PieAndDragon
Duncan T
Fey Troubles
The gloom of the forest had not changed. Coloured lights, unearthly music and bouts of distant laughter told Layla that the fey were still out among the trees. The mayor had looked more desperate than before, telling them another merchant had cancelled his contract with Turvin, and offering up gold of the village to entice the adventurers in freeing the village of their troubles. The enchantress was concerned that the Company of Rifter’s word bore so little weight, remembering promises that they needed no payment to help such poor folk as this. She had made what difference she could, handing out coins to the young ones, silver and gold making the difference to lives of peasant and craftsman alike.
The Company of Rifter had done well from the dragon, gaining much wealth from the hoard, almost two thousand gold coins per member, even when split among the eight of them. After two days of scouring stall after stall of merchandise, visiting the most obscure places in Corelane, most had what they wanted. Ra wore full plate from the dragon’s lair, reworked to fit him. The berserker was a walking armoury, weighed down with all manner of death-dealing weapons. Derris had a collection of finely made blades, the dwarf bore an enchanted axe, the elf an imbued bow Sam sat atop a mighty charger and all of them were armed with cold iron weapons. Arrows, daggers, swords and axes of the dark metal, the better to hunt the fey. Layla was proud of her find, a magical haversack which held all manner of gear but always weighed the same. With the fate of Turvin on their minds, they had lingered no more, making their way back along the road to the hamlet.
Her companions were silent for the most part, wary of the woods and the dangers within. They followed the tracker and berserker along the deer trail, searching for clues of what lay further beyond the winter-bare trees. The noise of Sam on his charger and Ra leading his warhorse would warn any foe of their approach long before the Company would be seen. Layla and Laucien kept to the centre of the party, the elf’s eagle flitting among the branches above. Derris brought up the rear of the party, alert for dangers which may try to catch them unawares. Some malaise had overcome Xarban, who shivered and trudged along, oblivious to his surroundings but keeping up nonetheless.
Three hours into their journey they came upon a wide clearing, strewn with the remnants of celebration. Layla made out empty wineskins and half-eaten fruit, while the sour stink of spilled wine crept to her nostrils. In the centre of the clearing stood a twisted tree, covered in tatters of festive ribbon and dimly glowing beehives. A naked man sat dazed under the tree dirt and moss caking his legs, a vacant gaze complemented by a ruddy glow on his cheeks. Layla remembered a man fitting his description from the village, a woodcutter missing for a week now. In disjointed sentences, he confirmed that he was Marshal Ternsval of Turvin, with memories of a wild party for several days. Plagued by a painful headache, the woodcutter was grateful when they found his clothes, pausing only to moan that he had lost his wedding ring before heading back to the hamlet.
Humanoid tracks lead a short way north, veering off from the deer trail only to vanish completely a hundred yards later. With few other options the Company of Rifter continued to follow their original course, looking for more solid signs of the fey. Two hours later they found them, coming upon a web-spun gossamer bridge spanning a fast-moving river, anchored five foot above the rushing waters by two strong willows. The enchantress was struck by the beauty of the scene, the bridge sparkling with incandescent dew and shimmering with multicoloured hues.
A movement caught Layla’s eyes among the branches of the willow on the opposite bank. Two gossamer wings fanned out from a bulbous purple frame, sectioned by bright yellow stripes. Multi-faceted eyes stared impassively from the creatures head as it spoke in the tongue of the forest, a language none of them understood. In broken common the beast told them that the bridge was his, and seemed to expect some kind of tribute from their kind. Layla watched as her companions tried to reason with the beast, and Snarf grew increasingly impatient. A warning shot fired from his longbow earned a quick reply, a net of webbing flying across the water to engulf the berserker, triggering the Company of Rifter into action.
While the dwarf cut Snarf free of his webbing, Derris darted across, the bridge dipping slightly under his weight as he stood at the far end, darting at the beast with sickle and dagger of cold iron. The others, concerned of putting too much strain upon the bridge, supported the noble with sling stones, arrows and bolts. The beast was a difficult target, clinging to the far side of the willow, striking at the noble with its dripping fangs and hooked claws. Laucien was next across, moving up to aid the noble with sword in hand, his eagle attacking their foe from above. Frustrated with her archery skills, Layla clambered up onto the web bridge, hoping it could take the weight of a third person. Focusing her magic, she flung out an arm, assaulting the winged fey’s mind with a surge of power. Already pierced by arrows and blades, it was overwhelmed, sliding down the trunk of the willow and laying still.
Once the Company of Rifter was all across the web bridge, having swum the two warhorses across separately, Layla studied the gems found in a well-made pouch on the fey’s corpse. Although pretty, their value was nothing compared to the dragon’s hoard. Finding little else in the area, the dwarf and berserker set about looking for any trail. Several futile minutes later, it was decided to head north away from the river, into the heart of the woodlands. This side of the river was a lot quieter, with little noise from forest creatures and a concealing canopy which only allowed through a gloomy half-light. The forest floor had little plant life beyond patches of colourful mushrooms and toadstools.
The first they knew of their attackers was shrill laughter from high among the branches. A large green humanoid leapt from the trees, blood covering its long arms and legs as it rushed to attack the warriors guarding the rear of the party. The twang of bows followed shortly thereafter, striking Snarf, who fell into a slumber. Branches, mushrooms and fungi animated around them, grabbing for arms and legs, holding the adventurers in place. Layla could catch no sight of the archers, no doubt more fey using illusions to stay out of sight. The berserker, awoken from his slumber, ran to aid the nomad against the howling troll. After a few blows had been exchange, the two shouted that their foe was not real, that it was another trick by their invisible attackers.
Alerted, Layla could see though the troll, a powerful illusion. But the distraction of the beast proved costly for the Company of Rifter. Hindered by grasping plants, they fell into slumbers faster than each could wake another. The enchantress almost caught an archer in a cone of swirling colours, but some ward protected the unseen creature and they shot from further back thereafter. The elf and half-elf seem unaffected by the arrows, battling on even when Layla felt the sting of a tiny arrow, and sunk into a deep enchanted sleep.
The gloom of the forest had not changed. Coloured lights, unearthly music and bouts of distant laughter told Layla that the fey were still out among the trees. The mayor had looked more desperate than before, telling them another merchant had cancelled his contract with Turvin, and offering up gold of the village to entice the adventurers in freeing the village of their troubles. The enchantress was concerned that the Company of Rifter’s word bore so little weight, remembering promises that they needed no payment to help such poor folk as this. She had made what difference she could, handing out coins to the young ones, silver and gold making the difference to lives of peasant and craftsman alike.
The Company of Rifter had done well from the dragon, gaining much wealth from the hoard, almost two thousand gold coins per member, even when split among the eight of them. After two days of scouring stall after stall of merchandise, visiting the most obscure places in Corelane, most had what they wanted. Ra wore full plate from the dragon’s lair, reworked to fit him. The berserker was a walking armoury, weighed down with all manner of death-dealing weapons. Derris had a collection of finely made blades, the dwarf bore an enchanted axe, the elf an imbued bow Sam sat atop a mighty charger and all of them were armed with cold iron weapons. Arrows, daggers, swords and axes of the dark metal, the better to hunt the fey. Layla was proud of her find, a magical haversack which held all manner of gear but always weighed the same. With the fate of Turvin on their minds, they had lingered no more, making their way back along the road to the hamlet.
Her companions were silent for the most part, wary of the woods and the dangers within. They followed the tracker and berserker along the deer trail, searching for clues of what lay further beyond the winter-bare trees. The noise of Sam on his charger and Ra leading his warhorse would warn any foe of their approach long before the Company would be seen. Layla and Laucien kept to the centre of the party, the elf’s eagle flitting among the branches above. Derris brought up the rear of the party, alert for dangers which may try to catch them unawares. Some malaise had overcome Xarban, who shivered and trudged along, oblivious to his surroundings but keeping up nonetheless.
Three hours into their journey they came upon a wide clearing, strewn with the remnants of celebration. Layla made out empty wineskins and half-eaten fruit, while the sour stink of spilled wine crept to her nostrils. In the centre of the clearing stood a twisted tree, covered in tatters of festive ribbon and dimly glowing beehives. A naked man sat dazed under the tree dirt and moss caking his legs, a vacant gaze complemented by a ruddy glow on his cheeks. Layla remembered a man fitting his description from the village, a woodcutter missing for a week now. In disjointed sentences, he confirmed that he was Marshal Ternsval of Turvin, with memories of a wild party for several days. Plagued by a painful headache, the woodcutter was grateful when they found his clothes, pausing only to moan that he had lost his wedding ring before heading back to the hamlet.
Humanoid tracks lead a short way north, veering off from the deer trail only to vanish completely a hundred yards later. With few other options the Company of Rifter continued to follow their original course, looking for more solid signs of the fey. Two hours later they found them, coming upon a web-spun gossamer bridge spanning a fast-moving river, anchored five foot above the rushing waters by two strong willows. The enchantress was struck by the beauty of the scene, the bridge sparkling with incandescent dew and shimmering with multicoloured hues.
A movement caught Layla’s eyes among the branches of the willow on the opposite bank. Two gossamer wings fanned out from a bulbous purple frame, sectioned by bright yellow stripes. Multi-faceted eyes stared impassively from the creatures head as it spoke in the tongue of the forest, a language none of them understood. In broken common the beast told them that the bridge was his, and seemed to expect some kind of tribute from their kind. Layla watched as her companions tried to reason with the beast, and Snarf grew increasingly impatient. A warning shot fired from his longbow earned a quick reply, a net of webbing flying across the water to engulf the berserker, triggering the Company of Rifter into action.
While the dwarf cut Snarf free of his webbing, Derris darted across, the bridge dipping slightly under his weight as he stood at the far end, darting at the beast with sickle and dagger of cold iron. The others, concerned of putting too much strain upon the bridge, supported the noble with sling stones, arrows and bolts. The beast was a difficult target, clinging to the far side of the willow, striking at the noble with its dripping fangs and hooked claws. Laucien was next across, moving up to aid the noble with sword in hand, his eagle attacking their foe from above. Frustrated with her archery skills, Layla clambered up onto the web bridge, hoping it could take the weight of a third person. Focusing her magic, she flung out an arm, assaulting the winged fey’s mind with a surge of power. Already pierced by arrows and blades, it was overwhelmed, sliding down the trunk of the willow and laying still.
Once the Company of Rifter was all across the web bridge, having swum the two warhorses across separately, Layla studied the gems found in a well-made pouch on the fey’s corpse. Although pretty, their value was nothing compared to the dragon’s hoard. Finding little else in the area, the dwarf and berserker set about looking for any trail. Several futile minutes later, it was decided to head north away from the river, into the heart of the woodlands. This side of the river was a lot quieter, with little noise from forest creatures and a concealing canopy which only allowed through a gloomy half-light. The forest floor had little plant life beyond patches of colourful mushrooms and toadstools.
The first they knew of their attackers was shrill laughter from high among the branches. A large green humanoid leapt from the trees, blood covering its long arms and legs as it rushed to attack the warriors guarding the rear of the party. The twang of bows followed shortly thereafter, striking Snarf, who fell into a slumber. Branches, mushrooms and fungi animated around them, grabbing for arms and legs, holding the adventurers in place. Layla could catch no sight of the archers, no doubt more fey using illusions to stay out of sight. The berserker, awoken from his slumber, ran to aid the nomad against the howling troll. After a few blows had been exchange, the two shouted that their foe was not real, that it was another trick by their invisible attackers.
Alerted, Layla could see though the troll, a powerful illusion. But the distraction of the beast proved costly for the Company of Rifter. Hindered by grasping plants, they fell into slumbers faster than each could wake another. The enchantress almost caught an archer in a cone of swirling colours, but some ward protected the unseen creature and they shot from further back thereafter. The elf and half-elf seem unaffected by the arrows, battling on even when Layla felt the sting of a tiny arrow, and sunk into a deep enchanted sleep.