Session 1, Part 1: Chaos’ Reign
Well, since everyone seems to agree, who am I to fight peer preasure? Give in, that's what I always say.
Session 1, Part 1: Chaos’ Reign
Approaching the farmhouse, Whisper took in the way Erinte’s hands twisted and pulled at her apron, the way her feet shuffled as she stood, and the jaw that was just a little to tight. She had almost looked as if she were afraid, even—impossible as it may seem, seeking out help! Balance was one thing, but this was something else. Erinte never showed fear, certainly never sought help! She was always able to take charge; always in control. Whisper began to feel a little fear herself.
“Erinte? Are you all right?”
“Oh, fine dear. Fine.”
“You most assuredly don’t look fine. We’ve never lied to each other before Erinte. Let’s not start now.”
Her face changed. Not anger exactly. Annoyance? Yes that must be it. It was a relief really. Erinte never showed fear, but annoyance was quite common. Rarely annoyance with Whisper though; usually she reserved it for her husband. But it was still a comfort. “Don’t be foolish child. I didn’t lie. I never do”
Whisper raised and eyebrow and Erinte colored. “Well, husbands don’t count. Anyway, it’s not me I’m worried about.”
“Melkien?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. He’s in the barn. Berisa isn’t doing very well.”
“I’ll take a look,” white knuckles in the apron again. “Later. For now, let’s go inside.”
“A good idea. I think I still have some salmon from Mel” Erinte’s face paled, “Goddess!” The scream became both a curse and a plea as it left her lips.
Spinning, she whistled even before she’d set her stance. Standing next to the children, was it? No, it wasn’t possible. The hair wasn’t the right color, the walk somehow wrong. But the skin was unmistakable. While not deep black, it was still obvious.
A drow.
Cast out of the light long ago by the elven high gods, the cruel—no, a stronger word is needed! The heartless, vindictive, brutal, nasty, perversion of elvish purity was closer. The only pleasure they were capable of came from the suffering of others—especially other elves, and children.
Whisper ran, the wolf at her side keeping close. The wolf growled, and, strangely so did she. The two sounds blending as those of a true pack.
As Whisper ran, a stout farmer came bustling out of the barn, carrying a pitchfork.
“Melkien, you listen to me!” By the sound of Erinte’s voice, she wasn’t far behind the two growling companions. “You get back, let Whisper handle this. Do you hear me? Get back!” Seeing what he faced, he had almost heeded his wife’s words. That is, until he saw his wife also rushing forward. Then, fearing more for his wife than himself, he placed his feet firmly, preparing to die.
Suddenly a three-foot arrow shaft was quivering in the earth at the dark-skinned elf’s feet. A warning shot. It had to have come from the trees.
Quickly raising his hands high into the air, the green-haired elf with smoky skin dropped his staff and tried to surrender.
Melkien charged.
NEXT, A White-Knuckle Grip and a Twirling Stick!
