The elm shook violently, and then broke. The resulting noise echoed around the clearing, reminding Oolab of the angry roar of thunder. He winced as the upper portion of the once proud elm crashed into the ground, causing the earth to shake; cursing, the halfling desperately clung to the boulder on which he perched. Once the rumbling subsided, he stood and adjusted his worn, gray-green coat.
The clearing stood deep in the forest men called Witchwood. With the exception of a small creek and a few scattered boulders, it was fairly unremarkable. Yet there was something special about the tiny glade; Oolab could feel his skin tingle even as he glared at the form of the grizzly bear tromping angrily over the shattered remnant of the elm.
“What did that tree do to offend you so, Smoke” he said reproachfully to the bear.
The grizzly paused. “It was in my way.” it growled in the manner of bears. Ignoring Oolabs reproachful stare, the bear named Smoke ambled over to the creek. Oolab sighed as the bear drank. Smoke seemed to be in a foul mood; nothing unusual about that, but it made dealing with him all the more exhausting. And dangerous.
Smoke the Bear let out a low rumble as he finished his task, whether in satisfaction or irritation Oolab could not tell.
“Feel better now?” the halfling asked
“No.” Smoke snapped. “Goblin vermin swarm the length of my range. They come with fire, they come with axes. Gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning. Destroyers and usurpers. Curse them!” Smoke trembled as fury, the need to destroy, enveloped him. “I should be out there killing those filthy bastards. Instead, I stand here.” The bear dug his claws into the ground, tearing out grass and large clods of earth.
Oolab shifted uneasily. Angering Smoke was the last thing he wanted to do; his temper was legendary, and could easily evolve into a berserker rage. More than one fool had provoked Smoke, and paid the price.
“That is the reason I called the Moot, brother,” Oolab said reasonably.
Smoke glared. “Get to the point, Lorekeeper. What do you want?”
“What I want,” he replied slowly. “Is for you to calm yourself, and wait here with me for the others to arrive. A Moot has been called, and the Witchwood stretches hundreds of leagues in all directions; much time may pass before we begin.”
Smoke began to pace, fuming. Underbrush cracked as the grizzly stomped about the glade. Overhead, the moon swam across the sky, bathing the clearing in pale light. Oolab lifted his head. Closing his eyes, he let the gentle illumination wash over him. Mother Yue, give me strength. Sighing, he opened his eyes and met Smokes smoldering glare.
“This is a waste of time. I have goblins to kill, and I--
“Enough!” Oolab snapped, his patience at an end. Leaping from the boulder, he marched across the glade to stand before the grizzly, glaring up at him. “Stop acting like a cub. This is bigger than you and your petty blood lust.”
“Watch your tongue, small one, unless you want me to hurl you across the forest. Remember that I am the strongest.”
True, Oolab thought. You are indeed stronger than any Ursa living in this forest. Out loud, he said softly, “I am the lorekeeper and lawgiver of our people in this place, Smoke. In this, I am stronger. You cannot gainsay me when it comes to my duty. Not unless you wish to become outcast.”
The Ursas numbers had never been great, not compared to the other tribes, such as the Canid or Rattus. Even so, or perhaps because of this, the Ursa society was tight knit; every member knew each other, or at least of each other. Thanks, in large part,to the lorekeepers. Traveling here and there, lorekeepers collected stories and sang songs, passing down Ursan history and culture. It was a their responsibility to teach cubs the laws.
“Do not push me,” Oolab said, his voice still soft. “A Moot has been called. While you are here, you will show the proper respect to me, your kin, and most importantly yourself.”
Smoke glared down at the halfling, but didn't speak. Oolab met his gaze steadily with his own. The seconds dragged by, and neither spoke.
“Oh, will you two stop that?” a voice, both feminine and musical, said.
Soft moonlight pierced the forest canopy beyond the clearing in loose, erratic shafts. Hardly enough light to provide humans with the means to see in the darkness, but more than enough for both grizzly bear and halfling. Enough to reveal the slender silhouette that approached the duo. Sliding easily past trees and underbrush, the figure moved with the enticing grace of a dancer. Or a sneak thief.
The figure stopped a dozen paces from the two, and drew back the cowl a light emerald cloak, revealing the beautiful, and amused, countenance of a she-elf. Her wide, almond shaped eyes scrutinized the Oolab and Smoke.
“Men,” she muttered to herself, although loud enough for them to hear. More than likely meant for their hears, whatever she might say, knowing her, Oolab thought. A quick glance at Smoke revealed similar thoughts. “Not a moon cycle passes without you trying to rip each others faces off.”
“Yogira,” Oolab said. “Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”
That elected a snort from Smoke. Yogira had many redeeming qualities; witty, brave to a fault, and possessing a beauty capable of converting a mans blood to water. But punctuality was not among them. The she-elf was usually off getting into trouble of some sort, and on more than one occasion dragged one or more of them along for the ride. Not that Oolab minded trouble, it made the days exciting. But there was a line, one Yogira loved to trespass.
Yogira favored them both with a saucy grin. “I come bearing gifts.” Pulling a small leather pouch from her belt, Yogira began unloading food stuffs; pies, mutton, roasted forest pig, fruits of all variety, and more.
“I assume,” Oolab said slowly. “That these 'gifts' were originally pilfered from one of the communities in this region?”
Yogira shrugged. “You'd have to ask the hobgoblins I stole it from.” The mention of hobgoblins elicited a deep throated growl from Smoke. “ I came upon them a few miles from here. A score or so, or I'm a gnome. Their campfire was hard to miss.”
“Did you leave any alive?” Smoke asked.
Yogira gave a derisive snort in reply.
Oolab nodded in satisfaction. “Now that you are here, Yogira, we await one other. The Honeypaw should be arriving any time.”
“Just one?” Yogira asked. “Why so few? What of the others?”
“I don't know.” Oolab's face was grim. “I have received no reply from any Ursa, except for you, Smoke, and the Honeypaw. It could be that they are out of reach. Or too busy hunting.”
Or they could be dead. Oolab didn't want to voice that thought. Couldn't voice it. Yogira frowned, no doubt thinking the same thing. The Ursa ranked some the mightiest creatures dwelling in the Witchwood; few creatures could match them in power; the weakest of their kin could uproot trees many times their size. But they were not invincible. Sufficient numbers could bring them down, and there was always the bane...
Oolab shook his head, trying to suppress the grim thoughts. Getting depressed now would do them little good, and there was much work ahead of them. “They no doubt attend to the same problem we all face of late. Goblinoids seem to be crawling out of the wood works.”
Smoke nodded. “More of the damn things then I've seen in the last ten years! Each one I kill is replaced by three more. If this keeps up, my claws will dull.”
“Events are worse than you realize.” Oolab said. He slid a hand through his shaggy, smokey gray hair. Luna preserve us, I wish goblins were the extent of our worries. Yogira and Smoke looked on curiously as he retrieved a number of objects from his old, travel worn satchel. Some where very small, no bigger than a halfling thumbnail and once colored jade, though time had faded their luster. There was no mistaking what they were.
“Scales,” Smoke growled. “Dragon scales.”
“Indeed,” Oolab said. He dropped the scales onto the grass and reached once more into his pack, revealing more. These were considerably larger than the others, close to the size of a dinner plate and dull black in color. “Dragons, black and green, seem to be aiding the goblin horde.”
Yogira shivered despite herself. Dragons, winged terrors of the sky, were a powerful foe; even one dragon would give the bravest Ursa pause. Gifted with claws that could rend stone as if it were parchment, teeth as long as a halfling was tall, and scales thicker than the thickest plate, the dragon was a deadly adversary. Oolab could not fault Yogira her fear; he felt it himself. One dragon of sufficient size could raze a small town with ease. A band of them...
The crack of a branch in the forest trees beyond the glade was their first warning of the approaching figure. Smoke rose from his crouch, a low growl escaping his maw. He began to amble toward the sound, then relaxed as the sweet sticky scent of honey found its way to his nose. A moment later, halfling and elf noticed the aroma. Yogira smiled. “He's here.”
The underbrush rustled and shook. There was a pause, and then the sound of cloth tearing reached their ears, followed by a mournful “Oh bother.” Then the rustling continued, filling the otherwise quiet night with racket. Bear, elf, and halfling watched, until finally a form emerged form the foliage. Long red robes did nothing to hide his vast belly. Sharp tusks jutted from his wide, jolly smile, announcing to all his orcish blood. Flowing, immaculately groomed hair the color of wheat adorned his head. He paused, dipping a calloused hand into a small jar at his side. Scooping out a glob of sticky amber liquid that could only be honey, he eagerly shoveled it into his waiting mouth, ignoring the mess that dribbled off his chin and onto is clothing. That done, he waved in greeting.
“Good evening, everyone.” He said while licking his fingers.
“Hello Winn,” Oolab said, smiling despite himself. Winn da'Pooh was a rare person; he cultivated a sense of happiness, of simple tranquility that no one, not even Smoke, could overcome. There wasn't a power on Galorian, or any other world, that could steal his smile.
“Oh, Oolab. I seem to have torn my robe again. Can you fix it?”
Oolab nodded. “Of course.” Whispering under his breath, Oolab waved a hand over the torn section of the red robe. A tiny glow, the color of the sky on a clear summer day, gently flowed from his hand and clung to the garment. Instantly, the tear vanished as if it never was, leaving the robe undamaged.
Winn grinned happily. “Thank you Oolab. Much better now, I think.”
Oolab shook his head, wry amusement stealing his frown. Not a moon passed without Winn coming to him, asking for repairs of some sort. Tranquil he may be, but that didn't stop him from being hard on his cloths.
“Now that Winn Honeypaw has arrived,” Oolab said. “I declare this Moot begun.”
