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Tirlanolir/D'nemy's Tales of Turgos: The Heroes of Goldfire Glen (UPDATE 7/26)
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<blockquote data-quote="Canaan" data-source="post: 2820237" data-attributes="member: 40239"><p><strong>Chapter 3: Unnatural Instincts</strong></p><p></p><p>For nearly two days following the puzzling boar attack, Shale spoke very little. Once we had disposed of the rabid beasts, Shale gathered their carcasses in a short pile and burned them. I would have protested, arguing the ensuing scent of cooking meat would attract other, more fearsome predators, but the druid was so quick in his duty, I barely realized what he was doing before the flames sprang up and began consuming the creatures’ flesh. </p><p></p><p>Shale stood silently before the fire, his eyes drying out from the billowing, gray smoke, but he did not blink. He kept his vigil, uttering a somber prayer in some ancient, sacred language. At last he turned away and went over to his traveling blanket. He bent over and began rolling it up. I hurriedly followed suit, packing up my supplies and fastening them to my annoyed donkey. Shale helped me after he finished with his own meager belongings.</p><p></p><p>We walked on, heading further up the road in silence and darkness. We did not sleep until long after the light of a new day crept over the undulating, grassy hills to the east. Chill winds tore through my meager traveling clothes and stabbed at my flesh, keeping my growing fatigue at bay. Exhausted as I was, Shale kept up an urgent stride down the south bound, wide and well-worn road. He seemed unaffected by either the icy morning gusts or our rapid pace. </p><p></p><p>My donkey began to falter. His gait slowed to a standstill. I gave the reins a solitary yank and the donkey refused to move. </p><p></p><p>“We must rest” I hoarsely called out to Shale who had stridden ahead several paces. He did not stop. </p><p></p><p>“Shale!” I yelled. “Please! I cannot take much more of this without a moment’s respite!” </p><p></p><p>He turned around. Upon seeing my predicament with the donkey, he nodded.</p><p></p><p>* * * *</p><p></p><p>After a few hours of light, restless sleep, Shale gently kicked at my leg arousing me and we continued on down the road. Sometime later, in the early hours of the afternoon, I spotted a gleaming, thin spire of what I thought at first was a Canaanite church. Moments later, the small village that it overshadowed came into view: Goldfire Glen. It was then I realized that it was atop the village’s small keep on which the Canaanite spire was perched.</p><p></p><p>Shale, myself and the donkey breezed into the cobblestone streets of Goldfire Glen. He led me to the Feisty Fox tavern and inn. I maneuvered my donkey over to a post and proceeded to tether him to it as Shale disappeared through the tavern’s entrance. I had completed my slipknot when Shale broke through the doorway and hurried down the road, deeper into the village. I left my donkey behind and managed to catch up to him.</p><p></p><p>“What is it?” I asked. He did not answer me. He simply strode on, betraying no indication that neither my question nor even my very presence mattered in the least. We soon came upon Menion, the Herbalist’s shop. Shale stormed in. I followed, trying not to make a sound.</p><p></p><p>The air in the shop was thick with a sweet smelling cloud that tickled my temples and caressed my already tired head. I held onto the door jam to remain standing. </p><p></p><p>Menion’s soft, sing-song voice welcomed Shale. “Shale! My old friend!” He cooed. “You look… terrible…”</p><p></p><p>Shale took a deep breath. His cheeks purpled as he drove down a growing rage. “Why did you send my friends out into the Wildlands? If this has to do with replenishing your stock of illicit materials…”</p><p></p><p>“Shale… friend… I would never put anyone in danger for something criminal. What kind of person do you think I am?” Menion’s voice was soothing, ethereal and distant. But it did little to squelch the growing fires that were about to consume Shale.</p><p></p><p>“Answer me!” he roared. “Why?” The wrath of Shale’s mood broke Menion’s spell. His eyes slammed open and he took in the full frame of Shale’s enraged countenance and cowered.</p><p></p><p>“I asked Lilian, I begged her, really. My friend, the Ranger Jazzad, he was due to arrive in Goldfire Glen nearly two weeks ago. I was worried for him. I still am. I asked Lilian to look for him.” </p><p></p><p>* * * *</p><p></p><p>By the time the sun had set on that day, Shale, myself and my donkey had long since left Goldfire Glen far behind and we made camp by the side of the road. Over the flickers of the dying campfire, Shale finally broke his silence. </p><p></p><p>“The fools!” he said “They should have never gone out into the Wildlands without me.”</p><p></p><p>I let a silence set in. Shale finally locked eyes with me. He sighed. “Forgive me, Evora. I have been distracted, preoccupied these last few days. Such dire portents have put me in a foul state. You do not have to journey any further. Thank you for your companionship. I do appreciate it.”</p><p></p><p>“What was afflicting the boars?” I asked, wanting to distract the point of conversation. There was no way under the Gaze of Canaan that I was going to part ways now. </p><p></p><p>Shale sighed again. His face hardened for a moment, perhaps taken aback by my sudden conversational hubris, but then he gently nodded and poked at the dying fire with a stick. </p><p></p><p>“Something wholly unnatural has taken hold of them. It has twisted their instincts. I spoke with them, I tried to calm them, to inform them that we were neither food nor predators. All they could say was ‘She commands. She is vile. We kill for her.’ Something powerful has been awoken. My master Baern has the power to free them of this possession. I, however, do not. Given the time I had, death was a far better fate.”</p><p></p><p>“I am sorry, Shale.” A pathetic attempt at comfort, but in the moment it was all I had. “I will stay with you. I will help you and your friends find this Jazzad. I will help you lift this curse from the boars. Canaan has led me here for a reason. I cannot deny His will.” </p><p></p><p>After the first full night of rest in what seemed like weeks, we continued onward, Shale always leading the way. </p><p></p><p>Around sunset, a tall, wide, ivy encrusted tower came into view. It scarred the horizon like a boney finger. As we approached it, we could hear the splashing and quacks of a sizable family of ducks that made the black moat that surrounded the tower their home. A gust of wind brought with it the noxious odor of untold years of defecation. Both Shale and I averted our nostrils. </p><p></p><p>“What is this horrible place?” I inquired. </p><p></p><p>“The Tower of Balian, the Ever Watchful. It is under his tutelage that Jordan learned the arcane arts.” </p><p></p><p>The sun was setting. The air was growing cold. Knowing, too, that this foreboding abode housed a powerful wizard, the awful smells seemed to subside for a moment. </p><p></p><p>“Perhaps, then” I began “We could request a room from this wizard. If he is the master of a friend of yours that should warrant his hospitality. And the chance to sleep in an actual bed is enough reason to chance it.” </p><p></p><p>Shale nodded and we strode forward. A great shadow leaned forward from the tower and engulfed the winding path that lead up to the raised drawbridge. The moment we broke the edge of the shadow, a great weight slammed down on me. My movements were sluggish. It was as though I was underwater, yet I was dry. Fear clung to me like icy water as I began to suffocate. I turned to Shale and he, too, showed signs of dread. His eyes where wide, his mouth agape, his hands reached forward, pushing back some invisible threat. With all the strength afforded to us, we turned away and broke the threshold of the shadow and emerged into the dying orange light of the setting sun.</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps not.” I managed to utter between a gasp. </p><p></p><p>“Yes.” Answered Shale. “Clearly he is in no mood for visitors.” </p><p></p><p>We hastened away. </p><p></p><p>* * * *</p><p></p><p>I cannot recall with any accuracy how many days we traveled passed Balian’s Tower. I remember being further accosted by the rabid, possessed boars. Shale and I did everything in our power to avoid any direct confrontations with them, but we did not always succeed. Thus, many had to be slain. We had little choice. With each subsequent skirmish, Shale became even more agitated. He would wince whenever I performed the killing blow, but we both knew it was better than the alternative. Even so, it did not make the gruesome task any easier. </p><p></p><p>We came across Farmer Jed’s home. He told Shale that his friends left a few days ago, after recuperating from a deadly boar attack. He showed Shale and I Boots’s grave. Shale knelt down and touched the simple grave marker. He said nothing. In the dying light of the day, Shale’s usually hearty, smoothed, tanned features were sallow and creased with lines of fatigue. This journey was truly taking its toll on the Druid. </p><p></p><p>I uttered a short prayer to Canaan, asking Him to take Boots into His care. </p><p></p><p>Farmer Jed’s offers of hospitality were rebuffed by Shale, as he wished to continue moving. </p><p></p><p>“They’re in danger out there without me.” He said. “I need to find them. Something very strange is happening and I fear if our journey is delayed much longer, they will be lost.” </p><p></p><p>Deep in the night we came to the granite bridge that stretched over the steep cliff and dried out ravine which served as the official border between Turgos and the Wildlands. The darkness under the bridge looked solid, as if it were simply a floor anyone could walk across. Shale informed me of the tradition of tossing salt over the edge of the bridge to appease the spirit which, legend had it, resided there. Not wishing to tempt fate, I obliged the tradition and fed the spirit a pinch’s worth of salt. </p><p></p><p>We crossed the bridge and headed into the Wildlands. </p><p></p><p>More days passed. We were unmolested, but even so, the shifting landscape, turning from twisting hills, vast, featureless plains and dense, opaque forests, I was glad to be in the presence of someone accustomed to such terrain. Shale remained focused. He studied every blade of tall grass, every overturned rock, every chipped, low hanging branch for evidence of his friends’ passage. </p><p></p><p>He would say very little, making amendments to our course and direction with a point of the finger, a wave of the hand, or a nod of the head. </p><p></p><p>“We are gaining ground. But we must hurry.” He would say and quicken his pace. I did my best to keep up, but pulling a stubborn, constantly famished donkey along at the speed Shale moved proved impossible. With a growing frustration, Shale was forced to match our pace or leave us behind.</p><p></p><p>Several days later, Shale, a good hundred paces ahead of us, suddenly stopped. He turned back to us and bounded up to me.</p><p></p><p>“Careful.” He said. “Up ahead. There are bodies.” </p><p></p><p>“More boars?” I asked.</p><p></p><p>“No.” </p><p></p><p>“Your friends?” </p><p></p><p>“No. Thank the Green. It is something else entirely. Follow me, but stay alert.”</p><p></p><p>I obeyed. The two of us, my donkey in tow, made our way up a slightly rising hill and I stopped short at the crest and gasped. </p><p></p><p>There, tucked in a neat pile, were what at first appeared to be the corpses of small children, only they were all clad in primitive, poorly hewn, coats of hide. Crude weapons, axes, knives and swords, were arranged next to the heap. </p><p></p><p>“Who could have done such a thing?” I fought back a growing urge to openly sob. </p><p></p><p>Shale turned to me, his eyes bent in a look of utter incomprehension. </p><p></p><p>“They were… children…” I said between huffs. Shale put a hand on my shoulder.</p><p></p><p>“No, Evora.” He said. “These were no children. Come. Let me show you.” He led me down the hill to the pile. The stench of decay clung to the air. I gagged. Shale lifted one of the corpse’s faces and showed me. </p><p></p><p>It was gray. The features were flat, the lifeless eyes but slits. Its mouth was full of broken, oversized, yellow fangs. I recoiled at the sight of them. Then I recalled something I had read in my taboo studies under the hallowed halls of the Temple of Canaan in Soliel. A tome on magical creatures known as “fey.”</p><p></p><p>“Goblins.” I uttered in realization.</p><p></p><p>“Yes.” Answered Shale. “And there will be more of them. There always are.” </p><p></p><p>Just then we heard a rustling in the tall grass to the North. Something was moving toward us, something shielded by shadow and the wall of grass. </p><p></p><p>I took hold of my mace. Shale began to incant. </p><p></p><p>We readied ourselves for the ambush.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Canaan, post: 2820237, member: 40239"] [b]Chapter 3: Unnatural Instincts[/b] For nearly two days following the puzzling boar attack, Shale spoke very little. Once we had disposed of the rabid beasts, Shale gathered their carcasses in a short pile and burned them. I would have protested, arguing the ensuing scent of cooking meat would attract other, more fearsome predators, but the druid was so quick in his duty, I barely realized what he was doing before the flames sprang up and began consuming the creatures’ flesh. Shale stood silently before the fire, his eyes drying out from the billowing, gray smoke, but he did not blink. He kept his vigil, uttering a somber prayer in some ancient, sacred language. At last he turned away and went over to his traveling blanket. He bent over and began rolling it up. I hurriedly followed suit, packing up my supplies and fastening them to my annoyed donkey. Shale helped me after he finished with his own meager belongings. We walked on, heading further up the road in silence and darkness. We did not sleep until long after the light of a new day crept over the undulating, grassy hills to the east. Chill winds tore through my meager traveling clothes and stabbed at my flesh, keeping my growing fatigue at bay. Exhausted as I was, Shale kept up an urgent stride down the south bound, wide and well-worn road. He seemed unaffected by either the icy morning gusts or our rapid pace. My donkey began to falter. His gait slowed to a standstill. I gave the reins a solitary yank and the donkey refused to move. “We must rest” I hoarsely called out to Shale who had stridden ahead several paces. He did not stop. “Shale!” I yelled. “Please! I cannot take much more of this without a moment’s respite!” He turned around. Upon seeing my predicament with the donkey, he nodded. * * * * After a few hours of light, restless sleep, Shale gently kicked at my leg arousing me and we continued on down the road. Sometime later, in the early hours of the afternoon, I spotted a gleaming, thin spire of what I thought at first was a Canaanite church. Moments later, the small village that it overshadowed came into view: Goldfire Glen. It was then I realized that it was atop the village’s small keep on which the Canaanite spire was perched. Shale, myself and the donkey breezed into the cobblestone streets of Goldfire Glen. He led me to the Feisty Fox tavern and inn. I maneuvered my donkey over to a post and proceeded to tether him to it as Shale disappeared through the tavern’s entrance. I had completed my slipknot when Shale broke through the doorway and hurried down the road, deeper into the village. I left my donkey behind and managed to catch up to him. “What is it?” I asked. He did not answer me. He simply strode on, betraying no indication that neither my question nor even my very presence mattered in the least. We soon came upon Menion, the Herbalist’s shop. Shale stormed in. I followed, trying not to make a sound. The air in the shop was thick with a sweet smelling cloud that tickled my temples and caressed my already tired head. I held onto the door jam to remain standing. Menion’s soft, sing-song voice welcomed Shale. “Shale! My old friend!” He cooed. “You look… terrible…” Shale took a deep breath. His cheeks purpled as he drove down a growing rage. “Why did you send my friends out into the Wildlands? If this has to do with replenishing your stock of illicit materials…” “Shale… friend… I would never put anyone in danger for something criminal. What kind of person do you think I am?” Menion’s voice was soothing, ethereal and distant. But it did little to squelch the growing fires that were about to consume Shale. “Answer me!” he roared. “Why?” The wrath of Shale’s mood broke Menion’s spell. His eyes slammed open and he took in the full frame of Shale’s enraged countenance and cowered. “I asked Lilian, I begged her, really. My friend, the Ranger Jazzad, he was due to arrive in Goldfire Glen nearly two weeks ago. I was worried for him. I still am. I asked Lilian to look for him.” * * * * By the time the sun had set on that day, Shale, myself and my donkey had long since left Goldfire Glen far behind and we made camp by the side of the road. Over the flickers of the dying campfire, Shale finally broke his silence. “The fools!” he said “They should have never gone out into the Wildlands without me.” I let a silence set in. Shale finally locked eyes with me. He sighed. “Forgive me, Evora. I have been distracted, preoccupied these last few days. Such dire portents have put me in a foul state. You do not have to journey any further. Thank you for your companionship. I do appreciate it.” “What was afflicting the boars?” I asked, wanting to distract the point of conversation. There was no way under the Gaze of Canaan that I was going to part ways now. Shale sighed again. His face hardened for a moment, perhaps taken aback by my sudden conversational hubris, but then he gently nodded and poked at the dying fire with a stick. “Something wholly unnatural has taken hold of them. It has twisted their instincts. I spoke with them, I tried to calm them, to inform them that we were neither food nor predators. All they could say was ‘She commands. She is vile. We kill for her.’ Something powerful has been awoken. My master Baern has the power to free them of this possession. I, however, do not. Given the time I had, death was a far better fate.” “I am sorry, Shale.” A pathetic attempt at comfort, but in the moment it was all I had. “I will stay with you. I will help you and your friends find this Jazzad. I will help you lift this curse from the boars. Canaan has led me here for a reason. I cannot deny His will.” After the first full night of rest in what seemed like weeks, we continued onward, Shale always leading the way. Around sunset, a tall, wide, ivy encrusted tower came into view. It scarred the horizon like a boney finger. As we approached it, we could hear the splashing and quacks of a sizable family of ducks that made the black moat that surrounded the tower their home. A gust of wind brought with it the noxious odor of untold years of defecation. Both Shale and I averted our nostrils. “What is this horrible place?” I inquired. “The Tower of Balian, the Ever Watchful. It is under his tutelage that Jordan learned the arcane arts.” The sun was setting. The air was growing cold. Knowing, too, that this foreboding abode housed a powerful wizard, the awful smells seemed to subside for a moment. “Perhaps, then” I began “We could request a room from this wizard. If he is the master of a friend of yours that should warrant his hospitality. And the chance to sleep in an actual bed is enough reason to chance it.” Shale nodded and we strode forward. A great shadow leaned forward from the tower and engulfed the winding path that lead up to the raised drawbridge. The moment we broke the edge of the shadow, a great weight slammed down on me. My movements were sluggish. It was as though I was underwater, yet I was dry. Fear clung to me like icy water as I began to suffocate. I turned to Shale and he, too, showed signs of dread. His eyes where wide, his mouth agape, his hands reached forward, pushing back some invisible threat. With all the strength afforded to us, we turned away and broke the threshold of the shadow and emerged into the dying orange light of the setting sun. “Perhaps not.” I managed to utter between a gasp. “Yes.” Answered Shale. “Clearly he is in no mood for visitors.” We hastened away. * * * * I cannot recall with any accuracy how many days we traveled passed Balian’s Tower. I remember being further accosted by the rabid, possessed boars. Shale and I did everything in our power to avoid any direct confrontations with them, but we did not always succeed. Thus, many had to be slain. We had little choice. With each subsequent skirmish, Shale became even more agitated. He would wince whenever I performed the killing blow, but we both knew it was better than the alternative. Even so, it did not make the gruesome task any easier. We came across Farmer Jed’s home. He told Shale that his friends left a few days ago, after recuperating from a deadly boar attack. He showed Shale and I Boots’s grave. Shale knelt down and touched the simple grave marker. He said nothing. In the dying light of the day, Shale’s usually hearty, smoothed, tanned features were sallow and creased with lines of fatigue. This journey was truly taking its toll on the Druid. I uttered a short prayer to Canaan, asking Him to take Boots into His care. Farmer Jed’s offers of hospitality were rebuffed by Shale, as he wished to continue moving. “They’re in danger out there without me.” He said. “I need to find them. Something very strange is happening and I fear if our journey is delayed much longer, they will be lost.” Deep in the night we came to the granite bridge that stretched over the steep cliff and dried out ravine which served as the official border between Turgos and the Wildlands. The darkness under the bridge looked solid, as if it were simply a floor anyone could walk across. Shale informed me of the tradition of tossing salt over the edge of the bridge to appease the spirit which, legend had it, resided there. Not wishing to tempt fate, I obliged the tradition and fed the spirit a pinch’s worth of salt. We crossed the bridge and headed into the Wildlands. More days passed. We were unmolested, but even so, the shifting landscape, turning from twisting hills, vast, featureless plains and dense, opaque forests, I was glad to be in the presence of someone accustomed to such terrain. Shale remained focused. He studied every blade of tall grass, every overturned rock, every chipped, low hanging branch for evidence of his friends’ passage. He would say very little, making amendments to our course and direction with a point of the finger, a wave of the hand, or a nod of the head. “We are gaining ground. But we must hurry.” He would say and quicken his pace. I did my best to keep up, but pulling a stubborn, constantly famished donkey along at the speed Shale moved proved impossible. With a growing frustration, Shale was forced to match our pace or leave us behind. Several days later, Shale, a good hundred paces ahead of us, suddenly stopped. He turned back to us and bounded up to me. “Careful.” He said. “Up ahead. There are bodies.” “More boars?” I asked. “No.” “Your friends?” “No. Thank the Green. It is something else entirely. Follow me, but stay alert.” I obeyed. The two of us, my donkey in tow, made our way up a slightly rising hill and I stopped short at the crest and gasped. There, tucked in a neat pile, were what at first appeared to be the corpses of small children, only they were all clad in primitive, poorly hewn, coats of hide. Crude weapons, axes, knives and swords, were arranged next to the heap. “Who could have done such a thing?” I fought back a growing urge to openly sob. Shale turned to me, his eyes bent in a look of utter incomprehension. “They were… children…” I said between huffs. Shale put a hand on my shoulder. “No, Evora.” He said. “These were no children. Come. Let me show you.” He led me down the hill to the pile. The stench of decay clung to the air. I gagged. Shale lifted one of the corpse’s faces and showed me. It was gray. The features were flat, the lifeless eyes but slits. Its mouth was full of broken, oversized, yellow fangs. I recoiled at the sight of them. Then I recalled something I had read in my taboo studies under the hallowed halls of the Temple of Canaan in Soliel. A tome on magical creatures known as “fey.” “Goblins.” I uttered in realization. “Yes.” Answered Shale. “And there will be more of them. There always are.” Just then we heard a rustling in the tall grass to the North. Something was moving toward us, something shielded by shadow and the wall of grass. I took hold of my mace. Shale began to incant. We readied ourselves for the ambush. [/QUOTE]
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Tirlanolir/D'nemy's Tales of Turgos: The Heroes of Goldfire Glen (UPDATE 7/26)
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