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Story Hour
The Journey across Midnight (Updated 07SEP03)
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<blockquote data-quote="Tokiwong" data-source="post: 1099405" data-attributes="member: 961"><p><strong>The Hunt</strong></p><p></p><p>Morning dawned on the tower, the light from the sun filtering through the ruined roof, and the several cracks apparent in the walls. The insurgents, many of which did not sleep easily were already, outside of the halfling Tuk, who dozed lazily on an itchy mound of hay. Malstrom stood poised, his hands resting on the haft of his mighty greataxe, while Corine, sat against the wall her foot resting on a stone mound as she tended to her long, straight sword. Borca sat in a makeshift chair of stone, and rested his hands on his lap, watching the others to see who was awake, and who was not.</p><p></p><p>Corine broke the silence from her position, as she glanced up to the rest of the insurgents, “We can’t hide in this tower forever, and with the knowledge brought in the message, we know that the Shadow plans to install a black mirror somewhere nearby.”</p><p></p><p>“I must be stopped at all costs, we can plan an ambush about six days north of here along the road that would most likely used to bring this artifact to its destination,” Valthis replies as he stands.</p><p></p><p>Malstrom nodded, “Then I say we get to work, we know what needs to be done, and we know where to go, lets move out.”</p><p></p><p>Borca nodded, “I concur,” as he rested his hand on the hilt of the short blade, and his other hand on the shaft of his warhammer. </p><p></p><p>The insurgents rose as one, but before they could exit the tower, a slim youth. His brown close cropped hair, was wet with sweat, and his skin was pale with fear, and exhaustion. The news he had was dire, but the choice that had to be made even more so…</p><p></p><p><strong>*************************************************</strong></p><p></p><p>Semmarin rushed through the darkness, and ducked to take a moment of rest, it was brief, as he could hear the war horn of the orcs behind him. They were close now, or there were more of them, neither was a blessing to the young elfling, as he clutched his shortbow tightly in his dark hands.</p><p></p><p>He ducked low as an orc soldier strode past him in the darkness peering about, his tusks jutting upward, and his face had red bars running across it, in an X pattern. He sniffed the air, and scowled, as his scale mail armor clinked in the silence of the moonlit forest. The soldier tried to do his best to search for the nimble elfling, but Semmarin, was well hidden at least from this one. It continued along the trail, and Semmarin slowly stood, preparing to move, when he froze, his eyes locking with another orc soldier standing amidst the brush a mere forty feet away.</p><p></p><p>The elfling quickly raised his shortbow, and fired an arrow right into the orc’s shoulder, sending it stumbling back against a tree, as it clutched at the wound, black blood dripping over his armor. It roared at the fae, but Semmarin was already gone, running through the trees quickly, if he could only throw them off his trail, if for only a moment, so that he could rest, his bones, and his mind were growing weary from the hunt.</p><p></p><p>Semmarin ran until his senses told him he should stop, he caught more movement, and stood still allowing another war party to pass his trail. But this party had no orcs among them, only a Dorn, a halfling, a dworg, and a woman of Erenlander stock. Cautious as he was, he waited till the halfling who was bring up the rear passed him, and then he stood out, and spoke to the small man in the language of the wee fae, “You should not go that way, there are orcs in this forest.”</p><p></p><p>The halfling squealed at first in fear, but then in joy, realizing another of the fair folk was in their midst, “An elfling, my stars an elfling, look an elfling,” he motioned to the rest of the party.</p><p></p><p>The strange troupe paused and turned, suspicion mixed with fear in their eyes, as they took in the small slight form of Semmarin. Semmarin regarded the strangers with curiosity, but the threat of the orcs never left his mind, he spoke in Erenlander, “You should not go this way, this road is patrolled by orcs.”</p><p></p><p>The Dorn and the Erenlander woman both nodded, as the dworg looked on with confusion, he did not speak the tongue of the men, and waited for the Dorn to translate to him, what was said. The woman looked around and then motioned for the party to vacate the road, as a troupe of nearly twenty orcs came stomping down the road, in an orderly manner, scanning the area for the elfling.</p><p></p><p>They found their wounded ally, and the apparent leader; a powerful looking orc with waist length hair of ebony, tied in braids strode forth, his armor black, and clean, and his weapons of the finest caliber, as he regarded the wounded orc. </p><p></p><p>The orcs went silent, as the leader began to speak, “Where is the elfling?” as he gestured to the broken shaft of the arrow, still lodged in the orc’s flesh.</p><p></p><p>The soldier growled in the orc tongue, “It was nearby, and it shot me, I do not know where it is now, it escaped my eyes.”</p><p></p><p>The larger orc breathed a sigh of irritation, “How unfortunate for you, you do not know where it went then?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” the lesser orc countered.</p><p></p><p>The larger orc, nodded and drew a long curved dagger, and slid it between the armor plates of the lesser orc, twisting the knife, and then ripping it back out, causing black blood to spray the moist forest floor. The orc collapsed in a heap, and his fellows quickly stripped it of its armor and weapons. The warriors would eat well that night.</p><p></p><p>The larger orc turned to a powerful looking orc, a beauty among her people; she nodded, as a large wolf, sat at her heels. The demon inside sniffing the air for more exotic prey, it continued forward, and the woman simply nodded to the longhaired orc. He turned and blew a war horn, and the troupe continued on with their meal in tow.</p><p></p><p>The night was still as the motley party came out of hiding, it seemed that for a moment, the danger had passed. Semmarin had found some peace, and stability in numbers, as he looked from eye to eye and then uttered words in Erenlander, “I am Semmarin, I am alone in these lands, and as you can see, this forest is crawling with the forces of the Shadow.”</p><p></p><p>The woman spoke first in the tongue of the Erenland, “Well Semmarin, I am Corrine, this is Tuk,” she gestured to the halfling, “and that is Malstrom, and Dae.”</p><p></p><p>Malstrom nodded, and spoke to Dae, “He seems to be in the same lot we are, if you have no qualms with him, then lets bring the elfling with us for now,” he spoke using a charm given to him by the Old Man, a stone that allowed one to speak to another with a similar stone in any tongue and they would understand them. Between the party they had three stones, “Speaker Stones”, is what the Old Man had called them.</p><p></p><p>Dae nodded, “I agree,” as he turned to Semmarin, “You don’t have to be alone, come with us, there is safety in numbers against the Shadow,” the large Dorn spoke, crouching down some to speak to the diminutive fae.</p><p></p><p>Tuk grinned widely, “An elfling is a good omen it is.”</p><p></p><p><strong>***********************************************</strong></p><p></p><p>Valthis and Borca approached the old tree where the hangings always took place. The two had decided to handle this alone, it was best, the rest of the agents had to go North to stop the shipment of the Black Mirror, if anything it was the best thing for the Resistance. Besides he knew that if anything, he was in good hands with Borca, the dwarf was trustworthy, and he was a good fighter, capable of handling himself, and more importantly keeping the orcs away from him.</p><p></p><p>Borca gritted his teeth, as the rain continued to pour on the two insurgents as they approached the scene of the execution. It was not the rain, but an internal battle of wills that perturbed him. He was growing cold inside, a festering wound of loss, which had never quite healed. </p><p></p><p>Times were never easy, but the times were better then, when he had his good wife, Kora to depend on and his young strapping son, Jorda, named after Borca’s own father. The boy had the potential had the potential to be a great soldier, he was strong and disciplined. Borca was hard on him, but he knew the boy had to learn quickly the world was harsh, and cold. It was very cold.</p><p></p><p>His teeth chattered before he realized that he was still walking towards the four men who were preparing to execute an agent of the insurgency. Valthis placed a hand on Borca’s shoulder, and nodded to him, as the young channeler, felt the surge of magic coarse through his slight frame, and leap outward in a burst of light, blinding the men. Borca could only grin, as he rushed forward and raised his warhammer, smashing it into the first human soldier, causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap. Blood spraying across Borca’s face, it was hot, against his cold nearly numb skin.</p><p></p><p>One of the men flailed grabbing for a short blade, and tried to stab Borca, but he parried the attack and smashed the man’s knee, causing him to collapse, and then smashed the weapon into his chest, with a spinning motion causing the man to spit up blood. Valthis shuddered at the brutality but the alternative was even worse.</p><p></p><p>The third man recovered from the blinding light, as he tried to run Borca through, his blade glancing off the fine dwarven chain, that adorned the brutal fighter, Borca could hear the familiar whisper, giving him feint knowledge of the other human moving to flank him. He swung his warhammer in a wide arc, catching the soldier in the should, and then spun, causing the other man to step back, not wanting to collide with the massive weapon. The wounded man groaned as he tried to run, grabbing his now broken arm.</p><p></p><p>Valthis loathed to use more magic, but he focused his power, and called upon the spirits of the world to grant him strength, as he unleashed more arcane power, causing the fleeing human to stumble and collapse into enchanted sleep. By the time he turned back to Borca, the other human lay on his back, his face smashed in, and the dwarf was dripping with visceral, slick rain, mud, and the blood of the fallen. He looked like a demon, draped in metallic armor, but in these dark times, brutality was needed.</p><p></p><p>Valthis approached the accused, and helped him down, as Borca stood over the last sleeping human. He could hear the familiar whisper, the ever-present friend, that protected him, as he raised the warhammer over his head, and finished the bloody business at hand.</p><p></p><p>Somewhere a woman smiled…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Tokiwong, post: 1099405, member: 961"] [b]The Hunt[/b] Morning dawned on the tower, the light from the sun filtering through the ruined roof, and the several cracks apparent in the walls. The insurgents, many of which did not sleep easily were already, outside of the halfling Tuk, who dozed lazily on an itchy mound of hay. Malstrom stood poised, his hands resting on the haft of his mighty greataxe, while Corine, sat against the wall her foot resting on a stone mound as she tended to her long, straight sword. Borca sat in a makeshift chair of stone, and rested his hands on his lap, watching the others to see who was awake, and who was not. Corine broke the silence from her position, as she glanced up to the rest of the insurgents, “We can’t hide in this tower forever, and with the knowledge brought in the message, we know that the Shadow plans to install a black mirror somewhere nearby.” “I must be stopped at all costs, we can plan an ambush about six days north of here along the road that would most likely used to bring this artifact to its destination,” Valthis replies as he stands. Malstrom nodded, “Then I say we get to work, we know what needs to be done, and we know where to go, lets move out.” Borca nodded, “I concur,” as he rested his hand on the hilt of the short blade, and his other hand on the shaft of his warhammer. The insurgents rose as one, but before they could exit the tower, a slim youth. His brown close cropped hair, was wet with sweat, and his skin was pale with fear, and exhaustion. The news he had was dire, but the choice that had to be made even more so… [b]*************************************************[/b] Semmarin rushed through the darkness, and ducked to take a moment of rest, it was brief, as he could hear the war horn of the orcs behind him. They were close now, or there were more of them, neither was a blessing to the young elfling, as he clutched his shortbow tightly in his dark hands. He ducked low as an orc soldier strode past him in the darkness peering about, his tusks jutting upward, and his face had red bars running across it, in an X pattern. He sniffed the air, and scowled, as his scale mail armor clinked in the silence of the moonlit forest. The soldier tried to do his best to search for the nimble elfling, but Semmarin, was well hidden at least from this one. It continued along the trail, and Semmarin slowly stood, preparing to move, when he froze, his eyes locking with another orc soldier standing amidst the brush a mere forty feet away. The elfling quickly raised his shortbow, and fired an arrow right into the orc’s shoulder, sending it stumbling back against a tree, as it clutched at the wound, black blood dripping over his armor. It roared at the fae, but Semmarin was already gone, running through the trees quickly, if he could only throw them off his trail, if for only a moment, so that he could rest, his bones, and his mind were growing weary from the hunt. Semmarin ran until his senses told him he should stop, he caught more movement, and stood still allowing another war party to pass his trail. But this party had no orcs among them, only a Dorn, a halfling, a dworg, and a woman of Erenlander stock. Cautious as he was, he waited till the halfling who was bring up the rear passed him, and then he stood out, and spoke to the small man in the language of the wee fae, “You should not go that way, there are orcs in this forest.” The halfling squealed at first in fear, but then in joy, realizing another of the fair folk was in their midst, “An elfling, my stars an elfling, look an elfling,” he motioned to the rest of the party. The strange troupe paused and turned, suspicion mixed with fear in their eyes, as they took in the small slight form of Semmarin. Semmarin regarded the strangers with curiosity, but the threat of the orcs never left his mind, he spoke in Erenlander, “You should not go this way, this road is patrolled by orcs.” The Dorn and the Erenlander woman both nodded, as the dworg looked on with confusion, he did not speak the tongue of the men, and waited for the Dorn to translate to him, what was said. The woman looked around and then motioned for the party to vacate the road, as a troupe of nearly twenty orcs came stomping down the road, in an orderly manner, scanning the area for the elfling. They found their wounded ally, and the apparent leader; a powerful looking orc with waist length hair of ebony, tied in braids strode forth, his armor black, and clean, and his weapons of the finest caliber, as he regarded the wounded orc. The orcs went silent, as the leader began to speak, “Where is the elfling?” as he gestured to the broken shaft of the arrow, still lodged in the orc’s flesh. The soldier growled in the orc tongue, “It was nearby, and it shot me, I do not know where it is now, it escaped my eyes.” The larger orc breathed a sigh of irritation, “How unfortunate for you, you do not know where it went then?” “No,” the lesser orc countered. The larger orc, nodded and drew a long curved dagger, and slid it between the armor plates of the lesser orc, twisting the knife, and then ripping it back out, causing black blood to spray the moist forest floor. The orc collapsed in a heap, and his fellows quickly stripped it of its armor and weapons. The warriors would eat well that night. The larger orc turned to a powerful looking orc, a beauty among her people; she nodded, as a large wolf, sat at her heels. The demon inside sniffing the air for more exotic prey, it continued forward, and the woman simply nodded to the longhaired orc. He turned and blew a war horn, and the troupe continued on with their meal in tow. The night was still as the motley party came out of hiding, it seemed that for a moment, the danger had passed. Semmarin had found some peace, and stability in numbers, as he looked from eye to eye and then uttered words in Erenlander, “I am Semmarin, I am alone in these lands, and as you can see, this forest is crawling with the forces of the Shadow.” The woman spoke first in the tongue of the Erenland, “Well Semmarin, I am Corrine, this is Tuk,” she gestured to the halfling, “and that is Malstrom, and Dae.” Malstrom nodded, and spoke to Dae, “He seems to be in the same lot we are, if you have no qualms with him, then lets bring the elfling with us for now,” he spoke using a charm given to him by the Old Man, a stone that allowed one to speak to another with a similar stone in any tongue and they would understand them. Between the party they had three stones, “Speaker Stones”, is what the Old Man had called them. Dae nodded, “I agree,” as he turned to Semmarin, “You don’t have to be alone, come with us, there is safety in numbers against the Shadow,” the large Dorn spoke, crouching down some to speak to the diminutive fae. Tuk grinned widely, “An elfling is a good omen it is.” [b]***********************************************[/b] Valthis and Borca approached the old tree where the hangings always took place. The two had decided to handle this alone, it was best, the rest of the agents had to go North to stop the shipment of the Black Mirror, if anything it was the best thing for the Resistance. Besides he knew that if anything, he was in good hands with Borca, the dwarf was trustworthy, and he was a good fighter, capable of handling himself, and more importantly keeping the orcs away from him. Borca gritted his teeth, as the rain continued to pour on the two insurgents as they approached the scene of the execution. It was not the rain, but an internal battle of wills that perturbed him. He was growing cold inside, a festering wound of loss, which had never quite healed. Times were never easy, but the times were better then, when he had his good wife, Kora to depend on and his young strapping son, Jorda, named after Borca’s own father. The boy had the potential had the potential to be a great soldier, he was strong and disciplined. Borca was hard on him, but he knew the boy had to learn quickly the world was harsh, and cold. It was very cold. His teeth chattered before he realized that he was still walking towards the four men who were preparing to execute an agent of the insurgency. Valthis placed a hand on Borca’s shoulder, and nodded to him, as the young channeler, felt the surge of magic coarse through his slight frame, and leap outward in a burst of light, blinding the men. Borca could only grin, as he rushed forward and raised his warhammer, smashing it into the first human soldier, causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap. Blood spraying across Borca’s face, it was hot, against his cold nearly numb skin. One of the men flailed grabbing for a short blade, and tried to stab Borca, but he parried the attack and smashed the man’s knee, causing him to collapse, and then smashed the weapon into his chest, with a spinning motion causing the man to spit up blood. Valthis shuddered at the brutality but the alternative was even worse. The third man recovered from the blinding light, as he tried to run Borca through, his blade glancing off the fine dwarven chain, that adorned the brutal fighter, Borca could hear the familiar whisper, giving him feint knowledge of the other human moving to flank him. He swung his warhammer in a wide arc, catching the soldier in the should, and then spun, causing the other man to step back, not wanting to collide with the massive weapon. The wounded man groaned as he tried to run, grabbing his now broken arm. Valthis loathed to use more magic, but he focused his power, and called upon the spirits of the world to grant him strength, as he unleashed more arcane power, causing the fleeing human to stumble and collapse into enchanted sleep. By the time he turned back to Borca, the other human lay on his back, his face smashed in, and the dwarf was dripping with visceral, slick rain, mud, and the blood of the fallen. He looked like a demon, draped in metallic armor, but in these dark times, brutality was needed. Valthis approached the accused, and helped him down, as Borca stood over the last sleeping human. He could hear the familiar whisper, the ever-present friend, that protected him, as he raised the warhammer over his head, and finished the bloody business at hand. Somewhere a woman smiled… [/QUOTE]
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