NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Joshua Randall" data-source="post: 1168028" data-attributes="member: 7737">The ChaseIt took the Company of the Red Kestrel an entire day to recover from the Cener ambush that had deprived them of the Shard of Gareth. Brogun called upon the power of Kirabá time and time again to undo the debilitating effects of the poison on Kell, Otieno, and Ilthian the dryad. The latter was exceptionally distraught over the loss of the Shard. She withdrew into her tree and refused to re-emerge despite Kell’s entreaties. “We shall recover the Shard and return it to the forest,” Kell promised. “You have my word on that, Ilthian.” But the dryad did not believe him. “You will use its powers for your personal aggrandizement,” she said sadly from within her oak. Kell sighed. At times, his patience with the creatures of nature was sorely tested. In any case, he had days and days of hard work ahead. Tracking the Cener ranger who had carried off the Shard would not be easy, for that foe was not only experienced in woodcraft in his own right, but could periodically obliterate his trail with magic. There was no time to lose. = = = The Herbalish turned to his companions. “I was going to ask you to make the hard choice to abandon your heavy armor and weapons in the interest of speed,” Kell began. Brogun, panting slightly, said nothing. He contemplated the teachings of Kirabá. “A true warrior’s faith is his armor, his devotion his shield.” Kednor intoned the words in his rumbling baritone. But Brogun was not sure he agreed. He would rather have a suit of plate between himself and the enemy than rely on faith and devotion. Seeing the look of consternation on his companion’s face, Kell chuckled. “Fortunately for your dwarven pride, there is no need for such drastic measures. See these? Hoofprints. Our quarry is mounted.” “Then we will never catch up to him,” Brogun groaned. “We will not,” Kell agreed. “Indeed, he will pull away from us more and more each day. However, in our advantage is the fact that he has not been using pass without trace to lose us.” “Why not?” queried Brogun. Kell shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps he has been saving his magic for other uses. Perhaps he underestimates my tracking skills.” Brogun huffed. “How could anyone do that?” Otieno, who had listened to the proceedings in silence, broke in. “Or perhaps he rushes towards a destination and does not care that we follow.” Brogun spat on the ground, provoking a wince from Kell. Otieno continued. “Since exiting the forest, we have headed towards the Rymerift. There are only two crossings: at Port Bax and at Ryme. As his trail had led south of west, we can deduce that he intends the latter.” “Unless he plans to use a boat to cross,” Kell pointed out. “I have heard,” Otieno mused, “that those well attuned to magic can cause distant places to appear to their inner sight.” The Vakeros sorcerer looked pointedly at Brogun. “Distant places or - people.” The dwarf frowned. Clearing his throat, he said, “Kirabá has yet to grant me such a boon.” “Perhaps if you had focused your energies upon serving your god instead of learning how to chop things into smaller pieces, you would be able to cast this spell,” said Kell. Brogun growled. “And perhaps if you had kept a better grip on the Shard of Gareth—“ “Enough.” Kednor’s deep voice cut short the argument. “The trail leads towards the Rymerift, correct?” Kell nodded. “Then we follow it.” “And when we reach the water?” Kell queried. Kednor slowly turned to look at Brogun, then returned his gaze to the ranger. “Then you shall see what faith in Kirabá makes possible.” = = = Upon the banks of the Rymerift, Kednor knelt and prayed to his god. When he arose, he touched each of his companions in turn. Then, leading the way, Brogun strode across the rushing water as if it were solid ground. Once they had reached the opposite shore, Kell knelt immediately to look for tracks. After studying the earth for several minutes, he looked up, pointed southwards, and set off at a slow jog. = = =  Kell finally lost the trail on the road outside Kadan, near the body of a half-eaten equine. Kell grimaced. “He rode his horse to death.” “I thought you said he was a druid,” Brogun said. “Don’t druids care for animals?” Kednor scowled. “Not the Cener.” = = = The rolling, wooded countryside of southern Durenor had given way to the arid, scrubby hills and low mountains of Cloeasia. During the daytime, the temperature reached 80 degrees or more, and the dwarves at last consented to remove their heavy armor. Remove, but not abandon, for each now carried his mail in a bundle upon his back rather than wearing it. Traffic upon the road was sparse. On one occasion, the Kestrels overtook a merchant caravan bound for Ferufezan. The dour mercenaries who guarded the train of camels and wagons shook their heads negatively when questioned, and motioned the adventurers away. Unexpectedly, it was Otieno who persisted in questioning the wary soldiers-for-hire. The Vassagonian sorcerer smiled at the men, spoke to them in their native language, and offered them water - the traditional hospitality of the desert regions. At last, after hours of gradually less strained conversation, Otieno returned to his companions. “A lone rider, his horse in a lather, passed by four days ago. He asked about the road between Lujar and Vakar.” Kell’s eyes gleamed at the news, and he clapped Otieno on the back. “Well done!” The sorcerer bowed theatrically. = = = Without Brogun’s ability to create food and water, they would have been dead. But the dwarven cleric was able to bring forth a limitless supply of nourishing, if bland, edibles. And it was the water more than anything else that sustained them. On Kell’s advice, they began traveling by night. It was simply too hot during the day to do more than seek what little shade was provided by the scraggly toa trees that grew in sparse patches near the road. This was high summer at the edge of the Dry Main, and only fools or heroes dared travel during it. At Vakar, Otieno’s knowledge of local customs was once again essential. A half-day spent in that town’s simple house of worship provided yet another lead: their quarry had passed through some ten days prior, bound for Casiorn. “By Kirabá’s beard!” Brogun swore. “I weary of this chase.” “You thought the adventuring life would be more glamorous, eh, Brogun?” Kell teased. “No,” the dwarf said slowly, “but I thought it would be less… exhausting.” = = = It was at the oasis near Casiorn that the Company of the Red Kestrel came across the same traveling archery contest in which Nasir had taken part. For the Kestrels, Kell was the obvious choice to compete. The first part of the contest was easy: firing arrows at a moderately distant target, attempting to achieve a minimum score in order to advance. Kell breezed through that portion of the event, as did one other: a tall man with rugged features, a hunter from the Bone Hills to the north, who bore a longbow of orange toa-wood. The hunter nodded his head and spoke in a gruff voice. “Altan.” “Kell,” replied the ranger. He had observed this stranger, and seen that the man’s skill with his chosen weapon was formidable. It would be a difficult contest. Kell grinned.</blockquote>

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