, “Our Lord, Izrador demands that these corpses join his embrace, leave them, and let them become the fell,” she spat the words through her yellow teeth.
Garnak nodded, shifting his weight as he turned and looked out over the plains, “At least we know that we have a spy in our midst,” his visage growing stern, “this ambush is evidence enough that somehow the insurgents are monitoring our communications.”
Vuna turned to Garnak and nodded, brushing her black mane from her face, for an orc she was in a word beautiful, to the lesser races, she was a brutal lethal creature savagery. Her lips curled in a sneer as she spoke, “Garnak the tribe will have many honors for this victory, we have taken many heads, and nearly crushed the resistance in this region. The spy has been a boon, if anything.”
“We still do not know who it is,” Garnak spat back, as he cleaned his black-bladed vardatch, the edge was never dull, even so out of habit he inspected the edge
“It does not matter, we have our own spy in their midst,” she replied with a vicious smile, “it is only a matter of time, the Shadow favors his children this day. We will know only victory.”
Garnak grunted in reply, he did not have Vuna’s confidence, but there was little he understood about the Priest Mother. He just knew that she had the power to keep track of their enemies. But he knew the gleam of ambition burned in her breast; it would only be a matter of time, before he would have to put her in her place. That was the way of the Shadow, only the strong survived.
Overhead amidst the scattered black birds, and scavengers, a white dove surveyed the scene of carnage, the smashing of a thousand hopes as Shadow prevailed on the battlefield. Yet hope lingered on, as the remnants of the resistance regrouped. That much was certain, the war would not end.
Garnak looked up as if to gaze upon the now darkening skyline, the moon was a beautiful sight, in the sky. Unlike the burning sphere that burned his eyes in the day, the darkness was comforting, and welcoming. He squinted slightly as he spotted a white flicker among the black flecks of birds in the sky.
Garnak paused and looked to Vuna who had busied herself with ordering the soldiers about, as they prepared to move out, he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He was tired, and he doubted that Vuna would even know what the significance of the bird would mean. Not that she wouldn’t posture and lie to that effect, but he knew she was not much smarter then the rest of his blessed race. Something that sadly Garnak was not blessed with, his mind was sharp, and it was as much a curse as it was a boon. His men fell into orderly formations as Vuna assumed her place on the wagon. Garnak, reached his seat, and ordered the caravan forward. There was never any rest for the wicked…
***********************************
The white dove landed next to Semmarin’s corpse and gently pecked at him. His form glowed slightly, as he took a breath, it was painful. It was strange it was like waking up from nothing. There was no dream, there was nothing, he just opened his eyes and regarded the bird with a curious look.
The dove spoke, “Treachery is the way of Shadow. There is evil in your midst. What I have done for you, I cannot do again, but you must try and have hope. If it is lost nothing will survive. The Shadow will have won. Now go, they wait for you in the tower.”
The bird then flew off into the distance. Semmarin stood, and made his way towards his companions.
Tokiwong
First Post
The Traitor
Semmarin stumbled through the darkness, alone and cold. His body ached, from death, and his second breath. A chill wind passed over him, as the tower came into view, he approached the door and knocked gently, and waited. There was a long silence, before the door opened, and Borca greeted Semmarin with his warhammer in hand, but the look of shock on his eyes, spoke volumes as Semmarin stumbled past. Two miracles in one night, but the damage to the morale had been done.
Semmarin slumped against the wall, his whole body aching. Despite his pain he could feel the tension in the room. Borca took his seat next to Malstrom as Dae stood, scouring the room with his cold, angry eyes. Tuk sat quietly reflecting on the day, and what had been lost, he sighed in defeat. Corine glanced down to the halfling; she turned her gaze back to Vykos. Vykos sat at the table his mind thinking, a sardonic smile on his face.
Dae finally broke the silence, “We were tricked.”
Vykos turned to Dae and nodded, “We were baited. It was a dangerous game they played, we fell for their trap. An interesting predicament, to be sure.”
Borca scowled, “It was treachery, plain and simple.”
Corine nodded, “We can’t go pointing fingers, Borca.”
Dae nodded, but his mind was already boiling with the possibilities. He had his suspicions; they burned through his mind like a raging inferno. He knew whom he could trust, and whom he could not trust.
Don’t trust the woman, she means to betray you.
Dae glanced around the room, for a moment. It was a whisper in a voice he did not recognize but very much understood. For some reason he wanted to believe if for no other reason then because it seemed the most plausible.
Malstrom glanced to Dae, and then looked to Vykos, “What do we do next?”
Vykos replied with his usual casual grin, “We rest of course. We sleep and dream. We have faced a bitter defeat this day. But we have the morrow, we start anew, and do not give up.”
*****************************************************
The smell of seasoned, and cooked orc flesh, wafted up to Runt’s nose. The dawn was beginning to set, and the orcs had made camp. It was a loud affair of eating, shouts, and carousing. The halfling slaves rushed about trying to keep the orcs fed, and happy, so as to not draw their ire.
Runt ate his meal quietly, and glanced to the bandage over his left shoulder, where a Sarcosan blade had bit his flesh. The wound would heal, and leave a proud scar for the orc scout. It had been a good night, and Runt had earned twelve new scars, of honest kills. The One God had favored him on the battlefield and granted him great prowess to destroy the heathens that threatened his blessed order.
Runt turned and saw the Priest Mother, standing watching her faithful feast, and celebrate the victory. She was slim for an orc, but impressively muscled. She had a mane of black hair that blew in the wind, and her tusks were sharp and powerful. Her face was angular, framing her red eyes, almost perfectly. She was a beauty among her kind, and Runt admired her, it would be an honor to earn the right to be her consort, and father her children. She would give him strong kin, and Izrador would bless them for greatness.
Sitting near her was his chieftain, Garnak. One of the most powerful orcs Runt had ever met, and if he did not mistake it, quite crafty. He had peculiar habits, his armor was immaculate, and he kept himself well groomed, and spoke with words that most orcs would find useless or perhaps too flowery. But his prowess on the field of battle was well known, he wore many scars from his kills, and he was a good strong leader. Although Runt saw that unlike other males, Garnak approached the females as if he was their equal, it was nearly heresy, and he wondered just how long the Priest Mother’s would stand such insolence.
Runt instinctively drew his kukri and held it close to hand trying to snatch some of his meat. It belonged to a burly orc with a large gut. His eyes were a milky red, and he was missing his left tusk. The larger orc sneered, “You too small Runt, let me have this, I am bigger, give it to me little one.”
Runt narrowed his eyes, “I will have my fill, Utha, now take your hand from my food, or your hand will join my meal.”
Utha slowly recoiled his hand, and then looked to the other orcs, many of them watching the larger orc defer to Runt. Utha stood and puffed out his chest, “Give me your meat, Runt, or I kill you.”
Runt stood and growled, “You must try first,” as he looked up, he stood nearly a head shorter then Utha, but his frame was muscled and wiry. Many of the orcs stood, and formed a circle around the two, watching with great interest. Vuna walked towards the circle, interested to see what the males were gawking at.
Utha growled bearing his yellowed teeth, and drew a dagger; the blade was sharp, although crudely made. Runt drew his kukri, the blade was equally sharp, but had been crafted in a dwarven forge. Runt had killed the dwarf with a dagger similar to Utha’s.
Utha slowly began to circle Runt, and Runt followed suit, the two staring at each other with hate. Utha growled, and lunged forward, letting out a powerful roar. Runt though was ready, and brought his kukri up under his forearm, he rolled to the side, and let the blade slash at Utha’s thigh drawing a line of black blood along his furry leg. Runt rolled, and came up in a low, crouch, as Utha turned quickly, he simply chuckled at the slash.
“You are weak Runt, you is too small to be proper orc, you will have no mate little one. I will enjoy eating your flesh, weakling,” Utha grinned.
Runt narrowed his eyes; he kept his distance from Utha, and weighed his options. Utha was stronger, but Runt knew he was quicker. Utha may have been laughing but he knew that Utha was hurt, but Runt realized that his shoulder still ached from the ambush. All things considered, he figured he had an even chance of winning the fight, and with the larger orcs need for bluster; probably better then that.
Utha tried to intimidate Runt by using his own dagger to carve a scar across his chest and show just how little pain he actually felt, as blood dribbled from the self-inflicted wound. Runt just watched, realizing that Utha may be tougher then he had earlier realized.
Utha stalked forward, as Runt waited crouched. Utha tried to stab downward with his blade. Runt rolled to the side, coming to his feet and ready. He stayed on the defensive, parrying and dodging. Utha became frustrated, and swung wide; Runt ducked and stabbed his kukri deep into Utha’s side, piercing vitals, and then pulled the blade out with a spray of black blood and sliced flesh.
Runt spun with his slash, moving away from Utha, as the large orc clutches at his injury. Somehow the fat orc was still standing, malice and rage burning in his pale red eyes. He rushed forward, taking Runt by surprise and tackled the smaller orc. The larger orc let out a roar as they fell back. Runt landed hard on his back, and the larger orc fell on top of him. Luckily Runt placed his blade between himself and Utha, and the blade bit deep into the larger orc’s belly. Runt could feel warm blood; he struggled to get the larger orc off him. He struggled free, and realized that his shoulder wound was bleeding, once more. He winced from the pain, as he stood, his kukri black with blood and regarded his peers.
Runt added another scar to his good shoulder.
Vuna was impressed and moved forward. Runt blinked as he saw the Priest Mother approach and bowed his head, in deference. The gathered orcs did not dare to look directly at the blessed Priest Mother. Vuna whispered a word of prayer to the One God, and her hands took on a sickening red glow, she placed it on Runt’s shoulder, and their was the sound of burning flesh as the wound cauterized and sealed, leaving another scar on the orc’s flesh.
Runt felt a brief wash of pain, and then there was nothing. He glanced to his shoulder, the bandage was gone, and only a scar remained from the wound he had received. The Priest Mother had given him a blessing, and healed his wounds. She turned from Runt, and moved back to where she was seated, without a word. Runt stood motionless, and then glanced around, seeing looks of jealousy on many eyes, but none dared act on it, after glancing to Utha. The tribe would feast well that night.
***************************************************
The Corruption…
Dae slept that night, and he dreamed…
Dae laid on the soft snow, and felt a burning in his mind as the alien whisper continued to speak to him in a hushed tone, as if it feared discovery, "She knows you know. She is already plotting against you, she will be the death of you."
Dae sat up, and spotted a flickering figure amidst the soft snow fall, a maiden dressed in a soft blue and white gown, her skin, was warm to the touch as she knelt next to him, and wrapped an arm around him to help him sit up. She was beautiful and yet a being of awe, as she continued to speak, "Do not fret, and do not know fear for there is one among you that can help you, the dwarf, Borca, knows of her treachery." She smiled softly, bearing perfect white teeth, at her hip Dae noticed the slender shortsword that Borca always carried, the hilt was covered in smooth leather, and the bottom of the hilt sported a black gem of some type, a swirling black of mystery.
The woman kissed his forehead, and then retreated into the mists, as she continued to speak, still only a soft whisper, "She knows..."
Dae then awoke in a cold sweat...
The Guide
The young elfling, Semmarin was troubled…
Sleeping was easy; his body had been broken, bruised, and even dead, only to breath a second breath on a field of death. The whisper of the trees, whispered danger to his heart, the animals of the woods, shout cries against the encroaching darkness. The world itself was dying, every day, and he could feel the pain right in the very fiber of his soul. Semmarin was not even sure if he was sleeping anymore but he saw the world far below, and felt the wind on his face. The sky was dark, contrasting with the large white feathers beneath him, as he sat atop a massive dove; it glided amidst the darkness, the wind growing bitter and cold. Yet the dove remained strong and warm.
Below Semmarin could see a great army amassing, the dove swooped down closer to the frozen earth, and the horde shouted, as arrows flew, but the dove pressed ever onward, amidst the swarm of arrows and javelins, still pressing on further North, into the eye of the encroaching storm. It was only then when he noticed the blood on his hands, the Dove was bleeding, and it crashed to the earth, in a heap throwing the elfling onto the icy ground, nearly shattering his bones, but he lived still.
The Dove looked up, "You must not lose hope, that is all we have against the Shadow, hope and the will to fight on against evil. Not just the evils of man, not just the evils of darkness, but pure evil, in a form so heinous, that it corrupts the very earth itself," the Dove stood, its wing broken, but still it would not give up, "There can be no good in this world, if we lose hope. Believe in me, but more importantly believe in you. You will have to make the choice between what is right, and what is wrong, the group is splintering, and you will suffer further tragedy, by your own hands."
The Dove stepped forward, hobbling as it spoke, "You must know trust, and you must know who to trust."
At that moment Semmarin woke up to the smell of Tuk's cooking...
The Past
That same voice in the woods, and on the battle field, that same look in the orc's eyes, perhaps it was just a fleeting memory, as Malstrom slept, the pain of his wounds still burning all across the dworg’s body though subsided by the care of Valthis, it is still bothersome. But his sleep was anything but peaceful, as he dreamt of what could have been, what had come to pass, and that, which was often forgotten in the shadows of time. He could recall early in his travels a small village of miners, or perhaps a better term would have been slaves in the service to a puppet prince of the Shadow. The village was small and poor, but they had pride, and this pride grew into rebellion.
The men enlisted Malstrom’s aid despite your heritage, and he was given a simple weapon, and a wooden shield, as the men descended upon the encampment of the Shadow's forces, only to face the full wrath of the shadow, and the orc forces that had been itching to taste of man-flesh. It was a slaughter, and the young chieftain of the orcs, smashed the rebellion, and showed no mercy for their insurrection. The men were slain in the fighting, and then placed on pikes, while the women and children were killed in their sleep, and then left to burn as they lit the flames of the fire.
But the dworg, they had fun with, he remembered the fun they had, breaking his fingers, scarring his back, for days on end, until they grew tired, and tied the dworg’s arms to a long wooden shaft, and released the wolves on him. He remembered the orc chieftain's face, the one they called Garnak Mansplitter, Malstrom remembered the intense nature of his reddish gray eyes as he let out the command to let the hunt begin. But somehow, he survived, he ran for days, until exhaustion, and then beat the two wolves to death once the warrior had managed to remove the wooden pole... the vision was all too intense as he relived it, but he awoke in the bed, to the smell of a halfling breakfast...
**************************************************
The morning came all too quickly for the insurgents. The air was still salty with scorn, and distrust. Vykos seemed to weather it all with a faint sardonic smile, but the meal was hushed, even as Tuk tried to engage in a hearty discussion of the various recipes he had used to create the meal.
Vykos spoke as the meal drew to a close, “We need to speak of our future plans.”
Malstrom nodded, “Indeed we do, but first my companions and I, need to speak of what we plan to do,” he gestured to Semmarin and Dae.
Corine raised a brow, “Why is that?”
“We must decide if we wish to stay with this group or press on by ourselves. We need to evaluate our options,” the dworg replied diplomatically.
Vykos nodded, “Then make your decision.”
Malstrom nodded, and stood, both Dae and Semmarin following him upstairs. They closed the trapped door behind them, and sat looking at each other in silence for a moment before Malstrom spoke, “I don’t know if we can trust everyone in our group.”
Dae grunted in acknowledgement, “Indeed I only trust those in this room.”
“So you think you know who are traitor is?” Semmarin replied in a whisper.
“I think it is Corine, I mean how did she survive on her own?” Malstrom replied, “She may be good, but she isn’t that good.”
Dae nodded, “I agree, the woman is the most likely traitor. I had a dream last night that confirmed as much.”
“A dream?” Semmarin replied.
“Aye,” Dae replied, “A voice told me to not trust the woman, it told me that we could trust Borca though.”
Malstrom mulled over the words, “How do we know we can trust the voice?”
“I don’t know, but it seems true enough to me, Corine has had the most opportunity,” Dae replied.
“Hmm,” Semmarin replied, “I think we should speak to Borca.”
“Perhaps we should stay with this group, and alert Borca of our plan,” Malstrom replied.
“We may have to kill Corine, if she turns out to be the traitor,” Semmarin replied, “are we prepared to do that?”
“I am,” Dae’s voice flat and calm.
“Then we are decided, we stay, and Dae you speak to Borca,” Malstrom replied, “when you are both alone.”
Semmarin nodded, “I hope we are wrong.”
Malstrom nodded, “We must be prepared to do what must be done for the good of the Resistance. We cannot let betrayal from within defeat us.”
The trio agreed, and proceeded downstairs.
Semmarin stumbled through the darkness, alone and cold. His body ached, from death, and his second breath. A chill wind passed over him, as the tower came into view, he approached the door and knocked gently, and waited. There was a long silence, before the door opened, and Borca greeted Semmarin with his warhammer in hand, but the look of shock on his eyes, spoke volumes as Semmarin stumbled past. Two miracles in one night, but the damage to the morale had been done.
Semmarin slumped against the wall, his whole body aching. Despite his pain he could feel the tension in the room. Borca took his seat next to Malstrom as Dae stood, scouring the room with his cold, angry eyes. Tuk sat quietly reflecting on the day, and what had been lost, he sighed in defeat. Corine glanced down to the halfling; she turned her gaze back to Vykos. Vykos sat at the table his mind thinking, a sardonic smile on his face.
Dae finally broke the silence, “We were tricked.”
Vykos turned to Dae and nodded, “We were baited. It was a dangerous game they played, we fell for their trap. An interesting predicament, to be sure.”
Borca scowled, “It was treachery, plain and simple.”
Corine nodded, “We can’t go pointing fingers, Borca.”
Dae nodded, but his mind was already boiling with the possibilities. He had his suspicions; they burned through his mind like a raging inferno. He knew whom he could trust, and whom he could not trust.
Don’t trust the woman, she means to betray you.
Dae glanced around the room, for a moment. It was a whisper in a voice he did not recognize but very much understood. For some reason he wanted to believe if for no other reason then because it seemed the most plausible.
Malstrom glanced to Dae, and then looked to Vykos, “What do we do next?”
Vykos replied with his usual casual grin, “We rest of course. We sleep and dream. We have faced a bitter defeat this day. But we have the morrow, we start anew, and do not give up.”
*****************************************************
The smell of seasoned, and cooked orc flesh, wafted up to Runt’s nose. The dawn was beginning to set, and the orcs had made camp. It was a loud affair of eating, shouts, and carousing. The halfling slaves rushed about trying to keep the orcs fed, and happy, so as to not draw their ire.
Runt ate his meal quietly, and glanced to the bandage over his left shoulder, where a Sarcosan blade had bit his flesh. The wound would heal, and leave a proud scar for the orc scout. It had been a good night, and Runt had earned twelve new scars, of honest kills. The One God had favored him on the battlefield and granted him great prowess to destroy the heathens that threatened his blessed order.
Runt turned and saw the Priest Mother, standing watching her faithful feast, and celebrate the victory. She was slim for an orc, but impressively muscled. She had a mane of black hair that blew in the wind, and her tusks were sharp and powerful. Her face was angular, framing her red eyes, almost perfectly. She was a beauty among her kind, and Runt admired her, it would be an honor to earn the right to be her consort, and father her children. She would give him strong kin, and Izrador would bless them for greatness.
Sitting near her was his chieftain, Garnak. One of the most powerful orcs Runt had ever met, and if he did not mistake it, quite crafty. He had peculiar habits, his armor was immaculate, and he kept himself well groomed, and spoke with words that most orcs would find useless or perhaps too flowery. But his prowess on the field of battle was well known, he wore many scars from his kills, and he was a good strong leader. Although Runt saw that unlike other males, Garnak approached the females as if he was their equal, it was nearly heresy, and he wondered just how long the Priest Mother’s would stand such insolence.
Runt instinctively drew his kukri and held it close to hand trying to snatch some of his meat. It belonged to a burly orc with a large gut. His eyes were a milky red, and he was missing his left tusk. The larger orc sneered, “You too small Runt, let me have this, I am bigger, give it to me little one.”
Runt narrowed his eyes, “I will have my fill, Utha, now take your hand from my food, or your hand will join my meal.”
Utha slowly recoiled his hand, and then looked to the other orcs, many of them watching the larger orc defer to Runt. Utha stood and puffed out his chest, “Give me your meat, Runt, or I kill you.”
Runt stood and growled, “You must try first,” as he looked up, he stood nearly a head shorter then Utha, but his frame was muscled and wiry. Many of the orcs stood, and formed a circle around the two, watching with great interest. Vuna walked towards the circle, interested to see what the males were gawking at.
Utha growled bearing his yellowed teeth, and drew a dagger; the blade was sharp, although crudely made. Runt drew his kukri, the blade was equally sharp, but had been crafted in a dwarven forge. Runt had killed the dwarf with a dagger similar to Utha’s.
Utha slowly began to circle Runt, and Runt followed suit, the two staring at each other with hate. Utha growled, and lunged forward, letting out a powerful roar. Runt though was ready, and brought his kukri up under his forearm, he rolled to the side, and let the blade slash at Utha’s thigh drawing a line of black blood along his furry leg. Runt rolled, and came up in a low, crouch, as Utha turned quickly, he simply chuckled at the slash.
“You are weak Runt, you is too small to be proper orc, you will have no mate little one. I will enjoy eating your flesh, weakling,” Utha grinned.
Runt narrowed his eyes; he kept his distance from Utha, and weighed his options. Utha was stronger, but Runt knew he was quicker. Utha may have been laughing but he knew that Utha was hurt, but Runt realized that his shoulder still ached from the ambush. All things considered, he figured he had an even chance of winning the fight, and with the larger orcs need for bluster; probably better then that.
Utha tried to intimidate Runt by using his own dagger to carve a scar across his chest and show just how little pain he actually felt, as blood dribbled from the self-inflicted wound. Runt just watched, realizing that Utha may be tougher then he had earlier realized.
Utha stalked forward, as Runt waited crouched. Utha tried to stab downward with his blade. Runt rolled to the side, coming to his feet and ready. He stayed on the defensive, parrying and dodging. Utha became frustrated, and swung wide; Runt ducked and stabbed his kukri deep into Utha’s side, piercing vitals, and then pulled the blade out with a spray of black blood and sliced flesh.
Runt spun with his slash, moving away from Utha, as the large orc clutches at his injury. Somehow the fat orc was still standing, malice and rage burning in his pale red eyes. He rushed forward, taking Runt by surprise and tackled the smaller orc. The larger orc let out a roar as they fell back. Runt landed hard on his back, and the larger orc fell on top of him. Luckily Runt placed his blade between himself and Utha, and the blade bit deep into the larger orc’s belly. Runt could feel warm blood; he struggled to get the larger orc off him. He struggled free, and realized that his shoulder wound was bleeding, once more. He winced from the pain, as he stood, his kukri black with blood and regarded his peers.
Runt added another scar to his good shoulder.
Vuna was impressed and moved forward. Runt blinked as he saw the Priest Mother approach and bowed his head, in deference. The gathered orcs did not dare to look directly at the blessed Priest Mother. Vuna whispered a word of prayer to the One God, and her hands took on a sickening red glow, she placed it on Runt’s shoulder, and their was the sound of burning flesh as the wound cauterized and sealed, leaving another scar on the orc’s flesh.
Runt felt a brief wash of pain, and then there was nothing. He glanced to his shoulder, the bandage was gone, and only a scar remained from the wound he had received. The Priest Mother had given him a blessing, and healed his wounds. She turned from Runt, and moved back to where she was seated, without a word. Runt stood motionless, and then glanced around, seeing looks of jealousy on many eyes, but none dared act on it, after glancing to Utha. The tribe would feast well that night.
***************************************************
The Corruption…
Dae slept that night, and he dreamed…
Dae laid on the soft snow, and felt a burning in his mind as the alien whisper continued to speak to him in a hushed tone, as if it feared discovery, "She knows you know. She is already plotting against you, she will be the death of you."
Dae sat up, and spotted a flickering figure amidst the soft snow fall, a maiden dressed in a soft blue and white gown, her skin, was warm to the touch as she knelt next to him, and wrapped an arm around him to help him sit up. She was beautiful and yet a being of awe, as she continued to speak, "Do not fret, and do not know fear for there is one among you that can help you, the dwarf, Borca, knows of her treachery." She smiled softly, bearing perfect white teeth, at her hip Dae noticed the slender shortsword that Borca always carried, the hilt was covered in smooth leather, and the bottom of the hilt sported a black gem of some type, a swirling black of mystery.
The woman kissed his forehead, and then retreated into the mists, as she continued to speak, still only a soft whisper, "She knows..."
Dae then awoke in a cold sweat...
The Guide
The young elfling, Semmarin was troubled…
Sleeping was easy; his body had been broken, bruised, and even dead, only to breath a second breath on a field of death. The whisper of the trees, whispered danger to his heart, the animals of the woods, shout cries against the encroaching darkness. The world itself was dying, every day, and he could feel the pain right in the very fiber of his soul. Semmarin was not even sure if he was sleeping anymore but he saw the world far below, and felt the wind on his face. The sky was dark, contrasting with the large white feathers beneath him, as he sat atop a massive dove; it glided amidst the darkness, the wind growing bitter and cold. Yet the dove remained strong and warm.
Below Semmarin could see a great army amassing, the dove swooped down closer to the frozen earth, and the horde shouted, as arrows flew, but the dove pressed ever onward, amidst the swarm of arrows and javelins, still pressing on further North, into the eye of the encroaching storm. It was only then when he noticed the blood on his hands, the Dove was bleeding, and it crashed to the earth, in a heap throwing the elfling onto the icy ground, nearly shattering his bones, but he lived still.
The Dove looked up, "You must not lose hope, that is all we have against the Shadow, hope and the will to fight on against evil. Not just the evils of man, not just the evils of darkness, but pure evil, in a form so heinous, that it corrupts the very earth itself," the Dove stood, its wing broken, but still it would not give up, "There can be no good in this world, if we lose hope. Believe in me, but more importantly believe in you. You will have to make the choice between what is right, and what is wrong, the group is splintering, and you will suffer further tragedy, by your own hands."
The Dove stepped forward, hobbling as it spoke, "You must know trust, and you must know who to trust."
At that moment Semmarin woke up to the smell of Tuk's cooking...
The Past
That same voice in the woods, and on the battle field, that same look in the orc's eyes, perhaps it was just a fleeting memory, as Malstrom slept, the pain of his wounds still burning all across the dworg’s body though subsided by the care of Valthis, it is still bothersome. But his sleep was anything but peaceful, as he dreamt of what could have been, what had come to pass, and that, which was often forgotten in the shadows of time. He could recall early in his travels a small village of miners, or perhaps a better term would have been slaves in the service to a puppet prince of the Shadow. The village was small and poor, but they had pride, and this pride grew into rebellion.
The men enlisted Malstrom’s aid despite your heritage, and he was given a simple weapon, and a wooden shield, as the men descended upon the encampment of the Shadow's forces, only to face the full wrath of the shadow, and the orc forces that had been itching to taste of man-flesh. It was a slaughter, and the young chieftain of the orcs, smashed the rebellion, and showed no mercy for their insurrection. The men were slain in the fighting, and then placed on pikes, while the women and children were killed in their sleep, and then left to burn as they lit the flames of the fire.
But the dworg, they had fun with, he remembered the fun they had, breaking his fingers, scarring his back, for days on end, until they grew tired, and tied the dworg’s arms to a long wooden shaft, and released the wolves on him. He remembered the orc chieftain's face, the one they called Garnak Mansplitter, Malstrom remembered the intense nature of his reddish gray eyes as he let out the command to let the hunt begin. But somehow, he survived, he ran for days, until exhaustion, and then beat the two wolves to death once the warrior had managed to remove the wooden pole... the vision was all too intense as he relived it, but he awoke in the bed, to the smell of a halfling breakfast...
**************************************************
The morning came all too quickly for the insurgents. The air was still salty with scorn, and distrust. Vykos seemed to weather it all with a faint sardonic smile, but the meal was hushed, even as Tuk tried to engage in a hearty discussion of the various recipes he had used to create the meal.
Vykos spoke as the meal drew to a close, “We need to speak of our future plans.”
Malstrom nodded, “Indeed we do, but first my companions and I, need to speak of what we plan to do,” he gestured to Semmarin and Dae.
Corine raised a brow, “Why is that?”
“We must decide if we wish to stay with this group or press on by ourselves. We need to evaluate our options,” the dworg replied diplomatically.
Vykos nodded, “Then make your decision.”
Malstrom nodded, and stood, both Dae and Semmarin following him upstairs. They closed the trapped door behind them, and sat looking at each other in silence for a moment before Malstrom spoke, “I don’t know if we can trust everyone in our group.”
Dae grunted in acknowledgement, “Indeed I only trust those in this room.”
“So you think you know who are traitor is?” Semmarin replied in a whisper.
“I think it is Corine, I mean how did she survive on her own?” Malstrom replied, “She may be good, but she isn’t that good.”
Dae nodded, “I agree, the woman is the most likely traitor. I had a dream last night that confirmed as much.”
“A dream?” Semmarin replied.
“Aye,” Dae replied, “A voice told me to not trust the woman, it told me that we could trust Borca though.”
Malstrom mulled over the words, “How do we know we can trust the voice?”
“I don’t know, but it seems true enough to me, Corine has had the most opportunity,” Dae replied.
“Hmm,” Semmarin replied, “I think we should speak to Borca.”
“Perhaps we should stay with this group, and alert Borca of our plan,” Malstrom replied.
“We may have to kill Corine, if she turns out to be the traitor,” Semmarin replied, “are we prepared to do that?”
“I am,” Dae’s voice flat and calm.
“Then we are decided, we stay, and Dae you speak to Borca,” Malstrom replied, “when you are both alone.”
Semmarin nodded, “I hope we are wrong.”
Malstrom nodded, “We must be prepared to do what must be done for the good of the Resistance. We cannot let betrayal from within defeat us.”
The trio agreed, and proceeded downstairs.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Tokiwong said:
Great intrigue Tokiwong!
I remember that Corine is an NPC...how about Borca?
Tokiwong
First Post
Needless Sacrifice
“I am relieved that you have decided to stay with us, all of you,” Vykos replied to Malstrom. He reclined in his chair, and rested his hand delicately on the table, “We have faced a major setback. But from the ashes of failure, a new and even more daring plan can be spawned, but it will take great sacrifice on your parts.”
Corine nodded, “And what do you have in mind?’
“In my studies and readings, I have found references to a place simply called the Temple of Souls, it is said that this hidden place houses artifacts of power. Perhaps they may give us a way to even the odds against the forces of Shadow, for they hold the advantage, and we are few. Desperate times, call for desperate measures,” Vykos replied.
“Indeed, Archwizard. This is indeed if ye want us to be questing for some place such as this, do you know where it is?” Borca replied.
Vykos grinned, “No, but one of you knows someone that does.”
Malstrom scanned the table, “Who?”
“Tuk, when he was a slave, came into contact with a sage in Al Kadil, perhaps we can exploit that, and get in contact with this man, and get the information for its location. Indeed, the journey will not be easy, but we have a chance for success I cannot let pass. Valthis and myself will linger here to try and muster resistance. The rest of you should leave on the morrow, it will be a long journey, if you choose to go,” Vykos replied.
Borca shrugged, “I am in, if we gets a chance to kill orcs, then why not?”
Malstrom and Dae both nodded, the two large warriors glancing to Corine. She nodded her head in agreement, and shifted the focus to Semmarin; he shrugged, and then nodded his head.
Tuk sighed, “I can’t see why we can’t try, but it will be a dangerous journey.”
Semmarin grinned, “Of course it will.”
Malstrom nodded, “We will rest another night then, but for the moment, I want to check the site of the ambush and dispose of any lingering corpses. I do not wish to deal with any fell.”
Dae stood, “We should get to it.”
Semmarin stood as well, “Borca would you care to help us?”
Borca shrugged, “Honest work, and it must be done, lets get to it.”
****************************************************
Borca tossed another body onto the pile, and then tossed his torch onto the gathering of corpses. The flame slowly burned, as the smell of dead burning flesh filled the air. Dae tossed another body onto the growing pyre of corpses.
Dae turned to Borca, “I think that is all of them.”
Borca nodded looking off into the distance, “Aye, I think so.”
“So Borca what do you think of the attack, you think we have a traitor?” Dae tried to sound casual but his voice was gruff.
Borca glanced up to Dae with a quizzical look, as he stroked his beard, “That be an odd question, well of course we have a traitor, the question is whom isn’t it?”
“That is why I am asking you, you seem to know the others better then me,” Dae replied, trying to ease the aging dwarf.
Borca grinned, “I get the feeling you know who the traitor is.”
Dae shrugged, trying to avoid the obvious, “Who do you trust?”
“I trust no one completely, Dorn. But if I had to pick someone I trust less then others, it would have to be probably the same person you don’t trust,” Borca replied kicking a hand back onto the flames.
Dae spoke quietly, “I had a dream Borca, and in that dream I was told I could trust you, a voice told me not to trust the woman-”
“You have seen the lady in blue,” Borca replied with a toothy smile.
“The lady in blue?” Dae replied somewhat surprised.
“Yeah I see her too, not all that pretty not enough stubble on the chin for me tests, not like me wife,” he grinned, a dark grin.
“Aye, well to answer your question I think Corine cannot be trusted,” Dae added.
“I be knowing that for some time now, but the others don’t see it, but she knows, she always knows lad. The lady in blue has never steered me wrong,” Borca replied.
Borca started walking back towards the rest of the group, “The question is now what do we do about it?”
Both Semmarin and Malstrom saw the two approaching, and finished their business and joined the conversation. Both interested to see if the dwarf could truly be trusted, and hoping that they had not made a fatal mistake. The look on Dae’s face put them at ease though.
Dae replied as he glanced to Malstrom and Semmarin, “I do not know what we should do for now.”
Semmarin spoke, “We should wait, and observe her, and let her expose herself.”
“Whatever we do, she must not be alone, but we also cannot show that we suspect her, or the ruse will fail,” Malstrom added.
“So what do we do if she turns out to be the traitor?” Semmarin asked.
“We kill her,” Borca replied icily.
*****************************************************
It was raining again, five days of rain, ice-cold rain. The landscape was wet and muddy, and Corine walked silently next to Dae. The party had set out for Al-Kadil, but had decided to make a side trek to Hope Point to pickup supplies, and a masterwork blade for Dae. But considering that the rest of the group was fae, she and Dae had decided to go alone into Hope Point, although Borca waited outside the town about a half-mile out, and the rest of the party was nearly a day away.
Corine shivered as they approached two orc sentries. The creatures stood taller then Dae, and there black skin and fur, was wet, and smelled horrible. There armor was dirty, and decorated in wicked spikes, making their already imposing visages all the more sinister. Corine smiled weakly, but her mind burned with hatred. She hated orcs, but she kept that rage in check, it would be no use to her here. Her only weapon a thin dagger tucked into her boot.
The shorter of the orcs, spoke to Dae with a sneer in his grin, “Stop human, and come closer so that we may inspect ye.”
Dae grumbled, “Aye,” he walked towards the orcs and complied with the sentry’s command.
The orc gruffly grabbed his face and inspected it closely, and then padded him down quickly. He shoved Dae past, and did the same to Corine, until he was satisfied, “Get along human, and cause no trouble. Take your wench with ye.”
Dae grabbed Corine by the hand and led her into the city, before she did something that would get them both in trouble.
They walked quickly down the broad avenue towards a large square. The street was lined with refuse and the poor. It was muddy, and the road was a slick mess. Dae kept his long fur jacket close around him as he passed a hanging cage, where a cutpurse of some type was languishing thin from malnourishment, and mad with exposure.
A large crowd was gathering in the square, orc sentries seemed to be keeping the people penned in. A raised stage stood at the center of the crowd, and a tall Erenlander male was speaking to the gathering. He was not tall, but his presence was forceful, and his dark hair, and pale eyes made him stand out. He wore a suit of black chainmail, and wore the symbol of Izrador upon his chest. A red cloak billowed in the rain, and although his face and hair was wet, it did not deter his fiery speech.
Next to the legate was a large orc, his fur and skin was slick with water, and he focused on the crowd. Although his right hand was vice gripped around the back of a youth’s neck. The lad seemed to weep and whimper, dressed in thin rags, soaked to the bone, he shivered, in the downpour.
Dae glanced to Corine and tried to find an escape, but a forceful look by an orc deterred him. The two insurgents joined the crowd, hoping to not stand out.
The legate scanned the crowd and continued his tirade, “So this, this” he gestured to the youth, “is how you repay the One God’s generosity? You would dare to believe that you know better then he? Some would even dare to strike against him! This is chaos and madness,” he shouted in the Erenland tongue.
People muttered, as the legate paused and walked to the edge of the raised stage. He pointed into the crowd, “Do not believe the lies that these misguided miscreants spew. Do not fall into temptation and forsake the One God, for you will know only suffering and death. Do not follow the path of this one here,” he turned to the youth, running his hands roughly through his blonde hair.
He grabbed a hold and pulled his head back, and spoke loudly, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, heretic?”
The boy screamed loudly, “Father! Please help me,” but nothing happened only silence, as people watched the legate draw his blade. The boy wept loudly, but no one stirred. To the crowd he was already dead.
The legate turned to the crowd letting go of the boy, “There will be decisive and immediate punishment for those that dare to challenge the Church of the One God. There is only one fate for those who sin so greatly against our Lord.”
The orc pushed the boy forward, and the legate spun bring the blade down in a wide arc, drawing a clean line of blood across the boy’s side. He collapsed, and tried to crawl forward, his lifeblood pooling on the slick muddy wood of the stage. The legate gripped the blade in both hands and brought it down through the youth into the hard wood. He stopped moving, he gurgled something incomprehensible, before his eyes glazed.
The legate turned to the crowd, “This is the fate of all those that challenge the One God.” He pulled the blade free, and cleaned it, and then exited the stage, the crowd parting before the legate, and his orc entourage.
**************************************************
Semmarin crouched and looked around the green clearing. He was nervous the journey had gone all too well, and the weather was now cooperating. Things were perhaps going too well as he scanned the surroundings with his sharp eyes but spied nothing out of the ordinary.
Malstrom rested, his dworg eyes more useful at night, when he could see much better then the others could, even if it was in hues of gray. His large form was curled up on the cool ground and he dozed, as Tuk tended to a midday meal.
Semmarin stepped close to Tuk, and took a peak in the pot, “That rabbit smells good Tuk, you do good work.”
Tuk grinned, “Ah I do the best I can with what we have, not the right blend of spices, but the flavor should suffice, I know a recipe for rabbit that is just delicious. I wrote it in me cookbook. Once we find some right minded civilization, I will have to prepare it for you.”
Semmarin raised a brow, “You can read and write?”
“Aye I can read, milord. I learned when I was a scribe in the service of a legate, it was part of me duties, and I did them well mind you,” Tuk replied proudly, “You wish to see my cookbook?”
“Another time Tuk, I do not know how to read,” Semmarin replied awkwardly.
“Oh, well perhaps I can teach you milord, I mean it is the least I can do for this wonderful bow you gave me milord,” Tuk replied, spooning out a portion for the elfling.
Semmarin took the warm bowl, and sampled the food, it was as he had come to expect, quite delicious. The halfling was spoiling them with such good food. He could not remember the last time he had eaten so well, since he had left the Aruun all those years ago. Tuk grabbed himself a bowl, and the two ate in relative silence savoring the flavor, of the rabbit stew.
Semmarin paused for a moment though. His senses were much more acutely attuned then Tuk’s, and he glanced around. He felt the earth shift slightly beneath him. Semmarin stood, and drew his longbow. The weapon was sleek, and well crafted, a testament to Semmarin’s own skill.
Tuk placed the bowl down, and looked around, “What do you see?” as he nervously clutched his shortbow.
Semmarin was bout to speak, when a tree went sailing overhead, slamming into the ground across the tree. A large brutish humanoid loomed into view, its skin was a sickly gray, and its arms were long and muscled. In one hand it clutched a large war club, which it swung casually. Its face was stretched in a wide a grin as it spotted the two tiny fae, its mouth filled with gnarled yellow-brown teeth. It stepped forward, its gait was awkward, as it picked its way through the thick brush. It stood well over three times Semmarin’s height, its figure dominating the clearing.
Malstrom having heard the commotion grabbed his greataxe, and rolled to his feet. He turned and stared upward as the ogre loomed over the burly dworg. Malstrom shouted, “An ogre!”
Semmarin rolled away from the ogre, and raised his bow, and let an arrow fly. The arrow pierced the tough flesh of the creature, causing it to stumble. Black blood dribbled from the wound, as it brought its trunk of a club down on the dworg. Malstrom raised his axe, and blocked the massive club. But his muscles strained under the brunt of the attack, forcing him back from the attack.
Tuk raised his shortbow, and steeled himself as he let his small arrow dart right into the flesh of the ogre. It seemed more annoyed then hurt, and continued to focus on the dworg in front of it. Malstrom swung his massive axe and caused the ogre to stumble back to evade the strike. The stumble did not deter the brute as it stepped forward and swung the club in a low arc, smashing the trunk into Malstrom’s side. The dworg sprawled backward, landing on his back. He sat up, and spat up blood, and slowly got to his feet as the ogre pressed the attack. Both Semmarin and Tuk, put more arrows into the brute, but it kept coming.
Malstrom turned to flee, but the ogre reached back and brought his war club over his head and crushed the dworg where he stood, in a sickening sound of shattered bones. The dworg died almost instantly, from the powerful blow.
Tuk screamed, “Malstrom!” and let another arrow fly, piercing the ogre’s cheek. It stumbled back, bleeding from several wounds, and turned to retreat. Although it was still hungry, the large humanoid fled the clearing as quickly as it could, its long stride, although awkward, allowed it flee into the forest with great haste.
But the damage had been done.
*****************************************************
Dae and Corine stepped into the smoky tavern. Several gnomes glanced up from tables eyeing the two strangers with suspicion. But one of the gnomes, a slim pipe smoking nave with a wild gray mop of hair, stood and approached the two insurgents. He looked up to the large Dorn and grinned widely, “Aye it seems like ye be returning for your blade eh?”
Dae nodded, “That was the deal.”
“The captain be waiting in the back,” the gnome turned, “I will let him know you be here.”
Corine turned to Dae, “This blade better be worth all this trouble,” she spoke softly.
Dae grinned, “A masterwork short blade crafted by a dwarf smith, I think is worth this trouble.”
Corine paused, “What if this is a trap?”
“I trust them, they helped us out before,” Dae replied, as the gnome returned with a healthy grin, and generous puffs of smoke.
“The captain says he can see ye,” the gnome replied and walked towards the back.
Corine and Dae followed, the smaller back room, was darkly lit, and a single dark haired gnome sat reading over ledger notes. He was graying in the temples, and he wore a thin mustache, on his tanned weathered face. He wore simple finery, and had an open bottle of Sarcosan brandy on his desk.
The door closed behind Dae as he spoke, “Captain Brighthand, nice to see you again.”
The gnome nodded, “Welcome back Dae, it seems you have returned in more pleasant company,” eyeing Corine with a nod.
Dae replied, “She is a friend, do you have the goods?”
The captain reached down, and placed a large thin box on the table. He opened it, and inside was the gleaming short blade, it was a beautiful and sharp. Dae grinned, “We need supplies any way you can help us?”
“I can spare some rations from my ship, ten days worth, but that is about it, my men have to eat as well, Dae,” the captain replied.
“That is plenty,” Corine interjected before Dae could reply.
Dae grumbled but scooped up the weapon, “I take it you put the rest of the metal to good use?”
The captain nodded, “It wasn’t wasted, now you best be going, this place isn’t a right minded place for people like ye. The orc patrols be looking for you and your dworg companion.”
Dae grinned, “Thanks again Captain, I hope we cross paths again.”
***************************************************
Borca lead the way into the clearing, as the sun dipped into the west. The cover of nightfall did not cover the scent of burning flesh, and the fact that the campsite was nowhere to be found. The broken trees, and large footprints littered the clearing, and blood both black and red, were visible in the moonlight.
Corine crouched down inspecting droplets of black blood, “Shadow,” she hissed.
Borca glanced to Dae, and then to Corine, her back turned. The dwarf grumbled, “I wonder what could have gotten them?”
Semmarin dropped from the trees, causing his allies to raise their weapons, “An ogre,” the elfling offered showing his palms. He stepped forward, “It killed Malstrom, and we chased it off. It returned a few times, but we hid in the trees, and it seemed quite aggravated that we had eluded it. We burned his corpse he would have wanted it that way.”
Dae scowled, “Malstrom was a good friend.”
“Aye I will miss the dworg, he had character, and was a good man despite his lineage. May ye rest in peace lad, too bad you could not go all the way to the end,” Borca replied to no one in particular.
Corine sighed, “This is not a good start to our quest.”
Tuk scampered down the tree, and stood with the rest, “What do we do now?”
Semmarin hefted up his pack over his shoulder, “We press on. Malstrom would have wanted us to complete the mission, we mourn him. But we honor him by succeeding. That is what we do now.”
“Aye elfling, lets go,” Borca followed Semmarin.
Corine turned and followed, but there was a look of loss in her eyes, as Dae turned as well. Tuk sniffled a tear back, “You will be missed Malstrom. We won’t fail, I promise!” The halfling scampered after the insurgents.
“I am relieved that you have decided to stay with us, all of you,” Vykos replied to Malstrom. He reclined in his chair, and rested his hand delicately on the table, “We have faced a major setback. But from the ashes of failure, a new and even more daring plan can be spawned, but it will take great sacrifice on your parts.”
Corine nodded, “And what do you have in mind?’
“In my studies and readings, I have found references to a place simply called the Temple of Souls, it is said that this hidden place houses artifacts of power. Perhaps they may give us a way to even the odds against the forces of Shadow, for they hold the advantage, and we are few. Desperate times, call for desperate measures,” Vykos replied.
“Indeed, Archwizard. This is indeed if ye want us to be questing for some place such as this, do you know where it is?” Borca replied.
Vykos grinned, “No, but one of you knows someone that does.”
Malstrom scanned the table, “Who?”
“Tuk, when he was a slave, came into contact with a sage in Al Kadil, perhaps we can exploit that, and get in contact with this man, and get the information for its location. Indeed, the journey will not be easy, but we have a chance for success I cannot let pass. Valthis and myself will linger here to try and muster resistance. The rest of you should leave on the morrow, it will be a long journey, if you choose to go,” Vykos replied.
Borca shrugged, “I am in, if we gets a chance to kill orcs, then why not?”
Malstrom and Dae both nodded, the two large warriors glancing to Corine. She nodded her head in agreement, and shifted the focus to Semmarin; he shrugged, and then nodded his head.
Tuk sighed, “I can’t see why we can’t try, but it will be a dangerous journey.”
Semmarin grinned, “Of course it will.”
Malstrom nodded, “We will rest another night then, but for the moment, I want to check the site of the ambush and dispose of any lingering corpses. I do not wish to deal with any fell.”
Dae stood, “We should get to it.”
Semmarin stood as well, “Borca would you care to help us?”
Borca shrugged, “Honest work, and it must be done, lets get to it.”
****************************************************
Borca tossed another body onto the pile, and then tossed his torch onto the gathering of corpses. The flame slowly burned, as the smell of dead burning flesh filled the air. Dae tossed another body onto the growing pyre of corpses.
Dae turned to Borca, “I think that is all of them.”
Borca nodded looking off into the distance, “Aye, I think so.”
“So Borca what do you think of the attack, you think we have a traitor?” Dae tried to sound casual but his voice was gruff.
Borca glanced up to Dae with a quizzical look, as he stroked his beard, “That be an odd question, well of course we have a traitor, the question is whom isn’t it?”
“That is why I am asking you, you seem to know the others better then me,” Dae replied, trying to ease the aging dwarf.
Borca grinned, “I get the feeling you know who the traitor is.”
Dae shrugged, trying to avoid the obvious, “Who do you trust?”
“I trust no one completely, Dorn. But if I had to pick someone I trust less then others, it would have to be probably the same person you don’t trust,” Borca replied kicking a hand back onto the flames.
Dae spoke quietly, “I had a dream Borca, and in that dream I was told I could trust you, a voice told me not to trust the woman-”
“You have seen the lady in blue,” Borca replied with a toothy smile.
“The lady in blue?” Dae replied somewhat surprised.
“Yeah I see her too, not all that pretty not enough stubble on the chin for me tests, not like me wife,” he grinned, a dark grin.
“Aye, well to answer your question I think Corine cannot be trusted,” Dae added.
“I be knowing that for some time now, but the others don’t see it, but she knows, she always knows lad. The lady in blue has never steered me wrong,” Borca replied.
Borca started walking back towards the rest of the group, “The question is now what do we do about it?”
Both Semmarin and Malstrom saw the two approaching, and finished their business and joined the conversation. Both interested to see if the dwarf could truly be trusted, and hoping that they had not made a fatal mistake. The look on Dae’s face put them at ease though.
Dae replied as he glanced to Malstrom and Semmarin, “I do not know what we should do for now.”
Semmarin spoke, “We should wait, and observe her, and let her expose herself.”
“Whatever we do, she must not be alone, but we also cannot show that we suspect her, or the ruse will fail,” Malstrom added.
“So what do we do if she turns out to be the traitor?” Semmarin asked.
“We kill her,” Borca replied icily.
*****************************************************
It was raining again, five days of rain, ice-cold rain. The landscape was wet and muddy, and Corine walked silently next to Dae. The party had set out for Al-Kadil, but had decided to make a side trek to Hope Point to pickup supplies, and a masterwork blade for Dae. But considering that the rest of the group was fae, she and Dae had decided to go alone into Hope Point, although Borca waited outside the town about a half-mile out, and the rest of the party was nearly a day away.
Corine shivered as they approached two orc sentries. The creatures stood taller then Dae, and there black skin and fur, was wet, and smelled horrible. There armor was dirty, and decorated in wicked spikes, making their already imposing visages all the more sinister. Corine smiled weakly, but her mind burned with hatred. She hated orcs, but she kept that rage in check, it would be no use to her here. Her only weapon a thin dagger tucked into her boot.
The shorter of the orcs, spoke to Dae with a sneer in his grin, “Stop human, and come closer so that we may inspect ye.”
Dae grumbled, “Aye,” he walked towards the orcs and complied with the sentry’s command.
The orc gruffly grabbed his face and inspected it closely, and then padded him down quickly. He shoved Dae past, and did the same to Corine, until he was satisfied, “Get along human, and cause no trouble. Take your wench with ye.”
Dae grabbed Corine by the hand and led her into the city, before she did something that would get them both in trouble.
They walked quickly down the broad avenue towards a large square. The street was lined with refuse and the poor. It was muddy, and the road was a slick mess. Dae kept his long fur jacket close around him as he passed a hanging cage, where a cutpurse of some type was languishing thin from malnourishment, and mad with exposure.
A large crowd was gathering in the square, orc sentries seemed to be keeping the people penned in. A raised stage stood at the center of the crowd, and a tall Erenlander male was speaking to the gathering. He was not tall, but his presence was forceful, and his dark hair, and pale eyes made him stand out. He wore a suit of black chainmail, and wore the symbol of Izrador upon his chest. A red cloak billowed in the rain, and although his face and hair was wet, it did not deter his fiery speech.
Next to the legate was a large orc, his fur and skin was slick with water, and he focused on the crowd. Although his right hand was vice gripped around the back of a youth’s neck. The lad seemed to weep and whimper, dressed in thin rags, soaked to the bone, he shivered, in the downpour.
Dae glanced to Corine and tried to find an escape, but a forceful look by an orc deterred him. The two insurgents joined the crowd, hoping to not stand out.
The legate scanned the crowd and continued his tirade, “So this, this” he gestured to the youth, “is how you repay the One God’s generosity? You would dare to believe that you know better then he? Some would even dare to strike against him! This is chaos and madness,” he shouted in the Erenland tongue.
People muttered, as the legate paused and walked to the edge of the raised stage. He pointed into the crowd, “Do not believe the lies that these misguided miscreants spew. Do not fall into temptation and forsake the One God, for you will know only suffering and death. Do not follow the path of this one here,” he turned to the youth, running his hands roughly through his blonde hair.
He grabbed a hold and pulled his head back, and spoke loudly, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, heretic?”
The boy screamed loudly, “Father! Please help me,” but nothing happened only silence, as people watched the legate draw his blade. The boy wept loudly, but no one stirred. To the crowd he was already dead.
The legate turned to the crowd letting go of the boy, “There will be decisive and immediate punishment for those that dare to challenge the Church of the One God. There is only one fate for those who sin so greatly against our Lord.”
The orc pushed the boy forward, and the legate spun bring the blade down in a wide arc, drawing a clean line of blood across the boy’s side. He collapsed, and tried to crawl forward, his lifeblood pooling on the slick muddy wood of the stage. The legate gripped the blade in both hands and brought it down through the youth into the hard wood. He stopped moving, he gurgled something incomprehensible, before his eyes glazed.
The legate turned to the crowd, “This is the fate of all those that challenge the One God.” He pulled the blade free, and cleaned it, and then exited the stage, the crowd parting before the legate, and his orc entourage.
**************************************************
Semmarin crouched and looked around the green clearing. He was nervous the journey had gone all too well, and the weather was now cooperating. Things were perhaps going too well as he scanned the surroundings with his sharp eyes but spied nothing out of the ordinary.
Malstrom rested, his dworg eyes more useful at night, when he could see much better then the others could, even if it was in hues of gray. His large form was curled up on the cool ground and he dozed, as Tuk tended to a midday meal.
Semmarin stepped close to Tuk, and took a peak in the pot, “That rabbit smells good Tuk, you do good work.”
Tuk grinned, “Ah I do the best I can with what we have, not the right blend of spices, but the flavor should suffice, I know a recipe for rabbit that is just delicious. I wrote it in me cookbook. Once we find some right minded civilization, I will have to prepare it for you.”
Semmarin raised a brow, “You can read and write?”
“Aye I can read, milord. I learned when I was a scribe in the service of a legate, it was part of me duties, and I did them well mind you,” Tuk replied proudly, “You wish to see my cookbook?”
“Another time Tuk, I do not know how to read,” Semmarin replied awkwardly.
“Oh, well perhaps I can teach you milord, I mean it is the least I can do for this wonderful bow you gave me milord,” Tuk replied, spooning out a portion for the elfling.
Semmarin took the warm bowl, and sampled the food, it was as he had come to expect, quite delicious. The halfling was spoiling them with such good food. He could not remember the last time he had eaten so well, since he had left the Aruun all those years ago. Tuk grabbed himself a bowl, and the two ate in relative silence savoring the flavor, of the rabbit stew.
Semmarin paused for a moment though. His senses were much more acutely attuned then Tuk’s, and he glanced around. He felt the earth shift slightly beneath him. Semmarin stood, and drew his longbow. The weapon was sleek, and well crafted, a testament to Semmarin’s own skill.
Tuk placed the bowl down, and looked around, “What do you see?” as he nervously clutched his shortbow.
Semmarin was bout to speak, when a tree went sailing overhead, slamming into the ground across the tree. A large brutish humanoid loomed into view, its skin was a sickly gray, and its arms were long and muscled. In one hand it clutched a large war club, which it swung casually. Its face was stretched in a wide a grin as it spotted the two tiny fae, its mouth filled with gnarled yellow-brown teeth. It stepped forward, its gait was awkward, as it picked its way through the thick brush. It stood well over three times Semmarin’s height, its figure dominating the clearing.
Malstrom having heard the commotion grabbed his greataxe, and rolled to his feet. He turned and stared upward as the ogre loomed over the burly dworg. Malstrom shouted, “An ogre!”
Semmarin rolled away from the ogre, and raised his bow, and let an arrow fly. The arrow pierced the tough flesh of the creature, causing it to stumble. Black blood dribbled from the wound, as it brought its trunk of a club down on the dworg. Malstrom raised his axe, and blocked the massive club. But his muscles strained under the brunt of the attack, forcing him back from the attack.
Tuk raised his shortbow, and steeled himself as he let his small arrow dart right into the flesh of the ogre. It seemed more annoyed then hurt, and continued to focus on the dworg in front of it. Malstrom swung his massive axe and caused the ogre to stumble back to evade the strike. The stumble did not deter the brute as it stepped forward and swung the club in a low arc, smashing the trunk into Malstrom’s side. The dworg sprawled backward, landing on his back. He sat up, and spat up blood, and slowly got to his feet as the ogre pressed the attack. Both Semmarin and Tuk, put more arrows into the brute, but it kept coming.
Malstrom turned to flee, but the ogre reached back and brought his war club over his head and crushed the dworg where he stood, in a sickening sound of shattered bones. The dworg died almost instantly, from the powerful blow.
Tuk screamed, “Malstrom!” and let another arrow fly, piercing the ogre’s cheek. It stumbled back, bleeding from several wounds, and turned to retreat. Although it was still hungry, the large humanoid fled the clearing as quickly as it could, its long stride, although awkward, allowed it flee into the forest with great haste.
But the damage had been done.
*****************************************************
Dae and Corine stepped into the smoky tavern. Several gnomes glanced up from tables eyeing the two strangers with suspicion. But one of the gnomes, a slim pipe smoking nave with a wild gray mop of hair, stood and approached the two insurgents. He looked up to the large Dorn and grinned widely, “Aye it seems like ye be returning for your blade eh?”
Dae nodded, “That was the deal.”
“The captain be waiting in the back,” the gnome turned, “I will let him know you be here.”
Corine turned to Dae, “This blade better be worth all this trouble,” she spoke softly.
Dae grinned, “A masterwork short blade crafted by a dwarf smith, I think is worth this trouble.”
Corine paused, “What if this is a trap?”
“I trust them, they helped us out before,” Dae replied, as the gnome returned with a healthy grin, and generous puffs of smoke.
“The captain says he can see ye,” the gnome replied and walked towards the back.
Corine and Dae followed, the smaller back room, was darkly lit, and a single dark haired gnome sat reading over ledger notes. He was graying in the temples, and he wore a thin mustache, on his tanned weathered face. He wore simple finery, and had an open bottle of Sarcosan brandy on his desk.
The door closed behind Dae as he spoke, “Captain Brighthand, nice to see you again.”
The gnome nodded, “Welcome back Dae, it seems you have returned in more pleasant company,” eyeing Corine with a nod.
Dae replied, “She is a friend, do you have the goods?”
The captain reached down, and placed a large thin box on the table. He opened it, and inside was the gleaming short blade, it was a beautiful and sharp. Dae grinned, “We need supplies any way you can help us?”
“I can spare some rations from my ship, ten days worth, but that is about it, my men have to eat as well, Dae,” the captain replied.
“That is plenty,” Corine interjected before Dae could reply.
Dae grumbled but scooped up the weapon, “I take it you put the rest of the metal to good use?”
The captain nodded, “It wasn’t wasted, now you best be going, this place isn’t a right minded place for people like ye. The orc patrols be looking for you and your dworg companion.”
Dae grinned, “Thanks again Captain, I hope we cross paths again.”
***************************************************
Borca lead the way into the clearing, as the sun dipped into the west. The cover of nightfall did not cover the scent of burning flesh, and the fact that the campsite was nowhere to be found. The broken trees, and large footprints littered the clearing, and blood both black and red, were visible in the moonlight.
Corine crouched down inspecting droplets of black blood, “Shadow,” she hissed.
Borca glanced to Dae, and then to Corine, her back turned. The dwarf grumbled, “I wonder what could have gotten them?”
Semmarin dropped from the trees, causing his allies to raise their weapons, “An ogre,” the elfling offered showing his palms. He stepped forward, “It killed Malstrom, and we chased it off. It returned a few times, but we hid in the trees, and it seemed quite aggravated that we had eluded it. We burned his corpse he would have wanted it that way.”
Dae scowled, “Malstrom was a good friend.”
“Aye I will miss the dworg, he had character, and was a good man despite his lineage. May ye rest in peace lad, too bad you could not go all the way to the end,” Borca replied to no one in particular.
Corine sighed, “This is not a good start to our quest.”
Tuk scampered down the tree, and stood with the rest, “What do we do now?”
Semmarin hefted up his pack over his shoulder, “We press on. Malstrom would have wanted us to complete the mission, we mourn him. But we honor him by succeeding. That is what we do now.”
“Aye elfling, lets go,” Borca followed Semmarin.
Corine turned and followed, but there was a look of loss in her eyes, as Dae turned as well. Tuk sniffled a tear back, “You will be missed Malstrom. We won’t fail, I promise!” The halfling scampered after the insurgents.
Tokiwong
First Post
Total Chaos
Tuk shivered in the cold, the party had already broken the tree lines and was camped out in the high grass of the plains. A fierce gale ripped through the empty space, causing a large ripple of grass, and the grass stirred in an endless whisper. It had been a hard journey so far, but thankfully Corine and Semmarin had been skilled in keeping the party fed, food was plentiful with two experienced wildlanders working in tandem to keep the party fed.
Dae crouched near the fire, and glanced to Borca who was busy tending to his warhammer, while the rest of the party sat in silence. They were all tired and cold, the gnawing cold was a constant. Semmarin stayed alert but little had transpired over the past week of travel, and it seemed that the lands were empty of any signs of life or activity. There was freedom in knowing that they were alone, but there was also the realization that they were quite vulnerable out in the open high grass. The elfling felt almost naked without the cover of trees, they were in a dangerous place, in a foreign land he was not all that familiar with.
It was a recipe for trouble.
Corine returned from her hunt and dropped two rabbits next to Tuk, “This will have to do for tonight.”
Tuk nodded and set to the dirty business of preparing the food for the evening meal, “Thank ye milady.”
Corine sat with a sigh of relief, “How far do you think we have to go?”
Semmarin replied without even looking at her, “Three weeks at worst, we have a long way to go yet.”
Tuk sighed, “My feet hurt, why do places have to be so far from each other.”
Borca shrugged, “Cause men like to spread out, now in a proper dwarf clan hold things are not so spread out, we believe in conserving that kind of energy for other things like killing orcs and mining iron.”
Semmarin smirked, “Pleasant conversation at last.”
Tuk grinned, “Borca can you tell of us of the clan holds?”
Borca grinned, “Why certainly little one,” as Borca began a grand explanation of what life is like in the Kaladrun Mountains. The cold austere halls of the dwarves, the mining of precious ores, and the nearly daily battle against the legions of orcs that threaten to destroy the dwarf race altogether. It brought back good memories for the dwarf, but a flood of painful memories raced through his heart. Of his late wife, and his son, dwarves rarely cry, but the old warrior had to steel himself to keep his composure. He kept these thoughts to himself, they were his burden alone, but the whisper knew. She always knew.
****************************************************
Four more days of travel, and the party was growing weary. The open plains were mild in the day, and freezing in the night. A fierce wind howled, and the green-auburn waves of tall grass flowed like waves all around the party. Dusk was setting in, and Semmarin started to slow his pace as he squinted. He raised his hand to block out the light of the setting sun, as he peered through the swaying grass.
It was a hamlet, quaint and silent.
Semmarin raised his hand, and turned to the his companions, “I see a village, do you think we should approach it?”
Dae scowled, “No, we should go around, they are most likely slaves to the shadow, we will get no friendly reception there.”
Corine nodded, “Maybe, perhaps you should scout ahead Semmarin?”
Semmarin nodded, “You all wait here.” The elfling turned and stalked off into the high grass, his elven cloak blending and shifting colors, and he was lost amidst the swaying grass.
Tuk moved forward and sat watching where Semmarin left, welcome to rest, and not have to move. It was a blessing for the little halfling, a moment of rest.
The time is now Dae, she will betray you, kill her now, before she has the chance, the voice was seductive as it whispered to Dae. He glanced to Borca and then turned to Corine, his eyes narrowing, “Corine…”
Corine turned to Dae, “Yes?”
“Go ahead lad, now is as good a time as any,” Borca replied resting his warhammer on his shoulder.
Dae nodded and drew his bastard sword, keeping the tip pointed towards the ground, “Why did you betray us?”
Corine stepped back, “What? Why? What are you talking about, I have always served the resistance, what is going on?”
Tuk stood glaring at Dae, “What are you doing?”
“Silence Tuk,” Dae’s words were cold, but one look at his eyes, and the halfling cringed not sure what he could do to such a massive warrior.
Corine drew her own blade; “I don’t need to prove myself to you, Dorn.”
“You need to give me a reason for not killing you, what do you have to say to prove your innocence,” Dae replied.
Borca stepped forward, “We know you are the traitor, lass, spare yourself the trouble and submit. I promise to make the death quick and painless.”
“I submit to nothing,” Corine replied.
Semmarin returned at this moment, “I saw a figure, and the village seems to be dead, the villagers died of plague and,” he stayed his words seeing the scene develop in front of him.
Corine glanced to Semmarin, and then back to Dae, “Dae I don’t want to fight you.”
“Too bad,” Dae swung his blade, and slashes Corine across her arm as she brought her blade up to defend herself. She swung wide, causing the Dorn to step back, as Borca moved in to flank her. Tuk drew his spear, too scared to act, but ready in case they came after him next.
Semmarin heard something else though, and drew his blade and spun on his heels as a walking corpse lashed out from the grass. Dozens of shambling figures stepped forth from the high grass. The fetid smell of decay, and the glow of the eyes, was all too familiar to the elfling. The fell surrounded the party. Semmarin lashed out with his shortsword, Dae turned his attentions to an oncoming farmer, whose face was ripe with putrid sores and his flesh, gray and shriveled. Tuk raised his spear, and impaled a screaming woman on the end of his weapon nearly knocking him over, and Borca slammed his warhammer into a fell, and then smashed child-like corpse with no remorse.
Corine turned and fled towards the village, slashing at a walking corpse taking its head, and evading another blow. Borca howled as she fled for freedom, but she quickly halted her run. The village was alive with movement, more shambling creatures, and more death. It was hell, and she was in the midst of it, stuck between the murderous dead and the murderous living. As she saw the number of the fell increase her choice was made for her, she ran back towards the party, keeping her weapon raised and ready for any attack.
Semmarin chopped down a skeletal peasant, and stumbled back from a powerful punch to his stomach. He raised his blade but Borca cleared the path, “This place is death, we must flee it!”
Tuk stumbled back, and began to run, he spotted Corine through the high grass and followed her into a small clearing. Semmarin stumbled after, followed by Dae and Borca. Corine raised her blade towards her companions, and glared. She said nothing, but let the fury in her eyes speak for her.
Dae stepped forward, “You cannot escape traitor.”
Borca followed, “Kill her Dae and be done with it, we waste time with talk.”
Tuk jumped in front of Corine, “You stop this right now! Corine is not a traitor, she saved my life, she saved your life; how can you turn on her!”
Dae growled, “This does not concern you, Tuk step aside.”
“I will not stand aside, Dae, I do not forsake my friends, I owe her my life,” Tuk replied raising his spear.
Borca growled, “Kill her now, the fell will be on us soon.”
Dae stepped forward. Tuk narrowed his eyes, but stood his ground. Dae raised his blade and brought it down forcefully on the halfling, there was no scream. Nothing. Tuk fell back, his lifeblood dribbling on the ground.
Semmarin scowled and lowered his blade; he wanted no part in this dirty business.
Corine knelt down, and cradled the halfling in her arms, “You bastard! You want the truth; I have always fought the Shadow! Ever since I was young, I have hated them. I would rather die then be a thrall to its Evil! Kill me if you must, you ”
“Why are you listening to her Dae, kill her now,” Borca growled.
Dae stepped back, the murderous gleam slipping from his eyes, “If you want her dead so badly, then you kill her Borca.”
Borca replied, “You said you would go to the end with this Dae, you killed the halfling, finish the job, and let’s be done with it.”
“No,” Dae turned, “I will not.”
“You pathetic waste of flesh, you were so close, and then you give up? You think she will ever trust you again Dorn, don’t be so foolish. If you won’t kill her I will, but it won’t stop their, it seems you don’t have the stomach for the work that must be done, in this dark world,” Borca replied as he dropped the warhammer. He unsheathed the shortsword, and the black metallic blade burst into flame, the gleam in his eyes were foul, and the glow made Borca seem all the more sinister.
Dae stepped back, “What sorcery!” and instinctively raised his blade to parry the enchanted blade, pushing it aside, and drawing his masterwork shortsword in his offhand, as he raised it to the ready.
Corine and Semmarin both fled from the dwarf as he started to laugh a chilling laugh of despair and madness. They fled into the darkness and the waving grass. Leaving Dae to face the dwarf alone.
The dwarf rushed forward and brought the flaming blade in a wide slash, causing Dae to stumble back. He caught his footing, and slashed the blade drawing blood as he used his off-hand to try and keep the dwarf on guard. Borca kept coming, as he slashed Dae violently across his chest, causing the large Dorn to tumble back, his flesh burning from the flames. Dae scrambled quickly to his feet and lead with his shortsword sliding into Borca’s chest, but his chainmail saved him from truly grievous injury as he parried the slash from Dae’s bastard sword, batting the weapon aside. He pushed the large warrior back and slashed him again with his blade, causing the Dorn considerable pain.
“You can’t kill me, Dae, I have the Lady’s favor now, join us or die?” Borca spoke gruffly.
Dae scowled, “I will not submit to shadow, traitor!”
“Traitor?” the dwarf asked in a curious tone, “Oh you made the wrong decision Dae.”
Dae took the moment to flee, as the dwarf followed in a gentle stroll, the blade flaming with power as he sauntered after the human. There was no sign of Corine and Semmarin. Dae was alone in the high grass, and he could hear the laughter emanating from Borca as he stalked ever closer.
Dae sighed, there was no escape, he was wounded, and a proper Dorn did not die on his heels. A proper Dorn died fighting; so he turned to see Borca glaring at him. There was a palpable aura of menace and darkness around the dwarf as he grinned, through bloody teeth.
“Well hello, old friend,” he spoke with a snarl.
“I am not afraid of you Borca,” Dae replied getting into his stance.
“I was hoping you would say that,” he stalked forward, and then there was the sound. The Dwarf took one more tenuous step forward before he fell face forward into the dirt. An arrow protruded from the back of his skull and Corine stood behind him her bow was gripped tightly in her hands.
Corine walked forward and removed the arrow from the back of Borca’s head. She faced Dae, “I will believe that the dwarf poisoned your mind. But I will never forget the murder of Tuk. When and if the day of reckoning comes, this arrow,” she raised the bloody arrow in her hand, “will be your death, Dorn.”
Dae said nothing, and instead removed the dwarf’s head. Corine went to tend to the body of Tuk. The sword was buried, and the body of the dwarf was burned. Later that night a second funeral pyre was lit. It was a dark day for their journey.
This brings us full circle with the first post in the Story....
Tuk shivered in the cold, the party had already broken the tree lines and was camped out in the high grass of the plains. A fierce gale ripped through the empty space, causing a large ripple of grass, and the grass stirred in an endless whisper. It had been a hard journey so far, but thankfully Corine and Semmarin had been skilled in keeping the party fed, food was plentiful with two experienced wildlanders working in tandem to keep the party fed.
Dae crouched near the fire, and glanced to Borca who was busy tending to his warhammer, while the rest of the party sat in silence. They were all tired and cold, the gnawing cold was a constant. Semmarin stayed alert but little had transpired over the past week of travel, and it seemed that the lands were empty of any signs of life or activity. There was freedom in knowing that they were alone, but there was also the realization that they were quite vulnerable out in the open high grass. The elfling felt almost naked without the cover of trees, they were in a dangerous place, in a foreign land he was not all that familiar with.
It was a recipe for trouble.
Corine returned from her hunt and dropped two rabbits next to Tuk, “This will have to do for tonight.”
Tuk nodded and set to the dirty business of preparing the food for the evening meal, “Thank ye milady.”
Corine sat with a sigh of relief, “How far do you think we have to go?”
Semmarin replied without even looking at her, “Three weeks at worst, we have a long way to go yet.”
Tuk sighed, “My feet hurt, why do places have to be so far from each other.”
Borca shrugged, “Cause men like to spread out, now in a proper dwarf clan hold things are not so spread out, we believe in conserving that kind of energy for other things like killing orcs and mining iron.”
Semmarin smirked, “Pleasant conversation at last.”
Tuk grinned, “Borca can you tell of us of the clan holds?”
Borca grinned, “Why certainly little one,” as Borca began a grand explanation of what life is like in the Kaladrun Mountains. The cold austere halls of the dwarves, the mining of precious ores, and the nearly daily battle against the legions of orcs that threaten to destroy the dwarf race altogether. It brought back good memories for the dwarf, but a flood of painful memories raced through his heart. Of his late wife, and his son, dwarves rarely cry, but the old warrior had to steel himself to keep his composure. He kept these thoughts to himself, they were his burden alone, but the whisper knew. She always knew.
****************************************************
Four more days of travel, and the party was growing weary. The open plains were mild in the day, and freezing in the night. A fierce wind howled, and the green-auburn waves of tall grass flowed like waves all around the party. Dusk was setting in, and Semmarin started to slow his pace as he squinted. He raised his hand to block out the light of the setting sun, as he peered through the swaying grass.
It was a hamlet, quaint and silent.
Semmarin raised his hand, and turned to the his companions, “I see a village, do you think we should approach it?”
Dae scowled, “No, we should go around, they are most likely slaves to the shadow, we will get no friendly reception there.”
Corine nodded, “Maybe, perhaps you should scout ahead Semmarin?”
Semmarin nodded, “You all wait here.” The elfling turned and stalked off into the high grass, his elven cloak blending and shifting colors, and he was lost amidst the swaying grass.
Tuk moved forward and sat watching where Semmarin left, welcome to rest, and not have to move. It was a blessing for the little halfling, a moment of rest.
The time is now Dae, she will betray you, kill her now, before she has the chance, the voice was seductive as it whispered to Dae. He glanced to Borca and then turned to Corine, his eyes narrowing, “Corine…”
Corine turned to Dae, “Yes?”
“Go ahead lad, now is as good a time as any,” Borca replied resting his warhammer on his shoulder.
Dae nodded and drew his bastard sword, keeping the tip pointed towards the ground, “Why did you betray us?”
Corine stepped back, “What? Why? What are you talking about, I have always served the resistance, what is going on?”
Tuk stood glaring at Dae, “What are you doing?”
“Silence Tuk,” Dae’s words were cold, but one look at his eyes, and the halfling cringed not sure what he could do to such a massive warrior.
Corine drew her own blade; “I don’t need to prove myself to you, Dorn.”
“You need to give me a reason for not killing you, what do you have to say to prove your innocence,” Dae replied.
Borca stepped forward, “We know you are the traitor, lass, spare yourself the trouble and submit. I promise to make the death quick and painless.”
“I submit to nothing,” Corine replied.
Semmarin returned at this moment, “I saw a figure, and the village seems to be dead, the villagers died of plague and,” he stayed his words seeing the scene develop in front of him.
Corine glanced to Semmarin, and then back to Dae, “Dae I don’t want to fight you.”
“Too bad,” Dae swung his blade, and slashes Corine across her arm as she brought her blade up to defend herself. She swung wide, causing the Dorn to step back, as Borca moved in to flank her. Tuk drew his spear, too scared to act, but ready in case they came after him next.
Semmarin heard something else though, and drew his blade and spun on his heels as a walking corpse lashed out from the grass. Dozens of shambling figures stepped forth from the high grass. The fetid smell of decay, and the glow of the eyes, was all too familiar to the elfling. The fell surrounded the party. Semmarin lashed out with his shortsword, Dae turned his attentions to an oncoming farmer, whose face was ripe with putrid sores and his flesh, gray and shriveled. Tuk raised his spear, and impaled a screaming woman on the end of his weapon nearly knocking him over, and Borca slammed his warhammer into a fell, and then smashed child-like corpse with no remorse.
Corine turned and fled towards the village, slashing at a walking corpse taking its head, and evading another blow. Borca howled as she fled for freedom, but she quickly halted her run. The village was alive with movement, more shambling creatures, and more death. It was hell, and she was in the midst of it, stuck between the murderous dead and the murderous living. As she saw the number of the fell increase her choice was made for her, she ran back towards the party, keeping her weapon raised and ready for any attack.
Semmarin chopped down a skeletal peasant, and stumbled back from a powerful punch to his stomach. He raised his blade but Borca cleared the path, “This place is death, we must flee it!”
Tuk stumbled back, and began to run, he spotted Corine through the high grass and followed her into a small clearing. Semmarin stumbled after, followed by Dae and Borca. Corine raised her blade towards her companions, and glared. She said nothing, but let the fury in her eyes speak for her.
Dae stepped forward, “You cannot escape traitor.”
Borca followed, “Kill her Dae and be done with it, we waste time with talk.”
Tuk jumped in front of Corine, “You stop this right now! Corine is not a traitor, she saved my life, she saved your life; how can you turn on her!”
Dae growled, “This does not concern you, Tuk step aside.”
“I will not stand aside, Dae, I do not forsake my friends, I owe her my life,” Tuk replied raising his spear.
Borca growled, “Kill her now, the fell will be on us soon.”
Dae stepped forward. Tuk narrowed his eyes, but stood his ground. Dae raised his blade and brought it down forcefully on the halfling, there was no scream. Nothing. Tuk fell back, his lifeblood dribbling on the ground.
Semmarin scowled and lowered his blade; he wanted no part in this dirty business.
Corine knelt down, and cradled the halfling in her arms, “You bastard! You want the truth; I have always fought the Shadow! Ever since I was young, I have hated them. I would rather die then be a thrall to its Evil! Kill me if you must, you ”
“Why are you listening to her Dae, kill her now,” Borca growled.
Dae stepped back, the murderous gleam slipping from his eyes, “If you want her dead so badly, then you kill her Borca.”
Borca replied, “You said you would go to the end with this Dae, you killed the halfling, finish the job, and let’s be done with it.”
“No,” Dae turned, “I will not.”
“You pathetic waste of flesh, you were so close, and then you give up? You think she will ever trust you again Dorn, don’t be so foolish. If you won’t kill her I will, but it won’t stop their, it seems you don’t have the stomach for the work that must be done, in this dark world,” Borca replied as he dropped the warhammer. He unsheathed the shortsword, and the black metallic blade burst into flame, the gleam in his eyes were foul, and the glow made Borca seem all the more sinister.
Dae stepped back, “What sorcery!” and instinctively raised his blade to parry the enchanted blade, pushing it aside, and drawing his masterwork shortsword in his offhand, as he raised it to the ready.
Corine and Semmarin both fled from the dwarf as he started to laugh a chilling laugh of despair and madness. They fled into the darkness and the waving grass. Leaving Dae to face the dwarf alone.
The dwarf rushed forward and brought the flaming blade in a wide slash, causing Dae to stumble back. He caught his footing, and slashed the blade drawing blood as he used his off-hand to try and keep the dwarf on guard. Borca kept coming, as he slashed Dae violently across his chest, causing the large Dorn to tumble back, his flesh burning from the flames. Dae scrambled quickly to his feet and lead with his shortsword sliding into Borca’s chest, but his chainmail saved him from truly grievous injury as he parried the slash from Dae’s bastard sword, batting the weapon aside. He pushed the large warrior back and slashed him again with his blade, causing the Dorn considerable pain.
“You can’t kill me, Dae, I have the Lady’s favor now, join us or die?” Borca spoke gruffly.
Dae scowled, “I will not submit to shadow, traitor!”
“Traitor?” the dwarf asked in a curious tone, “Oh you made the wrong decision Dae.”
Dae took the moment to flee, as the dwarf followed in a gentle stroll, the blade flaming with power as he sauntered after the human. There was no sign of Corine and Semmarin. Dae was alone in the high grass, and he could hear the laughter emanating from Borca as he stalked ever closer.
Dae sighed, there was no escape, he was wounded, and a proper Dorn did not die on his heels. A proper Dorn died fighting; so he turned to see Borca glaring at him. There was a palpable aura of menace and darkness around the dwarf as he grinned, through bloody teeth.
“Well hello, old friend,” he spoke with a snarl.
“I am not afraid of you Borca,” Dae replied getting into his stance.
“I was hoping you would say that,” he stalked forward, and then there was the sound. The Dwarf took one more tenuous step forward before he fell face forward into the dirt. An arrow protruded from the back of his skull and Corine stood behind him her bow was gripped tightly in her hands.
Corine walked forward and removed the arrow from the back of Borca’s head. She faced Dae, “I will believe that the dwarf poisoned your mind. But I will never forget the murder of Tuk. When and if the day of reckoning comes, this arrow,” she raised the bloody arrow in her hand, “will be your death, Dorn.”
Dae said nothing, and instead removed the dwarf’s head. Corine went to tend to the body of Tuk. The sword was buried, and the body of the dwarf was burned. Later that night a second funeral pyre was lit. It was a dark day for their journey.
This brings us full circle with the first post in the Story....
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Nasty turn of events, TK.
So was Tuk a PC?
So was Tuk a PC?
