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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Destan" data-source="post: 1270551" data-attributes="member: 12157">Upon Divergent PathsOn the eastern edge of the Eldritch Glades, still within the shadows cast by those slender and ancient boles, Baden waited.  Alone.Or – not entirely alone.  “Ilvar, can you see?”- See, Baden?“Aye.  Can you see what I see?”-Ahh…no, friend.  There is only darkness here. I cannot see, but I can hear.  And I can feel.Baden chewed on his whiskers.  He felt sorrow for his possessing spirit, felt grief for the elven child that had been eaten by Ippizicus years and years ago.  Ilvar would miss a glorious sight, as he doubtless had missed many worthy sights in a life made too short, too soon.The Weedsea, blanketed in shadow, spread outward in all directions from the small stand of trees where he now stood.  Baden studied the peaks of the Balantir Cor, molten and red from the as-yet hidden dawn.  The world, asleep around him, seemed to draw in a breath in anticipatory silence and then…then the sun’s upper edge topped those rocky spires without warning.  A sliver of light, shining and bright, lanced downward, chased away the blackness in the blink of an eye, and gave color to the land once more.“A glorious moment,” Baden echoed reverentially.Time spent outside the warrens of Axemarch had proven to him there was beauty to be found on the surface world, beauty of an all-together different sort than that within his homeland.  But none the less because of it.Morning had come into the world, again, and the dwarf yet lived.  I thank you, Forgefather, for this and for so many things.Baden patted his horse’s snout affectionately, surprised to find he actually liked the beast.  He had camped not far from this very spot when he had first departed Axemarch.  Baden had ridden a pony then, old Marmbly, and he had been fleeing memories that had since proved too persevering.  Running was no way to live, and such was not in Baden’s nature regardless.  It was time he faced his past, time he faced his people.But the lone dwarf loitered for a time, allowed the light to creep across the land until it was warm on his cheeks.  He studied the fluid swaying of the grasses, watched a crimson cardinal leap from thicket to thicket.  He drank in all those things foreign to Axemarch – the birds, the winds, the smells - and scribed them onto his memory.  Baden knew that once he ducked beneath the Foggun Maw, he might never see such sights again.Then, without further delay, he climbed atop his mount and rode eastward.Toward home.***Vath stopped when the weeds at his feet turned silver from the coming dawn.  He set Amelyssan down beside him.  The half-troll rolled his shoulders, relishing in the soreness of his muscles, the pain in his back, the burning in his calves.“A new day arrives,” the elf murmured, tone tinged with relief and incredulity.  Amelyssan studied the rising sun with eyes that mirrored the amber hues of morning.Vath squatted in the weeds, his breathing labored.  “I have heard no howling for some time.  I believe the wolven split into two groups – one following us, and one following our companions.”The elf scanned the undulating horizon of the Cormick horseplains.  “We may rest, here, for a time.”“No.  The daylight must accompany our travel.”  Vath stood.  “Let us continue our push to the west.”Amelyssan pulled a strip of dried beef from his pouch.  He handed it to his friend.  “It is the only meat I have.  I am sorry.”Vath swallowed the food in a gulp.  “I will run down a hare, but not now.  When the sun is at its zenith, we may tarry for a time.”“As you say,” Amelyssan agreed, eyes compassionate.They had a long march ahead of them, a dangerous one.  The walled town of Corm was still days and days away, and between them and it stretched miles of open ground with little cover.  There would be many nights, many chances for the wolven to find them.  But we have lived to see this dawn, when I thought never we would.The pair of Olgotha Brothers picked their way along the grasses, keeping to the lower troughs of the veritable gray-yellow sea.  Most of the morning passed in silence before Amelyssan spoke once more.  “I have news, friend.”Vath arched a blistered brow.“I believe I have mastered a new power, an arcane power, for the secrets of fire are no longer hidden from me.  True fire, friend, and I can form it into spheres to cast against our enemies.”  Amelyssan had not expected to see trepidation in his companion’s eyes.  Ah, yes, I had forgotten – half-troll’s fear fire.  His folk are especially susceptible to its ravages.  “Vath.  Friend, worry not - I am the master of the fire, not it of me.”They two made toward a rise in the plains whereupon Vath climbed to the crest of a rare jumble of rocks.  From its top the half-troll surveyed the prairies to all sides of them, head swiveling in a circle, nose wheezing as he breathed in the scents of the land.Suddenly, he grew still.  “Men.  I smell them.”Amelyssan peered upward, hand falling to his spell component pouch.  “Where?”“Here,” came an accented voice, seemingly issued from the land itself.Elf and half-troll watched, wary and ready, as three men sprouted from the soil.  How had we not seen them?  They wore red cloaks, woolen caps, and carried bows as long as they were tall.  “Cormicks,” Amelyssan answered his own question.“Indeed we are,” one of the bowmen replied, affably enough.  “More importantly - you are not.”“No, we are not.  I am a horadrel of the Gruns, and this is my companion, a monk of Ilmater from the Keshian monastery.”“Your native islands are within a different ocean - this here is the Weedsea; and never have I heard of Kesh.”  The clansman lowered his nocked arrow, albeit only slightly.  All three red-garbed warriors measured Vath, eyes shadowed beneath their caps.  “You trespass.”Amelyssan spread his hands, palms upward.  “We do not begrudge your people their clanlands.  We traveled the Duskingway, enroute to Lonely Heath, and mean no harm to you or yours.”The rising sun made the Cormick’s smile easy to see.  “The Duskinway is a day’s hard journey east of here, friend.  I see no cobbled stones beneath your feet.”Vath growled from atop the rocks, and Amelyssan stepped forward a pace – all his movements deliberate and open.  “We were forced off by beasts.”  A glimmer of recognition sparkled in the clansman’s eyes, and Amelyssan pressed his advantage.  “Wolf-like creatures that breathe winter from their maws.  You find us here, yes, but not by our choice.”“These beasts are new to these lands, but we know of them.  As we know of all things upon the Weedsea.”  He paused before apparently reaching a decision.  “You are free to return to the Duskingway.  Turn your hairless cheeks to the rising sun, little elf, and go.”“Our way is west.”  Vath clenched and unclenched his fists.  “To the west we will go.”“To the west?  The west is not an option.”  The Cormick spokesman looked to Vath.  “The pointer has our leave to go, but you will not be accompanying him.  The Cormac pays for rûcken hides.  Unless I miss my guess, you are but a half-breed, and hence worth but half as much.  Still, your skin will soon be tacked to the palisades of Corm.”“The half-troll is my friend, clansman.” Amelyssan answered before Vath could reply.  “Name your price, and we shall pay it.”The man weighed Amelyssan’s purse with his gaze.  “Two hundred.  Crowns.  Valudian mint, if you please.”Amelyssan had the jewelry he had taken from the Sorrow Elf’s tomb; doubtless it was worth ten times the exorbitant amount demanded.  But he did not have the coins, and knew Vath carried little in the way of personal wealth.  Regardless - “Your price is too high.”The clansman shrugged.  “Then step away from the half-troll, boy-fey, ‘lest my aim be errant.”Vath had, evidently, heard enough.  He sprung from the rock, landing on the bawls of his feet, and scrambled up the slope in a half-sprint and half-crawl.  His teeth were bared like a hound on the scent of blood.  The first arrow he batted away without thought, the second found its mark, as did the third – though neither wound so much as slowed his charge.Amelyssan had wanted to glory in his newfound mastery of fire, but Vath was now too close to their enemies.  So instead the elf barked arcane words, his features twisting into a horrible visage, and one of the Cormicks dropped his bow and sprinted northward with nary a backward glance.Vath slammed a meaty fist into one man’s temple, stunning him, then tore the wind pipe from the throat of his fellow.  The half-troll tossed the whitish tube to the weeds, stepped forward, and – with a single, violent thrust - forced the still-standing man’s nose bone into his brain.  Vath did not spare even a glance to the twitching bodies at his feet.  He coiled and made as if to lope after the final clansman who had disappeared over a nearby swell.“Hold!” Amelyssan called.  To tell it true, the elf thought it an ill-move to spill Cormick blood on their own lands.  “Let him run, Vath – this is not our fight.  We must move, and quickly.  Doubtless there are others, most like on horseback, not far from here.”Vath stood in consideration for a moment, feathered shafts protruding from hip and collar, before grabbing Amelyssan and throwing the elf over his shoulders. Now, the west was an option.  They ran. ***John watched Anar as the man spoke in hushed tones with the half-elf.  Not being privy to conversation – any conversation – set the bard’s nerves on edge.  And, from the looks in their faces, the paladin and the white-cloaked ranger seemed to be discussing weighty matters.John cleared his throat.  “Sir Anar, your manners?  Where have they fled?”Anar turned to him, face serious and somber.  “Forgive me.  This is Wilan Whitefletch, a friend.”John flashed his warmest smile.  “I am John of Pell.  Well met, friend Wilan.”The half-elf dipped his head.  His cloak was fur-trimmed and white, his jerkin and breeches of similar ivory hues.  “I know of you, John of Pell.  As I know of your companions.”  Wilan spared a look toward Kellus and Raylin.  “I am heartened to see that you, all of you, are safe.”Kellus walked past Anar and Wilan without reply.  The priest stopped to survey the valley that fell beneath them, a sleeping hamlet in its midst.  Lonely Heath, per its name, was nestled far below their current vantage point, hidden and still in the heather like a frightened grouse.  Here, on the eastern ridges approaching the town, the autumnal winds were cold and biting.  Yet beneath them the smoke of Lonely Heath’s chimneys rose in near-vertical columns before cresting the valley’s rim to disperse like so many ghosts.  “A warm fire and spiced tankard would do all of us justice.”The others joined Kellus, each man alone in his thoughts; the band drank in the serenity of the tableau.  Eventually, Raylin was the one to interrupt their reverie.  “Yonder hamlet seems inviting, my brother-ranger, and yet we find you here, upon this cold ridgeline.”Wilan nodded.  “I began my climb so that I might finish it before the town awoke, for I care not to have my departure marked by unfriendly eyes.  Regardless, a journey awaits me, and I can ill afford to tarry therein.”Anar continued.  “Wilan makes for Axemarch and Ironfist, friends.  The Archmage Destan has sent him to learn what he may of the dwarven silence.”Raylin frowned.  “Then we should accompany you, Master Whitefletch.  We recently parted with a friend of ours, native to those mountains, for he sought similar answers.”Wilan looked to Anar.  The paladin stroked his beard.  “Destan was explicit in his instructions, Larrenman.  He asked that I return all of you to his estates in Val Hor.  As it stands, I have already failed my charge, for three of your number are not now with us.”Kellus shrugged.  “The Archmage and his machinations can wait, Sir Anar.  You may take word to Destan of our situation, and inform him we have accompanied his man to Axemarch.”“But this I cannot do.”  Anar appeared torn.  He strode away from the ridge and ran tender fingers along the face of his mount Comalakos.  The paladin of Lathander spoke without turning.  “Cormalakos and I have a new direction ahead of us.  A hard and cold one.”“You leave us?”  John’s tone held a hint of annoyance.“I must, friend.”  Anar rejoined them.  “There is one known as Guntir Sharpnose; I have wished to cross swords with him for many moons, for he has much and many fell deeds to answer for.  Wilan tells me that the gods may have given me just such an opportunity.  Sharpnose is known to be hiding in the peaks of the Borsk range, mountains not unlike those within my homeland.  Guntir is accustomed to swamps and fens, and the advantage will be mine.”“The Borsk lays to the north, while Val Hor is west.”  Raylin rested both hands on his swords.  “So you intend to travel northerly, whilst Wilan goes to Axemarch.  Are we to arrive on this Archmage’s doorstep like almsmen, without you there to vouch for us?”“Destan knows you.”“That may be,” Kellus allowed, “but we do not know him.”  The fallen Helmite’s face was etched with doubt.  “I dislike this turn of events.  My loyalty is to Baden, not the Archmage.”“I will find your friend,” Wilan offered, his tone even and confident.  “And then we will find you.”“In Val Hor,” John finished.“In Val Hor.”  Wilan nodded.  “I know these hills and mountains.  But a tenday will pass before I arrive at Val Hor with your dwarven friend.  We shall gain our answers and not delay.”Raylin doffed his cap and ran fingers through his hair.  “What of you, Anar?  Will you spend the day with us in Lonely Heath?”“Would that I could.”  Anar shook his head as he retreated from the ridge to tighten the straps around Cormalakos’ girth.  He turned.  “Though I dislike the thought of not fulfilling my promise to Destan, I believe he will understand.  Guntir is a dangerous foe, and one that must be placed within the ground before his power grows.”The pull of Lonely Heath’s taprooms was too much for John.  “Then it is settled.  We shall spend the day in the town beneath us, then cut westward for Val Hor.”Anar smiled.  “This is good.”The golden-armored Gordian climbed atop his warhorse.  “From here, head westward along the Kingsway, then angle southward to intercept the Coastal Road near Corm.  Once you are through the Boarswood, you will be in the lands of the Empire, and Val Hor is but a pleasant journey from such a location.  You will enjoy that city, John – ‘tis not so large as your native Pell, but greater in its glories.”“So long as there is a wall to separate me from Vath’s snoring…”  John’s voice faded as he realized his error.Kellus gripped Wilan’s shoulder with one hand.  “My fellows and I put much weight into your words, ranger.  Baden is a dear friend, and we would see his bearded face again.”“You honor me with your trust.  I shall not forsake such.”It was decided.The three companions – Kellus, Raylin, and John – watched as Anar, and then Wilan, disappeared into the folds of the land.  Daylight crept forward, and the sounds of the awaking folk of Lonely Heath rose upward to their position.John climbed atop his horse, waited for his friends to do the same, and then urged his mount down the winding path.  “My tongue wearies of the words ‘farewell’ and ‘goodbye.’”“As does mine,” Raylin agreed.The trio paused upon the outskirts of the village.  The yellow thickets were high within the valley’s sheltered base, the weeds and brambles brushing along the bellies of their mounts.  The ground, sheltered within the vale, was wet and soft despite the wintry cold.Kellus leaned backward in his saddle.  “I can see why men call this place Lonely Heath.”“Aye,” John agreed.  “The heather is thick enough to form an outer wall, of sorts.”Kellus fixed an eye on the southlander.  “I was referring to the ‘Lonely’ portion of its name.  The three of us are together, but without our other companions, and without Poridel’s guidance.  Never have I felt so alone, even during my years of wandering after first leaving my Church.”John chewed his lower lip.  “You see?  Beneath your exterior there is a poet waiting to be born.”  The three men shared gentle laughter among friends.  “I am not certain if they taught as much in your temple schooling, Kellus, but there is a cure to your affliction.”Kellus’ lips quirked into a knowing smile.  “There is?”“Ale,” John gave the expected answer.  “Lots and more of it.”“Agreed!”  Raylin’s booming laughter was infectious.  Even Kellus could not help but chuckle.  The black-cloaked Larrenman puffed his cheeks and mimicked the moan of a bull moose.  Farmers, sleepy-eyed as they exited their hovels, stared at the three horsemen in confusion and nervousness.“Today,” Raylin announced to all those within earshot, “the three of us shall grow so drunk that we embarrass not only ourselves, but also the spirits of our fathers.”And so they did.</blockquote>

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