# The Journey across Midnight (Updated 07SEP03)



## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*Originally posted on Against the Shadow, as The Journey... this is a story of heroism, or something *

*In Medias Res*

The corpse rose from the broken soul, its hands worn, from digging, the flesh was charred, and crisped, to a darkened black, yet still clung to the bone and muscled underneath.  It dragged itself into the darkness of the night, and stood to its full height, just less than five feet, with a stocky build of decaying muscle and blackened flesh.  It lacked a head, as it fell to its knees and fumbled around, feeling for its wayward head.  The hands despite the lack of living tissue were still nimble, as nimble as a dead dwarf could be, but they were nimble.  His fingers led him to his head, and placed it top his neck, and spent a few moments readjusting his head, the flesh and bone growing to reattach the head back to its errant body.  The dwarf chuckled, its voice raspy, the laughter was the only sound in the darkness amidst the grassy planes of Central Erenland.  

Even death would be denied to this warrior.  The dwarf had nothing left, no family, no life; all it had was vengeance, and a means to kill.  The sword, it was his only salvation, and the instrument of his corruption, when everything else was lost to him, it had been there, a constant friend, always looking out for his best interests.  The creature had not even realized it was digging, digging like a frantic madman, but there was no lethargy in his bones, no exhaustion of effort, it could keep this up forever if it wished.  But the sword was not deep, only a few scant feet under the damp soil, wrapped in a bundle.  The bundle was quickly ripped away, to reveal a gleaming short blade, the pommel was bound in tight black leather, at the bottom blossomed into a black jewel, which seemed to have limitless depth.  As he held it the blade took on an ephemeral glow of fire, the flames licked the air, but did not harm the dwarf in the slightest.

“Welcome back Borca, you didn’t think I would let you go that easily, did you dear?” the blade spoke in a soft female voice, in a whisper that only the dwarf could hear.

Borca grinned, a teeth falling from his wretched skull, “What have you done to me?” his voice giddy, despite his irritation.

“I did what you wanted me to do, you made the choice to jump the chasm, you never wanted to be alone, and you must know that despite your best hopes your family is not waiting for you on the other side, because there is no other side,” the blade replied in the soft sultry voice.

“So you gave me the mockery of life,” Borca scowled, “I did not ask for this.”

“Then blame the ones who did this to you, I can help you regain what death has taken from you, but it will take some sacrifice on your part, my dearest Borca.  I must feed, feed the blade, and I can help you regain what you have lost,” the blade whispered softly.

Borca grinned once more, “You best not be lying to me, but for now I will do what you ask.  Besides I can repay the favor the ugly Dorn, and that harlot did to me.”

“You will have vengeance, Borca, and more, you can always rely on me, I will never forsake you my dearest Borca,” the blade replied lovingly.

Deep within the steel folds of the blade, a darker essence brooded.  The foul essence trapped with the prison that was the blade.  The dark spirit lashed out at the prison, a female essence of temptation, she fumed, for nearly two centuries she had railed against her prison, and for two years she had railed to no avail.  The demon was a mighty temptress and sorceress in her time, and had been a consort of several legates, until one of her lovers tricked her, and then betrayed her to create the blade she was now housed in.  Her only consolation was that she was able to corrupt one of his closest allies to slay him, and claim the blade for himself.

She has passed through so many hands that that the demon could not even recall all of their names, nor did she care to.  They were of simple consequence, but Borca, he had potential.  If only because he could possibly bring the demon closer to her freedom; the heart’s blood of an elven virgin would free her from her prison, and she would be free to wreak her terrible vengeance on those who would dare control her.  Of course she was even more incensed because none of those responsible still lived, but she could always pick someone to take her anger out on.  She was quite flexible in focusing her always-present hatred.

But first she had to get free…


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*The Old Man*

Along the trails of Eredane tales spread among those who fight against the resistance of an Old Man who spreads a message of hope to those who have nothing left to cling to.  Perhaps it is just an old tale but the man walks many roads, he has been seen in many places, and his tale or variations thereof have been heard from the fest halls of the north, to the open plains of the south.  The elves if they know his name do not speak it, but they know him as a friend of the Fae, perhaps the Witch Queen knows his true identity.  

He was a mystery, his smile, is ocean-like eyes, his very presence seemed to bring ease and comfort, and yet he was not one to converse he spoke very little.  Always accompanied by his companion, a dove that seemed to be his eyes and ears in the world.  What it knew the Old Man knew, the two shared a bond, that much was known.  But nothing else, if the man is truly real he has been walking the roads for centuries.  His appearance usually preceded the appearance of great heroes, heroes that brought hope during the darkest of times.

But the times have become far darker, and far more desperate as the minions of the One God, slowly break the spine of the insurgency, and claw away at the strongest lines of defense versus full subjugation; the fae.  Ninety-nine years of tyranny, ninety-nine years of bloodshed, and ninety-nine years of fear have made Hope become all but a withered dream.  Many have all but given on the ideal that a hero, let alone a band of heroes would rise and deliver them from the darkness.

But the Old Man has not given up Hope; in many ways he is incapable of losing any semblance of hope.  He continues to walk the roads, and keep the faith that the time of heroes has not passed.  He watches as young men and women fight a losing war against the blood drenched legions of the Shadow, he feels the pain of the huddled masses as the legates enforce brutal justice, and he smells the decay of a world sliding steadily into dissolution.  As the maelstrom of evil and darkness grows, so does the ever-flaming beacon of hope within his breast.  He knows that those he calls to the role of heroes will face hardship, sacrifice, and perhaps death.  But he knows that ever sacrifice must be done, he must do what must be done to keep the flaming light of hope alive, and he knows that good men and women will die because of it.  

But the price is worth the sacrifice.


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*They were Heroes*

The large brutish orc grinned as he took aim from the shore, watching the canoe come into view.  His brethren grunted a command, “Shoot the elf first, it may know magic.”  The orc strained his bow, and aimed for the elf, his yellowed tusks were jutted upwards in a wry grin, as he let the arrow fly, the shaft sinking deep into the chest of the jungle elf.

The orc laughed, as the jungle elf clutched at the arrow, and his two companions a massively built dworg with a scar across his face and a Dorn, tried to paddle their canoe closer to the shore.  The orc drew another arrow back, as his companion lit the tip afire, and he let the arrow fly, once again his aim true, causing the Dorn to try and frantically put out the flames as best as he could.

“Korg, you play with them, kill them quickly, I am hungry,” the shortest of the four orcs spat out, drawing his vardatch, testing its weight, as he watched the canoe come closer to the shore.

Korg snorted, as he took careful aim at the elf once more, “The elf is,” he let the arrow fly as he spoke, “dead.”  The black shaft struck the jungle elf in the chest, causing him to reel back in the canoe, and slump over.  His companions drawing their weapons, as the canoe hit shallow water.

The short orc, waded into the water, a second orc warrior following his vardatch drawn, as the dworg stood and drew a vicious greataxe, stained with black blood.  Korg took careful aim, as his brethren waded into vicious melee, and took a shot at the Dorn, the arrow grazing his shoulder.  Korg cursed his luck, as he watched the short orc get cut down by the massive dworg.  He growled watching the hated half-breed continue his greataxe into the side of his blood brother, Gorn.  Korg drew another arrow and let it fly, this time it stuck into the Dorn’s leg, impeding his movement as he leapt from the boat and slashed his bastard sword and short sword into Gorn as well bringing down the orc-warrior in a spray of black blood.

Korg growled as he dropped his bow, and drew his vardatch and charged into battle, his jagged vicious blade ready to draw blood, as Hrua smashed his vardatch into the dworg bringing the half-breed down in a spray of blood.  The insurgent stumbled back into the water, his blood spilling into the shallow water.  The Dorn cut down Hrua, with flash of his blades, the short sword stabbing deep into Hrua’s chest, and the bastard sword taking his head clean off his shoulders.

Korg smashed his vardatch into the Dorn’s shoulder, if it were not for the scale mail the large human wore, his arm would have been taken clean off.  Korg could feel as a blade smashed against his gut, but did not pierce and he used his shield to deflect the larger bastard sword.  Korg retaliated with a powerful slash across the Dorn’s chest drawing blood, and causing the large warrior to stumble back and fall into the water with a splash.  Korg pressed forward with gleeful hatred in his eyes, and raised the blade high.

But it would never strike.

An arrow sailed out of the darkness, straight and true right through the back of Korg’s head, and out his eye.  The orc fell to his knees and then face first into the water, his black blood spilling into the water.  The Dorn looked up to see a lone figure in the darkness.  He thanked his ancestors as he scrambled to his feet, and pulled the burly dworg from the water, he was thankfully alive, if only by the slimmest of threads.  

From her vantage point the women, could see that the man was still living and tending to his unlikely ally the dworg.  She had spared their lives if only briefly until she could know for sure what side they were on.  She had hope that they were on her side.

Somewhere overhead a dove flew, seeing all, and somewhere an Old Man smiled.


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*The Task at Hand*

Corine trained her arrow on the Dorn as he drug his companion from the water, wrapped a quick bandage around his chest to stymie the black-red blood.  She spoke harshly, “Identify yourself stranger,” not sure yet if she was dealing with a friend or foe, the man had only one choice, to give her honest answers.

The Dorn looked up and scowled, but his scowl turned to a grimace as he realized he was wounded as well, “Dae, my friend and I are injured, and I am not your enemy.”

She glanced down to the dworg, his body still, and his breathing slight.  She kept her arrow trained on Dae, as he held up his empty hands, and stepped back trying to appease the woman as best as he could.  Corine spoke again lowering her arrow, “You fought and killed orcs, for now we are on the same side.  Help me carry your companion, I know a safe place,” as she thought, _at least safe as any place can be in these lands_.

Dae nodded and helped Corine lift the dworg; the two humans carried the large half-breed into the woods, and along a faint trail, as quickly as they could.  Dae’s arms ached, and his injuries wrought great pain across his body, as he struggled to keep pace with the smaller woman.  The two made haste under cover of the thick canopy of trees, and the darkness of the moonlit sky.  Until they arrived at the woman’s safe haven, a ruined and forgotten tower.

Inside were several individuals, some of them reaching for their weapons as the trio entered the tower.  A dwarf reached for his warhammer, his long brown beard braided in several place, singing freely over his dwarf wrought chainmail.  Another Dorn stood, his head shaved, and tattoos adorning his bare arms, lifting a well-kept bastard sword, towards the three.  A halfling carrying a spear stood as well, more so because the others did, then out of any alarm, it was obvious fighting was not his best trait.  Another human of Erenland stock, stayed seated, his eyes watching the scene with great interest and worry, but thankfully Corine pulled her hood back, allaying some of the fear and suspicion in the room.

Corine cleared her throat, “Relax Borca, Salas, they are with me, we just fought some orcs out near the Eren, a patrol from Hope Point.”

The dwarf grinned, “Aye I see you keep busy, it seems like you have a penchant for picking up strays,” as he lowered his warhammer, and rested his hand on the hilt of his short blade, the bottom fitted with midnight black jewel.  Salas sat back down, resting his blade across his knees, and closed his eyes, but his ears were still alert.

Corine and Dae place the dworg on the floor, clearing a place for the wounded warrior, the slim human male and approached the dworg, “His injuries are grievous, but this dworg seems to have somehow held on to the world of the living, Tuk fetch me my things, he will need immediate help.”

The halfling sprang to his feet, and scampered towards a pile of gear, and rummaged through them, as the male Erenlander knelt down, uttered words of arcane power, his hands took on a brief, as light danced between his hands, and placed them on the dworg’s chest, the glow washing over the injured warrior, as the others watched in awe.  The dworg opened his eyes, and sat up jabbering in the language of the dwarves, confusing the poor Erenlander as he stared at the dworg in confusion.

Borca though understood the dworg, “Calm down lad, you are in a safe place.  We is not here  to hurt ye, Valthis, the man kneeling next to you used his magic to heal you.  Oh and me name is Borca, Borca Ironguard.  And if you were killing orcs you is alright by me.”

The dworg focused his attention on the dwarf first nodding, and then replying, “Thanks for your help, please tell Valthis that I am thankful.  My name is Malstrom, and I have to say that among all the dwarves I have met, you are nicest so far outside of my mother.”

Borca snorted, “The way I see it lad, if you fight the Shadow, and you kill orcs, you is good in my book.  Besides we is in this together, if we can’t get along now, then this war is already lost eh?”

The rest of the insurgents watched as the two jabbered on in dwarf, seeing the both were in good spirits the mood relaxed.  Questions would be asked, and decisions would be made, but at least for a moment, things seemed to be going well.  But as all things in Eredane, such moments of levity did not last…

*************************************************

The orc soldiers tried their best to keep pace with their prey, but he was proving to be much more nimble, and knowledgeable then they had originally anticipated.  Already they could feel themselves becoming winded, under their heavier armor, as the spry elfling dropped from his perch, and ducked into the shadows, keeping his shortbow ready, and a keen eye out for his pursuers.

The elfling breathed a quick sigh of relief as the orcs took a moment to rest., and squabbled with each other in the Black Tongue, disgust in their voices as a goblin scout relayed back the fruit of his forays, which was precious little.  It had been nearly six hours since the hunt began and the elfling, had faith that he could keep the pace up at least long enough that the orcs may give up the chase.  But then again, he was thinking optimistically.

It was an ambush he had realized a thousand times over, Sildarin must have either been in trouble or perhaps dead, and his two allies Velshana and Gilthanis were dead killed by orcs while he was scouting around.  If anything someone had betrayed them, but who, and how and why?  Maybe there was no traitor, maybe they were just unlucky, and the Shadow was everywhere, after all. 

_Well Semmarin don’t let the Shadow take you, if I can live maybe I can contact Sildarin, and find out what to do next, or-_, the elfling thought, as a stray arrow, jarred him from his thoughts.  The goblin had spotted him, he ducked as a second arrow sailed towards him.  He took careful aim and let the arrow fly, finding the goblin’s throat as he bounded off again, through the forests.

The goblin gurgled a scream, as Semmarin ran through the forest, his footsteps light, as he used the trees, the brush and his size to his advantage.  The larger orcs were stronger, but the wilds were his home, he could feel the pulse of nature around him, and it barred no path to him, as he continued to run.  But only the Shadow knew how long he could keep running…


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*The Hunt*

Morning dawned on the tower, the light from the sun filtering through the ruined roof, and the several cracks apparent in the walls.  The insurgents, many of which did not sleep easily were already, outside of the halfling Tuk, who dozed lazily on an itchy mound of hay.  Malstrom stood poised, his hands resting on the haft of his mighty greataxe, while Corine, sat against the wall her foot resting on a stone mound as she tended to her long, straight sword.  Borca sat in a makeshift chair of stone, and rested his hands on his lap, watching the others to see who was awake, and who was not.

Corine broke the silence from her position, as she glanced up to the rest of the insurgents, “We can’t hide in this tower forever, and with the knowledge brought in the message, we know that the Shadow plans to install a black mirror somewhere nearby.”

“I must be stopped at all costs, we can plan an ambush about six days north of here along the road that would most likely used to bring this artifact to its destination,” Valthis replies as he stands.

Malstrom nodded, “Then I say we get to work, we know what needs to be done, and we know where to go, lets move out.”

Borca nodded, “I concur,” as he rested his hand on the hilt of the short blade, and his other hand on the shaft of his warhammer. 

The insurgents rose as one, but before they could exit the tower, a slim youth.  His brown close cropped hair, was wet with sweat, and his skin was pale with fear, and exhaustion.  The news he had was dire, but the choice that had to be made even more so…

***************************************************

Semmarin rushed through the darkness, and ducked to take a moment of rest, it was brief, as he could hear the war horn of the orcs behind him.  They were close now, or there were more of them, neither was a blessing to the young elfling, as he clutched his shortbow tightly in his dark hands.

He ducked low as an orc soldier strode past him in the darkness peering about, his tusks jutting upward, and his face had red bars running across it, in an X pattern.  He sniffed the air, and scowled, as his scale mail armor clinked in the silence of the moonlit forest.  The soldier tried to do his best to search for the nimble elfling, but Semmarin, was well hidden at least from this one.  It continued along the trail, and Semmarin slowly stood, preparing to move, when he froze, his eyes locking with another orc soldier standing amidst the brush a mere forty feet away.

The elfling quickly raised his shortbow, and fired an arrow right into the orc’s shoulder, sending it stumbling back against a tree, as it clutched at the wound, black blood dripping over his armor.  It roared at the fae, but Semmarin was already gone, running through the trees quickly, if he could only throw them off his trail, if for only a moment, so that he could rest, his bones, and his mind were growing weary from the hunt.

Semmarin ran until his senses told him he should stop, he caught more movement, and stood still allowing another war party to pass his trail.  But this party had no orcs among them, only a Dorn, a halfling, a dworg, and a woman of Erenlander stock.  Cautious as he was, he waited till the halfling who was bring up the rear passed him, and then he stood out, and spoke to the small man in the language of the wee fae, “You should not go that way, there are orcs in this forest.”

The halfling squealed at first in fear, but then in joy, realizing another of the fair folk was in their midst, “An elfling, my stars an elfling, look an elfling,” he motioned to the rest of the party.

The strange troupe paused and turned, suspicion mixed with fear in their eyes, as they took in the small slight form of Semmarin.  Semmarin regarded the strangers with curiosity, but the threat of the orcs never left his mind, he spoke in Erenlander, “You should not go this way, this road is patrolled by orcs.”

The Dorn and the Erenlander woman both nodded, as the dworg looked on with confusion, he did not speak the tongue of the men, and waited for the Dorn to translate to him, what was said.  The woman looked around and then motioned for the party to vacate the road, as a troupe of nearly twenty orcs came stomping down the road, in an orderly manner, scanning the area for the elfling.

They found their wounded ally, and the apparent leader; a powerful looking orc with waist length hair of ebony, tied in braids strode forth, his armor black, and clean, and his weapons of the finest caliber, as he regarded the wounded orc.  

The orcs went silent, as the leader began to speak, “Where is the elfling?” as he gestured to the broken shaft of the arrow, still lodged in the orc’s flesh.

The soldier growled in the orc tongue, “It was nearby, and it shot me, I do not know where it is now, it escaped my eyes.”

The larger orc breathed a sigh of irritation, “How unfortunate for you, you do not know where it went then?”

“No,” the lesser orc countered.

The larger orc, nodded and drew a long curved dagger, and slid it between the armor plates of the lesser orc, twisting the knife, and then ripping it back out, causing black blood to spray the moist forest floor.  The orc collapsed in a heap, and his fellows quickly stripped it of its armor and weapons.  The warriors would eat well that night.

The larger orc turned to a powerful looking orc, a beauty among her people; she nodded, as a large wolf, sat at her heels.  The demon inside sniffing the air for more exotic prey, it continued forward, and the woman simply nodded to the longhaired orc.  He turned and blew a war horn, and the troupe continued on with their meal in tow.

The night was still as the motley party came out of hiding, it seemed that for a moment, the danger had passed.  Semmarin had found some peace, and stability in numbers, as he looked from eye to eye and then uttered words in Erenlander, “I am Semmarin, I am alone in these lands, and as you can see, this forest is crawling with the forces of the Shadow.”

The woman spoke first in the tongue of the Erenland, “Well Semmarin, I am Corrine, this is Tuk,” she gestured to the halfling, “and that is Malstrom, and Dae.”

Malstrom nodded, and spoke to Dae, “He seems to be in the same lot we are, if you have no qualms with him, then lets bring the elfling with us for now,” he spoke using a charm given to him by the Old Man, a stone that allowed one to speak to another with a similar stone in any tongue and they would understand them.  Between the party they had three stones, “Speaker Stones”, is what the Old Man had called them.

Dae nodded, “I agree,” as he turned to Semmarin, “You don’t have to be alone, come with us, there is safety in numbers against the Shadow,” the large Dorn spoke, crouching down some to speak to the diminutive fae.

Tuk grinned widely, “An elfling is a good omen it is.”

*************************************************

Valthis and Borca approached the old tree where the hangings always took place.  The two had decided to handle this alone, it was best, the rest of the agents had to go North to stop the shipment of the Black Mirror, if anything it was the best thing for the Resistance.  Besides he knew that if anything, he was in good hands with Borca, the dwarf was trustworthy, and he was a good fighter, capable of handling himself, and more importantly keeping the orcs away from him.

Borca gritted his teeth, as the rain continued to pour on the two insurgents as they approached the scene of the execution.  It was not the rain, but an internal battle of wills that perturbed him.  He was growing cold inside, a festering wound of loss, which had never quite healed.  

Times were never easy, but the times were better then, when he had his good wife, Kora to depend on and his young strapping son, Jorda, named after Borca’s own father.  The boy had the potential had the potential to be a great soldier, he was strong and disciplined.  Borca was hard on him, but he knew the boy had to learn quickly the world was harsh, and cold.  It was very cold.

His teeth chattered before he realized that he was still walking towards the four men who were preparing to execute an agent of the insurgency.  Valthis placed a hand on Borca’s shoulder, and nodded to him, as the young channeler, felt the surge of magic coarse through his slight frame, and leap outward in a burst of light, blinding the men.  Borca could only grin, as he rushed forward and raised his warhammer, smashing it into the first human soldier, causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap.  Blood spraying across Borca’s face, it was hot, against his cold nearly numb skin.

One of the men flailed grabbing for a short blade, and tried to stab Borca, but he parried the attack and smashed the man’s knee, causing him to collapse, and then smashed the weapon into his chest, with a spinning motion causing the man to spit up blood.  Valthis shuddered at the brutality but the alternative was even worse.

The third man recovered from the blinding light, as he tried to run Borca through, his blade glancing off the fine dwarven chain, that adorned the brutal fighter, Borca could hear the familiar whisper, giving him feint knowledge of the other human moving to flank him.  He swung his warhammer in a wide arc, catching the soldier in the should, and then spun, causing the other man to step back, not wanting to collide with the massive weapon.  The wounded man groaned as he tried to run, grabbing his now broken arm.

Valthis loathed to use more magic, but he focused his power, and called upon the spirits of the world to grant him strength, as he unleashed more arcane power, causing the fleeing human to stumble and collapse into enchanted sleep.  By the time he turned back to Borca, the other human lay on his back, his face smashed in, and the dwarf was dripping with visceral, slick rain, mud, and the blood of the fallen.  He looked like a demon, draped in metallic armor, but in these dark times, brutality was needed.

Valthis approached the accused, and helped him down, as Borca stood over the last sleeping human.  He could hear the familiar whisper, the ever-present friend, that protected him, as he raised the warhammer over his head, and finished the bloody business at hand.

Somewhere a woman smiled…


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*The Accursed Forest*

It was raining, it was cold, and three days passed, for the motley band of insurgents.  One could even dare to call them heroes, for they did what few had the strength or courage to do, they fought against the Shadow, the One God.  They knew fear, but continued to fight, because the alternative for them, was far worse.

The cold stinging rain, made the ground slick with mud, and the journey made the travelers weary as they huddled from the fury and dark power of the elements.  Corine shivered as she kept her cloak, close about her, Semmarin following closely behind, his sharp eyes watching the surroundings as the party sloshed through the rain slicked darkness.  The moon overhead was yellow, and looked sick in tone, it’s light blocked by the frequent and thick gray clouds, passing overhead.

As the troupe broke through the tree line they found a desolate and deserted hamlet, it was quiet, even as the rain pounded against them.  There was no life here, corpses littered the fields, the animals were thin, before they died, suffering from hunger before they died, or perhaps something else.  Cobwebs dangled from the homes, and small spiders flitted through the shadows, as the parties split up to more thoroughly investigate the small hamlet.  The rain was constant, and the smell of the decaying corpses was even more so, many of them wrapped in blankets of silk-like spider webs.  Corine fought to keep her wits as she and Tuk stepped inside of a low-roofed hovel, the interior was filthy, dust, mud, and cobwebs seemed to fill every nook and cranny.

Tuk crouched low, ducking the maze of webs present inside, the small hovel.  Corine shivered, she knew that the party was close to the Forest of Danath, the Accursed Forest.  It was a place of evil, and these unfortunate serfs must have tried to eke out an existence far from the talons of the Shadow, and instead, encountered a foul evil of a different sort.

There was  crash, and a scream.

Tuk squealed, as Corine, drew out her longsword, and rushed back out the door towards the sounds of fighting.  By the time she had arrived, Malstrom, was bleeding from a stab wound, in his side.  Both Semmarin and Dae, had their blades drawn, and a corpse lay on the ground its head separated from its body.  Corine could recognize the scent of death, this hamlet was a breeding ground for the fell. 

The party spread out and began gathering the corpses, it was nasty work but it had to be done.  It was methodical, swift, and thorough, after a half-hours time, a pile of headless bodies sat in the center of the hamlet.  Corine would have preferred a fire, but the rain did not allow them the choice.  They had picked the hamlet clean of anything useful, which was not much, but then that was expected.

The party conferred in a small hovel out of the rain, although the roof was leaky, and in need of repairs.  But it was cover, that spared them from the stinging cold rain.  Malstrom spoke in a low rumble, “So we cross the forest, how far must we travel to cross it?”

Corine replied flatly, folding her arms across her chest, “We will be in the forest for three days at best, if not more due to the weather.”

Tuk shivered, “This place is scary, can we not go around?”

Corine shakes her head, “No, it will take much longer to go around then to just move forward, and press on.  This forest may be known as the Accursed Forest, but it is not impossible to cross, not by a long shot.”

Malstrom nodded his Speaker Stone translating her words for him, “I agree, we have a mission to accomplish.”

Corine turned to Dae, “And what about you?”

Dae nodded, speaking in Erenlander, “I am not afraid, we go forward.”

Tuk groaned, “I hate this idea, but I am not afraid, not so much.  Are you sure we couldn’t-“

“We are going through Tuk, and that is final,” Malstrom spoke forcefully.

Semmarin watched, and a placed a reassuring hand on Tuk’s shoulder, “Do not worry,” he spoke in the halfling tongue, “we are all in this together, we will survive.”

Corine stood, seeing the decision had been made, and the party proceeded to enter the Accursed Forest.  The trees were pale, and many had thin sheets of spider webbing layered upon them.  The deeper they forayed into the forest, the thicker the cobwebs became, although they could hear the rain overhead, very little seemed to pierce the veil above them, thin trickles of droplets fell from above but nothing like the downpour they had previously encountered.  But in the darkness sounded a great and powerful war horn, the troop froze, recognizing its terrible blare.  An orcish war horn, in all its glory was echoed by another, the orcs were still behind them, and the Accursed Forest laid ahead, and all around them.

Corine quickened her pace, following Malstrom who was at home in the darkness, although he could only see black, white and gray, it was enough to  tell that the webs were getting thicker, he tightened his grip on the shaft of his greataxe, as the rest of the party followed his path. 

Everyone felt the same emotion, fear.

*******************************************

Garnak stood proudly on the rise overlooking the Accursed Forest, he heard the second blare of the war horn off to the west of his position, meaning his other forces were moving into position.  He loathed entering the forest, but if the ruse were to work, they would have to press, he did not like playing the bait, but there were greater gains at stake.

Garnak turned and looked to the female orc, she was a priest mother, and despite his rank, he had to defer to her wisdom, despite her actual lack of intelligence or wit.  It was something Garnak was becoming more, and more annoyed with, the apparent stupidity of his race, but he brushed it aside, such thoughts were tantamount to heresy.

Vuna spoke, “We have them boxed in; give the order to press forward, Garnak, the tribe grows hungry for victory.”

Garnak paused, “That is the Accursed Forest, it may not be wise to press directly through it, if anything the demon spider will finish them off before they ever get across.  We could skirt the edges, and encamp here and draw them into a well placed trap,” he replied making sure to keep his tone even and not patronizing.

Vuna thought for a moment, “We follow, the One God’s will.  Do not tell me you grow soft, Garnak, Izrador does not honor the weak.”

Garnak scowled, and turned, _she is as stupid as she is beautiful, manipulative little…_ Garnak turned to his brethren and roared, “Stand my brothers; we have the Lord’s work to do.  We hunt till dawn, we will not stop until we have their heads.  We know not fear, and we know not pain, stand and blow the horn, Visk, we have a hunt to finish!”

The orcs stood and roared to the heavens above, the roar mixed with the sounding of the war horns made for a terrible symphony or rage.

********************************************

Corine slashed her blade at the oncoming spider, it was nearly as large a dog, its spindly legs skittering across the moist ground trying to flank her.  Dae laid still, his body limp with poison as another black spider loomed over the Dorn.  Tuk tried to ward it away with his spear, but his aim was shaky, and he stumbled trying not to get too close to the abnormally large spider.

Malstrom swung his greataxe, and cracked a spider wide open, bringing the massive blade into a second spider, with a resounding crack, spilling its internals to the floor.  Semmarin swung his shortsword, keeping another at bay, as Corine swung her blade taking a spider’s leg, she finished it with a piercing blow through its bulbous abdomen, leaving it a dying convulsing mess.

Malstrom turned to the spider trying to drag Dae off to fee, and smashed its head with a well place blow, Tuk following up with a jab from his spear, stabbing it in the side, adding more insult to its injuries.  There was a delicate stillness to the air, as Corine drew ragged breaths, spider venom was coursing through her veins, but not to the same extent as Dae.

Semmarin crouched near the poisoned warrior and examined his injuries, and checked his breathing and pulse, “He will live, the poison is not fatal, but he will need much time to rest.”

“Time that we don’t have,” Corine replied, as she relayed the information to Malstrom via the Speaker’s Stone.

Tuk glanced around warily, “Perhaps we should camp, and wait for him to get better?”

“That could take days,” Semmarin replied to the halfling, “I can help him, but I will need to gather, some roots, to make a salve, the rest of you wait here, keep him safe.”

Semmarin crept through the forest alone in the darkness, his eyes keen, still could see quite well, even with the waning moonlight.  He was wary being alone, in this forest of webs and spiders, but they could not wait for the Dorn to rest and heal, it would simply take too long.  Luckily the elfling found what he needed, and worked his way back to his newfound allies quietly, he sat down and set to work on the salve.  With that task completed, he applied it to Dae, and then Corine, even with the salve, recovery would still take several hours before the Dorn was back up on his feet.

The party rested, even as the sounds of the orc war horns grew closer, they rested.  They had no choice, by the time dawn approached, Dae could move, though his muscles were stiff, and nowhere near where he should be, but his muscles could at least shift and move.  The war horns sounded once more, and the resolve was steeled, and the party pressed on.  The scuttling of spiders both large and small did not deter them, for even greater loomed behind them.  There was no way in telling just how many hunting parties were following, but the multiple sounds of horns, alerted them to the effort involved in trying to find them.

Malstrom took the point, the horns sounded less, as the breaking of dawn came upon the party, it was now time to press the advantage and put some distance between the following orcs.  The rain was thick, and slick, and pounded the canopy of webs, and branches above the party, by midday the ice-cold rain, had turned to almost unnatural snowstorm, buffeting the Accursed Forest like a demon.

But the party pressed, huddling in their clothes for warmth, all but the Dorn felt the numbing touch of the cold.  The freeze that gnawed at their muscles, and threatened to eat to the bone, coursed through the heroes, as they braved the storm.  The forest gave them no reprieve, and the infrequent blasts of the horn, kept the urgency of their situation in their minds.

That was when Malstrom fell.

The party had reached a sharp gully, and the mighty dworg warrior slid on the ice, and fell down the steep incline into the floor of the gully, nearly sixty feet down.  He groaned from the pain, but the dworg was made of iron it seemed, as he rose to his feet, the snow and ice, obscuring his vision, as he tried to get his bearings.

Semmarin shouted loudly, “Malstrom, can you hear me?!” hoping that the Speaker’s Stone was still intact.

Malstrom heard the call, and turned toward the voice, “Semmarin?  Semmarin where are you?” he called his voice nearly a roar.

Semmarin squinted, and tried to make out Malstrom in the snow flurry, instead he caught sight of something both huge and horrid.  Across the gully, he spied a massive spider the size of a house, with long spindly legs, and a mirror black chitin all across its massive horrid body.  The eyes gave off the eerie glow of hell fire, and burned with malice, and something Semmarin could think of as evil.  It shot out a web across the gully, forming a roof over the gully, and then scuttled downward towards Malstrom.

Malstrom shouted again, “Semmarin, can you hear me, I can’t see you!” he stumbled about, holding his greataxe, trying not to freeze, as he felt or for a better word did not feel, the cold of falling snow flakes.  He looked up, and saw  a scintillating roof of snow flakes caught in the massive web above him.  Malstrom turned quickly, as the demon spider slammed its mandibles into the dworg, causing him to sail through the air, and land on his back.  The massive warrior rolled to his feet, and brought his weapon to the ready.

Semmarin turned to his allies, “Malstrom needs our help, that thing will kill him!”

Corine nodded taking careful aim with her longbow, and loosed an arrow into the air, it sailed straight and true, on any lesser creature it would have been mortal but this thing was a corrupted creature.  Its skin was harder then stone, and the arrow left a slight gash, but did not pierce the chitin.  Semmarin drew his shortbow and fired an arrow, it flew straight and true, but it glanced off the chitin, leaving not even a scratch.

Tuk watched, his knees shaking, threatening to collapse at any moment, as the demon spider ripped into Malstrom once again, drawing more red-black blood, causing the dworg to stumble, but maintain his mettle, the punishment was terrible, but somehow the mighty warrior stood.  He retaliated with a mighty swing of his greataxe, and was rewarded with a glancing strike off its stone-like chitin.  Dae drew his own longbow, and fired an arrow, and it struck true, cracking the chitin, causing a fiery red liquid to spray outward with a sizzle. 

The creature scuttled forward trying to push Malstrom back, but the warrior ducked and rolled underneath it, out of harms way for the moment, as he tried to hack into its underbelly, but the chitin was proving much stronger then he had anticipated.  Both Semmarin and Corine continued to rain arrows down on the nigh-unstoppable demon spider, as another blast of the orcish war horns sounded, they were closer now.  Tuk in a surprising move of boldness charged forward and leapt through the air, and slammed his spear into the bulbous abdomen of the demon spider, sadly his strike did little harm, but the spearhead was lodged into the stone chitin, and allowed the halfling to ride atop the thrashing creature.

Semmarin smirked, “Tuk the Spider Rider,” he shook his head, as he let another arrow fly towards the demon spider.  

Dae seeing the halfling’s boldness, rushed down the incline, and leapt the last quarter of the way down, he rolled for a moment in the snow, and then raised his bastard in a swing, hacking a rear leg completely off, causing the creature to lose balance and stumble.  Malstrom stumbled back trying to avoid being crushed as he swung his greataxe into the hard underbelly of the demon spider to no avail.  Tuk crawled forward using his spear for leverage, only to slide forward right in front of the massive demon spider, as t slammed its mandibles into Tuk.  Tuk screamed in pain as it tossed him aside, his life’s blood staining the snow red, his breathing was light, but for the moment the halfling was alive, but dying.

Dae spun his blades the bastard ripping through the underbelly as the steelblooded warrior, carved a path of destruction, causing the creature to try and turn to face this new threat.  But the missing leg was hampering its movement, as the combined might of Dae and Corine brought the creature down, in a fury of arrows and blades.  Dae finished the deed, by hacking its head off, spilling burning fiery blood guts across the snow-covered floor.  Malstrom stumbled away from the creature, as Corine rushed down the incline, and placed her hands on the diminutive halfling, a slight glow coming to her hands, as she channeled magic power into Tuk, sealing his wounds.   Now she would have to let time do its work, he would heal, it would just take.

The heroes had won the day, but knew that they still had many leagues yet to travel.  Behind were the orcs, and ahead, an uncertain destiny, but this minor victory at least for the moment seemed sweet, they had succeeded where surely many others had failed.

Somewhere an Old Man smiled.


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

The current cast of Characters with some additions and stuff 

*The Honored Dead*

*Malstrom the Dworg Fighter 2:* A brave soul, who was Ironborn, a noble man born of a twisted heritage.  He got killed by an ogre.

*Tuk the Halfling Commoner 1/Rogue 1:* A brave if somewhat foolish soul, with a curious nature, slain by one of the fellow party members in an act that will perhaps come back to haunt him at a later date... (NPC)

*Jungle Elf Channeler 1:* Killed by an orc, as the party tried to enter Hope Point, to deliver a message for the resistance.  He was a strange one, and is not missed...

*The Living*

*Semmarin the Elfling Wildlander 3:* A crafty, and agile hero, whose skill with the bow is second to none, and whose ability to stay alert to the world around him, has kept the heroes alive more often then they count.  He is a Nature Friend, and is at home in the wilds.  He aims to become an Elven Raider one day...

*Dae the Dorn Fighter 4:* A large warrior from the North, he wields a bastard sword in one hand, and a shortsword in the other.  He has already been tempted by a dark evil, he is the Steelblooded one.

*Craven the Elfling Channeler 2:* A young agent of the Witch Queen sent on a dangerous mission to find out the whereabouts of a lost and beleived dead agent.  He is a Hermetic Channeler, and is on the Healer Path.

*Dartago the Snow Elf Defender 2:* Another agent of the Witch Queen, he travels with the elfling channeler, and is one of the Quickened.  Time will tell if he will survive.

*Misha the Snow Elf Fighter 2:* A warrior who has hardened his soul to the harsh reality of the world, he travels with the other fae, as their soldier and blade.  He is highly skilled with his fighting knives, and is of the Painless path. (NPC) _Inspired by the artwork in *Against the Shadow*..._

*Corine the Erenlander Wildlander 3/Channeler 1:* She is the sole female in the traveling party, and she has saved the rest of the heroes on plenty of occasions.  Her loyalty though has been in question... (NPC)

*Drega the Gnoll Fighter 1:* Drega is one of the  _People of the Plains_, a gnoll, who so far seems to be on the side of the heroes, after her capture in the last session, she has proven her worth, and now travels with the heroes freely by her own will.

_I am aware that not all of these creatures have been introduced, but they will be, in due time._


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## Tokiwong (Aug 31, 2003)

*The Best Laid Plans*

The party broke the tree line, with Malstrom, taking the point, they were haggard, wounded, and tired, but still they pressed on.  The war horns sounded all around them, and before them was a wide plain of low laying grassland.  They would be out in the open, exposed, with little to no cover.  It was risky, but they had to get to the other side, so they pushed on across the expanse.

It was more a light jog, then a march, as the tired party made haste across the open expanse.  Corine and Semmarin scanned the grasslands, as they heard another sounding of horns.  They were just about to the other side, when a large figure moved to block out the waning sunlight, its massive wings were spread wide, yawning to swallow the whole of the maroon sky.  It was a fearsome spectacle, it was both true terror, and true majesty; it was a dragon in the tongue of men.

Its scales were harder then steel, and they shimmered, red and black in the setting sunlight, from head to tail, it was well over one hundred feet in length, and its wings nearly five times that from tip to tip.  It descended upon the Accursed Forest, and landed causing a flurry of white snow, as it flapped its massive wings, when it landed it roared.  The roar, shook the very earth, and sent a chill down the spines of the heroes, it was a fury that was both ancient, and nigh unstoppable.  It was an engine of destruction, and nothing they wanted to toy with.

Corine turned to the party, “Lets go, we can’t stand around and gawk,” even as she turned back and spotted its massive neck craning above the trees.  She could not be sure, but she thought for a moment, it may have looked right at her, the thought sent a shiver down her spine, and quickened her step.  The others followed.

It may have been hours later, as the party continued in silence, working their way through this thin forest on foot.  A light snow, settled on the forest floor, but it was melting quickly, whatever storm, or fury had produced the cold, it was quickly retreating.  Corine proceeded cautiously, and she rarely jumped now, whenever she heard the war horns of the orcs, there were more horns now, it was as if the orcs were trying to pen them in.  

Tuk shivered, “It is so cold, I could go for some hot cider, that would warm us right up, it would.”

Malstrom grumbled, “Shut up Tuk, be silent, these woods are filled with-” the Malstrom never finished, as figures stepped forth from the darkness, their bows ready.  The party was surrounded, by slim, short figures.  They wore masks, and suits of dark green and black, Semmarin recognized them right off, and they were the Caransil, the wood elves.

Tuk grinned as he recognized the warriors for what they were, “Elves we are saved!”

Corine scowled, “You are too optimistic, Tuk.”

A slim elf, stepped forward, pulling back his mask to reveal a slim sharp-featured face, to a human it was both feminine and masculine at the same time.  Sharp yet delicate features framing dark green eyes, and long black hair, draped about his delicately pointed ears.  He was shorter then Corine, but he seemed in no way intimidated by her size, in many ways Corine, was intimidated by him.

Malstrom growled in his dwarven dialect to Dae, “I don’t like this.”

Dae nodded, as he kept his weapons out but held down towards the ground, waiting to see what happened.

The wood elf paced by Corine, without a word and focused on Semmarin, “Elfling, you traveled with Sildarin yes?”

Semmarin nodded, responding in High Elven, “Yes, I did,” he choked the words out, “but I have not seen her in some time, she has been missing, and our other companions were betrayed and put to the sword by orcs.”

The wood elf nodded, “I see, then come, the Avatar will wish to speak with you, I am sure.  Tell them to sheathe their weapons they are in our care now.”

Semmarin nodded, and motioned for his allies to sheathe their weapons.  The party complied, and followed the troupe of warriors deeper into the woods, where more wood elves waited, watching the party with suspicion and curiosity.

At the center of the grouping of elves was a woman, sitting cross legged on the soft snow, she seemed to be deep in meditation, and her pale skin, clashed with her dark hair, and ruby red lips.  She was a slim athletic beauty, and despite her size, she wore a finely crafted suit of chainmail, it twinkled the gleam of mithral, it was nearly as light as a feather, and twice as hard as steel.

The Avatar opened her black eyes.

She spoke in a voice that was rich, and powerful, “Welcome the I am the Avatar of the Witch Queen, Aradil, she who is most wise of us all, she bids you good tidings.”

Corine bowed her head, having learned the tongue of the High Elves early in her travels.  Semmarin and Tuk both bowed their heads in reverence, while Malstrom and Dae watched with some awe confusion.

“Step forward the one that is named Semmarin,” the Avatar spoke.

Semmarin stepped forward slowly, his head bowed in proper respect.  Never meeting the eyes of his better, as is proper in elven society.  Semmarin spoke quietly, “I am Semmarin.”

The Avatar gazed at the elfling, and nodded in approval, “What is the fate of our sister, Sildarin?”

Semmarin replied, “She is lost milady, I have come into the company of agents who fight the Shadow,” he gestured to the party, “and they have told me that she gave them her ring, and the missive scrawled at the behest of the Witch Queen.  Even now we work to fulfill this dangerous quest, and stop the shipment of a Black Mirror.”

The Avatar nodded, as she closed her eyes, “Bring forth the ring, so that we may see it.”

Semmarin turned to Dae, and spoke in Erenlander, “I need the ring that Sildarin gave you.”

Dae nodded, and pulled the ring from his satchel, and dropped it into the small hand of the elfling.  Semmarin turned back to the Avatar, and bowed his head, presenting the ring to the Avatar.  The Avatar, glanced over the ring, her black eyes scanning its minute details, before placing it back in Semmarin’s hands.

The Avatar spoke, “This ring is her Life Ring, and it is given to those agents who are often far from our homeland.  If she has given it up, then she believes she was to die.  We shall not give up hope, for Sildarin’s survival, but we must assume the worse, and press on.”

Semmarin replied, “I will not give up, no body has been found, Sildarin was skilled, she may yet still live.”

“We agree, but we must look forward, rest tonight.  We will heal your wounds, and give you food.  You have traveled far, take rest and be at peace.  Tomorrow we leave this place,” the Avatar turned, she had finished her piece.

The party rested, their bones weary, their wounds were tended to by elven magic, and they were given elven food, warm and sweet.  It was strange to both Dae and Malstrom, but the rest had sampled elven foods before, and were used to the flavors.  The elves gifted the party with magical gifts, as well, for their service to the resistance.  Tuk was given a charm that granted him luck, Dae and Malstrom were given potions of healing, Corine refused any gifts, revealing her elven wrought leather armor she wore as giuft enough, and Semmarin was gifted a Cloak of the Elves that seemed to shift and blend in color, enhancing his already considerable stealth skills.

Morning came all too soon, for the heroes, and they found that the elves had already left.  They were refreshed for the journey ahead.  And set out once more, there was hope yet in the world.

***************************************

They called him Runt; he was the smallest of the orcs.  He had a bad attitude, he was gruff, spiteful, and rude, and he often did not realize that he was as small as he was.  But that made the others even more wary of Runt, he did not know when to give up, a flaw he had turned to his advantage, time and time again.

Perhaps that is why Runt was in charge of this scouting party, he just didn’t know how to quit, and he enjoyed a good challenge.  He sniffed the air, and turned to his comrade, a larger brutish orc with one eye, “I smell fae, you head around that way,” he pointed, “I will report to the Holy Mother.”

The larger orc nodded as Runt rushed back to the remaining orc party, and bowed once he was in the presence of the Holy Mother.  Vuna scowled, watching the wretched little orc, bow to her.

Vuna spoke curtly, “What have you to report, are they close?”

Runt replied quickly, “Yes Holy Mother, they is real close, perhaps your Holy pet can sense their magic,” he looked down to the wolf nervously.

Vuna grinned, and bade her wolf to go and hunt down the fae, she could feel success coursing through her bones, “Find them my pet, find them!” she sneered, and turned to Runt, “Gather the rest of the soldiers, we have fae to hunt!”

************************************

Corine crouched against the tree, the orcs were close now, and she could hear their shouts as they stalked through the darkness.  She glanced through the brush, and spotted the wolf walking at their side, and she knew in that terrible moment, that things would only get worse before they got better.

Semmarin was the closest to her, as he drew an arrow and took careful aim, while Tuk just tried his best to be quiet and not draw any attention to himself.  Both Malstrom and Dae stood behind trees, their weapons out and ready.  Corine knew there was a way that they could survive, but she would have to act, and there was no guarantee, that it was the right choice.

Semmarin lifted his arrow, as Corine whispered to him, “Hold your arrow, I have a plan.”

“Huh?” the elfling answered, as he turned back to the orcs, looming closer.

“Just stay here, whatever I do, don’t follow,” she replied.

Semmarin looked confused, as the realization of what was to come next finally hit him.  He watched as Corine turned and ran into the darkness, the flash of movement drawing the orcs, on her as they turned and ran, the wolf bounding after the young Erenlander.  The rest of the party threatened to follow, but Semmarin motioned for them to stand still, as a troupe of orcs followed in her wake.

The forest was still, Tuk broke the silence, “We should follow her, Corine can’t survive on her own.”

Malstrom nodded, “She won’t make it alone.”

Dae just grunted, “She might…”

Semmarin mulled over the words, “Corine knew what she was doing, she did the only reasonable thing.  We have to press on, for the resistance, she knows what she is doing, and we have to do our part, now lets go,” the elfling turned and started down the path once more, _at least I hope she knows what she is doing…_


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## Tokiwong (Sep 2, 2003)

*The Archwizard*

_I hope I know what I am doing, things could get out of hand quickly if I don’t_, Corine dashed through the forest, she could hear the orcs shouting as they bounded after her, but the real threat was the wolf.  It was quick, and she would be caught soon, if she didn’t do something drastic.  Corine could see the sharp bluff ahead, and doubled her pace; she leapt high into the air, as she reached the edge, her eyes widened as she saw just how far she had to fall.

She fell nearly sixty feet through air, curling herself up, as her shoulder crashed into the snow and mud far below, she rolled several feet, her head woozy, and terrible pain aching through her shoulder.  She stumbled to her feet, and looked up through blurry eyes, and saw her pursuers had not elected to follow, although one, had drawn an arrow, and let it fly, she instinctively ducked, and started to run, with a hobble in her step.  

_I must keep going, I won’t let these orcs take me down without a fight_, she stumbled forward mumbling the words to a minor healing spell she had been taught by an elf, during her early days in the resistance.  Her hand glowed white with power and she applied it to her should, as she stumbled behind a tree, just as another arrow slammed into its trunk.  The curing magic eased the ache in her shoulder, it was a dull throbbing pain, but it felt somewhat better.  Another arrow in the tree, jarred her back to the task at hand, and she started to running, a trail of arrows following her through the brush, she did not fear them, the surrounding brush was giving her cover, at least she could take comfort in that.  She knew the wilds better then most, and could survive, now she could only hope that the rest had taken this chance, pressed on or her sacrifice would have been all for naught.

******************************************

Runt grunted, as he lowered his bow, the human insurgent had rushed behind cover, and was gone now from their sight.  Vuna scowled, as she stood behind the short orc, “You let her get away,” her voice dripping with venom.

Runt turned quickly and bowed his head, “She is hurt Priest Mother, she will not get far, we must find a way down this bluff.”

Vuna turned to Garnak, who just leaned against a tree, with that same knowing grin on his face, “She was a decoy.”

“What!” Vuna shouted as she stalked towards the orc chieftain, “and you did not say anything?”

Garnak stood towering over the smaller woman, “You made it clear your word was law, Priest Mother, I did what I was expected to do, I followed.”  He could see the flame of anger burning in the Priest Mother’s eyes, as she turned and stalked back to the gathered orcs, awaiting her next orders.  The wolf seeing the Priest Mother’s mood sauntered back to her and sat eyeing the orc chieftain with contempt.

Runt cleared his throat, “She is getting away Priest Mother, we must move now to find her,” he bowed his head.

Vuna turned, but held her tongue; Runt was useful, he had skills that most other orcs did not possess, and despite speaking out of turn, he was wise, and knew the forest well.  Vuna nodded, “Runt, take Ukla and Hamu, follow the woman, hunt her, if you can kill her then do so.  May our Lord favor you with his blessing, the rest of you, follow me, we have work to do.”

Runt nodded, as the other two orcs stood by him, they were larger then Runt, and bore many scars.  The uglier of the two glared down at Runt, it was obvious he was sizing up the smaller the orc.  Runt glared back up, his eyes flickering red, the larger orc eventually turned his face and sniffed the air.  Runt grinned, “Ukla, Hamu, we go down this way, take it slow, and do not tumble.”

The trio of orcs descended down the incline, the ice and moist earth making it much more difficult then it originally looked.  But the hunt was on.

*******************************************

Malstrom was at the point, his greataxe, in hand.  It was a comfort to him, as he stalked the cold, icy forest.  The rain and ice and had passed but the cold remained.  Following Malstrom, Semmarin kept his bow ready, it was strangely quiet, and the silence did not give him ease either.  Tuk and Dae followed huddling in the cold, still air.  Tuk’s face was creased with worry, he did not like the idea of Corine going off on her own, but the others seemed to think that it was for the best, and that she could handle herself.  But he wasn’t so sure, there were many orcs, and if they found her they would surely kill her.

The party though trudged on, the sounding of war horns in the distance, forcing their resolve, there would be no rest for their weary bones; they would have to press on.  Malstrom pauses as he was the first to break the tree line, and stare out over an open field, in its center was a ruined tower.  The walls were crumbling, and it was obvious this tower, for whatever purpose it had served had seen better days.

Malstrom glanced over his shoulder to his companions, and it was obvious that a chance to get out of the cold, even if for a moment, would help.  Malstrom lead the way across the ice and snow covered grass.  It was a quick jaunt, and they reached the wooden gates, hanging in the entranceway, off the hinges.  Whatever had occurred here, it had been violent, burn marks scarred the stone and wood.  Any corpses that may have lingered were long gone, perhaps picked clean by scavengers, decomposed, or perhaps became the fell.

Semmarin scanned the interior from outside the gate, and motioned when he saw movement within the interior of the crumbling walls.  He squinted and spotted a squat, spindly goblin wearing, and a long cloak for warmth.  Semmarin drew an arrow and effortlessly let the arrow fly; it struck the wretched creature in the leg, and sent it tumbling.  The rest of the party moved forward weapons drawn, as the surrounded the creature.  

The goblin reached for the arrow, but froze as it saw the party surrounding it, weapons at the ready.  It was obviously outclassed, and the fear shined brightly in its eyes.  Its long crooked nose sniffled from the pain, and gibbered, its breath easily visible in the air.

Malstrom knelt down and spoke in orcish pidgin, “What are you doing here?”

The goblin squealed, shielding its face, “I am seeking shelter from the cold, I mean ye no harm, I swear it!”

Semmarin scowled and looked to Malstrom, “We should kill it quickly, and move on, this place isn’t safe.”

Dae nodded, “Finish it Malstrom.”

Malstrom nodded, and turned to the creature, “It seems your luck is done, you die now,” he emphasized bringing his axe to bear.

The creature cringed in fear, “Please, spare me, I mean nothing, I am worthless!”

Malstrom stayed his hand, “Your whining will not save you, stop crying, wretch.  As if you would show us mercy, if you stood in a position in strength.”

The creature began to laugh, its voice and mannerisms shifting, its very form, growing, and melting into a new shape.  Its face elongated and became a handsome male face, with dark brown eyes, and long black hair.  The ragged clothes, became a fine robe, and the arrow fell to the ground, leaving not a mark, as the man stood.  The party was both in awe, and fearful with suspicion, it was obvious the human before them, was no simple conjurer of petty tricks.

Malstrom kept his greataxe ready, “What sorcery is this!”

The man bowed his head, his voice condescending and cultured, “My sorcery, dworg, oh please lower your weapon if truly meant you harm, you would be dead now.”

Malstrom growled, “Is that a threat?”

The man bowed his head, and then stepped back, he began a complex series of movements with his hands, as he murmured arcane words of power, and then breathed a sigh as if it took great effort to complete the spell, “There that should aid everyone in understanding me.”

Semmarin was amazed at the casual nature the man had towards his magic, he moved to speak, but held his mouth closed, and decided to just observe for the moment.  Tuk watched amazed, any fear replaced by a sense of awe.

Dae scowled, “Who are you?”

The man bowed with a flourish, “You may call my Vykos, First wizard of the Order of the Black Dragon, and so on and so forth, but I think from now I shall simply be referred to as the Archwizard.  I am sure you may have heard of me.”

The party looked at each other with looks of bewilderment and confusion.  Semmarin finally spoke, “I have no idea who you are, but we really do not have time for this.  A war band of orcs is following us, and I would really like to get in out of the cold.”

“You shall refer me to as Archwizard,” Vykos replied with a cold smile, “and as far as getting into the tower, I can help you get inside, but I doubt you will have the capability to open the door of the tower and enter.”

Malstrom looked to the door, and then returned his gaze back to Vykos, “Why is that _Archwizard_?”

“Because he door is locked, and only I can open it,” Vykos replied as if the answer should have been obvious.

Semmarin sighed, “Can you open the door for us then?”

“I could but I really do not know what you are doing here, or what your intent is, you did shoot me after all with an arrow,” he glanced to Semmarin, to emphasize his point.

“You looked like a goblin,” Malstrom interjected.

“So you hate goblins then?” Vykos replied.

“We hate the Shadow, and do everything in our power to stop its advances,” Dae replied growing irritated.

“Oh you hate the Shadow, you wish to fight the Shadow, the One God with what sword, axe, and arrow?  You think you can challenge a god and win?  You think there is hope?  Hope is forsaken in these lands.  You will end up just like anyone else that faces the Shadow, a corpse, in a forgotten field, or worse you will rise to serve the very thing you tried defeat.  Such is the fate of heroes,” Vykos replied.

A war horn sounded in the distance followed by two more soundings.  The orcs were getting closer.

Malstrom scowled, “It seems you have made your decision, such a powerful Archwizard, and yet you linger out here in the wilds far from civilization.  If you are so powerful then why are you out here?”

“Because I am an Archwizard, dworg,” Vykos replied with a roll of his eyes, “the One God despises magic, and those that study its arcane arts are hunted.  I for one like to steer clear of those who would do me harm.”

“So you are afraid, then?” Semmarin replied with a wry smile.

“I call it being pragmatic, how can I ever become the greatest Archwizard Eredane has ever known if I am killed long before my time.  It would be a great disservice to this world.  I fear to see just what the women would do, if they learned of my untimely demise,” Vykos replied with a grin.

Malstrom couldn’t help but smirk, “You’re a pompous fool, stand aside, coward, and we have work to do.  If you will not help us, then we are through here.”

Vykos chuckled, “So touchy, dworg, I never said I wouldn’t help you, like you I serve the resistance.”

“But you said you had no qualm with the One God,” Semmarin replied.

“Well on principle alone, I do not have any qualms with the Shadow,” Vykos grinned, “But he does persecute the arcane arts, and that is where I take offense with him.  I am an Archwizard after all.”

Malstrom rolled his eyes, “Of course you are.”

Vykos gestured to the tower, “Shall we retreat inside for a moment, to avoid the orcs, I have a plan, but it requires for you all to be out of sight.”

******************************************

Runt crouched in the brush, the horrible glowing orb, which burned in the sky, was setting, and the darkness was settling over the icy forest.  This human female was proving very clever prey.  She knew the land, she could glean its secrets, and she had even killed Hamu, using cover, and hit and run tactics.  He did not feel any loss for Hamu, indeed, Ukla and Runt ate well that night, but still it was a loss that he could have gone without.

Runt grinned though, she was in hi sights, as he drew his bow, she was getting tired, it was obvious, a mistake was bound to happen.  And now he was ready to capitalize on it, all he needed was a more seconds, just a breath, as he focused his aim.  The arrow flew straight and true, and pierced the woman’s shoulder.  She screamed, and drew her longsword and started running, cursing in the tongue of the Erenland.

Runt grinned as he saw Ukla leap after her; he swung his vardatch and the agile Erenlander brought her smaller longsword up in a parry.  Steel clashed with steel, as sparks flew, but the melee was joined.  Runt stood and slowly drew another arrow, as Ukla try to chop the smaller Erenlander with his vardatch.  The blade was nearly as tall as the woman, and the serrated edge had bits dried blood, and gristle clinging to it.  The woman ducked left and then feinted right, drawing the orc forward.

The woman was quick, as she drove her longsword forward right into Ukla’s gullet, the point of the blade sticking out of his back.  Runt scowled, as she ripped the blade from his gullet, spraying hot black blood over the icy ground.  His eyes locked with the woman’s as they stared at each, hate boiling between them.

A war horn sounded, two quick notes.  Runt kept his aim true, as he heard the horn; it was a rare call, the call of retreat.  He could take the woman; he could put the arrow right between her eyes with ease.  That would be a simple thing, but she was battered and bruised.  She still had the will to fight, despite the hunt, and despite her injuries she was not broken.  Runt lowered his bow, pointing the arrow to the ground.

He motioned with his head for her to run.  The woman snarled a curse, but slowly realized that the orc was not going to kill her.  She looked confused, but she stumbled away, clutching her wounds, and fled into the darkness.

Runt walked over to Ukla, and knelt down, taking his fill for the evening, so that he did not go hungry, and to make sure that he did not return as the fell.  Runt glanced up after the retreating woman; he wasn’t sure why he spared her, it just seemed like a good decision.  With Ukla and Hamu dead, he could say whatever he liked, and none would be the wiser, and most importantly, he never liked either of them anyway.  It would be a simple matter to say that she escaped him when the horn sounded, that would be believable and the truth, as a matter of sorts.  As the saying went, _The Shadow favors the strong, but he favors the clever even more so_.

********************************************

Corine stumbled through the woods, as a tower came into view.  Perhaps she could seek shelter; perhaps she was running out time.  She was so tired; she had not even removed the arrow, each step becoming a labor, as her eyes became blurry.  She would die in this place, alone.  It was not a comforting thought, but then again, she had saved her newfound allies, and perhaps she could take solace in that.

She fell.

Corine lay on the ground face first in the icy dirt.  She tried to stand up, but she had no will left.  It was getting hard to breathe.  Hard to even think as she struggled to remain alive, were those feet, who was it, an orc?  Thoughts raced through her mind, as a rough hand picked her up, she tried to struggle, but she could barely move.  All she could do was close her eyes.

She awoke.

She was lying on a bed of hay, a bandage wrapped around her shoulder.  She was alive, as she brushed her dark hair from her face.  Sitting at her side was Tuk, though he was dozing.  She couldn’t help but smile; the little halfling was loyal at least.  There were others, the rest of her companions, and men she did not recognize, but for a moment, she felt hope.  She had survived, against all hope and she had survived.

Somewhere an Old Man smiled, as he walked down a lonely dark road.


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## Dirigible (Sep 2, 2003)

This storyhour is great. I especially like the way we get to see the bad guys working on their plans while the heroes are doin' their thang.

And your heroes do a great job of exemplifying Midnight's setting


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## Tokiwong (Sep 3, 2003)

Thanks I am still about two sessions behind, depending on how I write them I havea  few stories to go, to get caught up, but Midnight has a been a blast to play, and the players are really getting into the setting


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## Broccli_Head (Sep 3, 2003)

Tokiwong said:
			
		

> but Midnight has a been a blast to play, and the players are really getting into the setting




Hey Tokiwong! I only saw a copy of Midnight for the first time the other day and it looked really good.

Low magic...NO CLERICS! 

Can't buy magic...gotta love it. 

Makes for a campaign and play based on wits not power.

Now I gotta read your story!

Edit: Now I'm caught up! When you gonna continue?


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## Tokiwong (Sep 3, 2003)

*The Black Mirror*

The plan was set.

The course was made as Vykos gathered the insurgents in the main room of the tower.  All were present now, including Borca, Salas, and Valthis.  There were also several Erenlander youths looking for a chance to prove their mettle against the Shadow.  Vykos glanced around the table, besides Borca, the faces were young, and idealistic.  Hope sparkled in their eyes, the caravan had been spotted, now it was only a matter of time before the ambush was to be staged.  A major blow would be struck, if they could somehow take the Black Mirror without destroying it, and perhaps find out what makes them so important.  But either way its destruction could not be done, the death would be too widespread.  Or so he had been told, and read, and despite his arrogance, Vykos was not one to tempt fate.  He had made it to the title of Archwizard, even if the title was self-proclaimed.

He turned his attentions to Corine, young and beautiful, though most would see her as an athletic beauty, she was strong.  Her skin was somewhat weathered, and her brown hair was worn short.  She rarely smiled, but then there was very little to smile about, he supposed.

Next to her sat the halfling, Tuk, his skin was a light mahogany, and he seemed to smile about everything.  He was a slim form, a slave, with tattoos across his body, obviously from his previous employer.  He was no soldier, but he seemed to want to fight the Shadow if for no other reason then because he really had nowhere else to go.

Across from Vykos sat the dworg, Malstrom.  He was a large figure for a dworg, and a scar split his face, a remnant of his youth.  He wore chainmail armor, and despite his fierce demeanor, the dworg was well known for his nobility, and use of manners.  Vykos admired that fact, it was a pleasant change from most dour and grim warriors.  Next to him sat the large Dorn, Dae.  He was neither particularly handsome nor ugly, but he was large, and powerful.  He wore a long coat of wolf’s fur, and wielded two weapons better then most men could wield a single blade.  He was not overly bright, but he did fight well, and that suited him fine.

Borca spoke breaking the long silence, “Our scouts report they are bout two miles east of us, Vykos.  Are the elves and the Sarcosan riders in position?” speaking in the Erenland tongue with a strong accent born of the Kaladrun mountains.  Borca’s scalp was balding, and his dark hair, against his pale weathered face, made him seem older then he ought to be.  Creases of weary formed wrinkles in his face, and his beard was thick and full, layered with braids.  His dark brown eyes, always gave Vykos pause.

Vykos replied as he reclined in his chair, “The elves are in position, and the Sarcosan riders will strike when I give them the signal.  It will be unmistakable and quite flashy.  The middle wagon is our target, we will have to strike it first.  That is the wagon that carries the Black Mirror.  It must not be destroyed, or no one will survive.  We must capture it, at all costs.”

Valthis nodded, his slim boyish features made him handsome.  He glanced around the table, before speaking, “We will not have much room for error, but with faith, we will prevail.”

Malstrom nodded, “Then I believe we are committed.”

Corine agreed, “Today we strike a blow for the resistance.”

Semmarin remained silent.  The dark skinned elfling, wore his dark hair in short dreadlocks, and pulled his elven cloak close around him.  He was small, perhaps the smallest of the group outside of Tuk, but he knew that his size did not matter when it came to the fighting the forces of the One God.  The thought cause him to speak, “Then lets get out and prepare.  We have orcs to kill, and a Black Mirror to steal.”

*************************************

Runt scanned the road as he marched at the point of the caravan.  A cold wind blew over the distant plains, and the moon hung fool, giving a soft glow to the plains.  He sniffed the air, and paused to feel the ground.  He placed his ear to the ground, causing the other orcs around him to pause and stare curiously at the strange little orc.

Runt listened, he could hear the telltale signs of riding animals.  Not the rumbling behind him, but something distant, he stood satisfied, and marched ahead.  Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon.  He had thought it was odd to call a retreat so soon, and form up with the caravan, but the pieces were coming together for the orc scout.

He and his brethren were bait.

The thoughts made him curl his mouth with distaste, the rest of his kin did not realize that they were only here to die.  The Priest Mother surely knew, along with his chief, Garnak, but the rest.  But Runt just grinned, being the bait would just be more challenging.  

It was at that blessed moment that the wagon just in front of the center wagon exploded into flames.  Runt dove for cover, and rolled to his feet, drawing his bow, and instinctively moved for cover.  He could smell the odor of burning flesh, wood, and worse.  He could hear screams, and war cries.  He saw a human charge from the trees, and let an arrow fly, it was straight and true, right into the man’s breast.

Runt turned, already lining up another target, an elf that had foolishly moved from cover.  He smiled and let the arrow fly, but scowled, when the arrow fell short, and stuck the elf in the leg.  He ducked, as a barrage of arrows slammed into the wagon.  An orc screamed, clutching at his throat.  Runt reached down and ripped the arrow from the orc’s throat, it was still whole, and he grinned as he knocked another arrow.  

Runt ran towards another wagon, and dove clear as the wagon exploded.  He felt the rush of heat, followed by the smell and the screams.  He closed his eyes because the flames were almost too bright for his eyes.  He turned, and allowed his vision to clear and spotted a riding Sarcosan rider, he let the arrow fly, and placed the elven wrought arrow right into the Sarcosan’s breast.  The warrior continued to charge and raised his lance.  Runt ducked to the side, and rolled forward drawing a kukri, and slashed across the rider’s leg.  Runt rushed after the warrior as he turned his horse about, he sprung up into the air, and tackled the warrior with a mighty blow.  

Runt and the warrior landed hard on the icy ground, but the orc had the advantage.  He stabbed his kukri into the warrior’s neck, with precision, the warrior struggled, reaching for his sword, but it was too late.  Runt crawled forward, and grabbed his bow, and moved for cover.  He could hear the chaos around him, as he crouched and got his bearings.  Runt drew another arrow and looked for another target.

*************************************

Malstrom and Dae charged across the field, they rushed through the broken ranks, their weapons at the ready as they cut down the wounded orcs and human.  They gave no quarter and expected none.  Malstrom hefted his blade with skill, as he cleaved his enemies in two, causing the orcs to give him pause.  Dae wielded his blades in a dangerous dance, bastard sword in one hand, the shortsword in the other.  He kept his foes off balance, feinting with one blade, and killing with the other.

Near the tree line Corine, took aim with her longbow.  The Erenlander sent an arrow flying, and brought down an orc in a spray of black blood, as the elves followed suit, tearing into the orcs with a fury of arrows.  They rained death, and the screams below, spoke volumes of their success.

Malstrom shouted to the other insurgents, “We must take that wagon,” as he brought his greataxe into the back of a retreating human.  Spilling his lifeblood onto the icy earth.  

Dae nodded, as he parried a vardatch with his shortsword, and used his bastard sword to take the head of his opponent.  Black blood spewing forth covering the large Dorn as he moved forward to face more orcs, it was to his credit that some paused, considering to tackle the large warrior.

Following them Semmarin shout his bow at close range and then changed to his shortsword, as an orc charged towards the small elfling.  Using his size and strength to bully the elfling back, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

Tuk followed in the wake of the two large warriors, flanking their opponents and doing what he could to keep them safe.  It was all he could do not to flee in terror, but there was bravery in the small halfling.  He jabbed his spear into an orc, distracting him long enough for Dae to finish him.

Victory looked to be in sight.

***************************************

Garnak glanced to Vuna from underneath the large tarp, on the wagon.  His men packed close together, as they heard the fighting grow even fiercer.  Vuna gave the chieftain a nod, her consent.  Garnak grabbed the tarp, and pulled it aside, revealing to the charging and weakened insurgent forces, that their sacrifice, all the bloodshed, was for not.  There was no Black Mirror, only death.

Garnak shouted “Onward brothers, crush these fools, and bring me their heads!”  The orcs poured off the wagon in a fury, the insurgent forces looked to each other in shock, and confusion.  Before they realized what had transpired many of them were cut down.  Garnak glared at the charging dworg and Dorn, and stepped off the wagon moving towards them, as Vuna watched with a satisfied grin.  Her wolf sat beside her mimicking her demeanor, as the icy wind, made her cloak billow in the wind, framing her lithe form against the moon. 

The dworg, was bleeding from several cuts as he locked eyes with Garnak.  The Dorn was fending off several orcs, but he was losing ground, even with the help of a halfling.  Garnak drew his vardatch, its blade was midnight black, and its edge was sharp.  The dworg shouted a war cry and charged, slamming his axe down on the orc chieftain, he raised his shield, and the axe blade slid harmlessly away.

Garnak seemed amused, the dworg was incensed, but he had much to learn.  He stayed on the defensive as the dworg pressed the attack, slamming his blade against the orc’s shield and blade.  Garnak dipped forward in a feint, and the dworg stepped to defend against it, realizing too late the fate he had made.  Garnak swung his blade high and carved a path across the dworg’s chest, cutting through bone and flesh.  The dworg stumbled and then collapsed, black-red blood oozing from his mortal wound.

Garnak looked up to see a large orc, Yuth, cut down an elfling with a powerful slash, sending the fae to the ground in a spray of blood.  He would have to remember that Yuth would be well rewarded for his kill.

It was too easy.

Garnak looked around and saw the insurgents fleeing towards the trees.  He raised his shield to fend off some arrows.  The elves were going to cover the retreat, how noble for them.  He pointed and shouted, and a drummer drummed out his commands to the rest of the orcs, as they pressed the fight to the elves.  Garnak turned and saw the Sarcosan riders trying to retreat, it was a route.  The ambush had worked better then he could have imagined.

Garnak turned back, and saw the Dorn dragging the dying dworg away, he moved to follow, but another blast sent him sprawling.  He scowled, it had to be the outlaw wizard, Vykos.  He rushed to his feet and scanned the tree line, but the blasted human was gone for sure, and left a little parting gift.

*************************************

Corine helped to cover the retreat, as Dae scrambled up the hill with Tuk guarding his back.  The elves fought bravely, but it was obvious that if there lines were breaking.  Corine scanned the caravan, and could see corpses, many orcs, but many more insurgents.  She turned from the scene, and followed her allies.  

The mood was somber as they retreated back to the tower.  They were fewer in number; Borca, Valthis, Vykos, Tuk, and Dae had survived the battle.  She shook her head, as Dae placed Malstrom’s corpse on a bed of hay, his eyes staring up at the sky.  She noticed those missing and looked to Dae, “Where is Semmarin, where is Salas?”

Dae replied, “An orc slew him, I could not help him.”

Borca replied to Corine as well, “Salas died at the hands of an orc as well.  He died with his sword in his hand, as a warrior should.”

Corine scowled, “That was an ambush.  They knew.”

Borca nodded, “Seems that we may be dealing with a spy in our midst.”

Vykos sat down, “We can’t begin to point fingers, Borca.”

“There was no Black Mirror,” Dae said, glaring about the room.

“I think that was obvious,” Vykos replied.

Corine turned curiously as she noticed a small dove sitting next to Malstrom.  The bird scampered up onto Malstrom’s chest and gently pecked at his flesh.  The rest of the room watched as a soft glow, filtered over the warrior, and his wounds sealed, and he drew a breath.  His eyes opening as the bird flew up fading from view.

Corine gasped, “A miracle?”

***********************************

The forces of the insurgents were scattered to the four winds before Garnak Mansplitter, he grinned, as much as his tusks allowed a grin.  The corpses littered the ground all around the supply wagons, the trap had worked better then he had hoped, if only they had succeeded in slaying the Archwizard, Vykos then all would have been perfect.  But alas the crafty wizard had proven to be a worthy adversary for the forces of the Shadow.

An orc soldier grunted as he approached Garnak, human and elf blood splattered on his black scale mail armor.  Mixed with a smattering of his black blood, he saluted before speaking in the tongue of the orcs, “We have the heads of the Sarcosan leader, and elves, although a few escaped,” he paused looking around, “shall we burn the corpses?”

Garnak glanced to Vuna as she gently rubbed the mane of her wolf, she spoke sternly to the soldier, “Our Lord, Izrador demands that these corpses join his embrace, leave them, and let them become the fell,” she spat the words through her yellow teeth.

Garnak nodded, shifting his weight as he turned and looked out over the plains, “At least we know that we have a spy in our midst,” his visage growing stern, “this ambush is evidence enough that somehow the insurgents are monitoring our communications.”

Vuna turned to Garnak and nodded, brushing her black mane from her face, for an orc she was in a word beautiful, to the lesser races, she was a brutal lethal creature savagery.  Her lips curled in a sneer as she spoke, “Garnak the tribe will have many honors for this victory, we have taken many heads, and nearly crushed the resistance in this region.  The spy has been a boon, if anything.”

“We still do not know who it is,” Garnak spat back, as he cleaned his black-bladed vardatch, the edge was never dull, even so out of habit he inspected the edge

“It does not matter, we have our own spy in their midst,” she replied with a vicious smile,  “it is only a matter of time, the Shadow favors his children this day.  We will know only victory.”

Garnak grunted in reply, he did not have Vuna’s confidence, but there was little he understood about the Priest Mother.  He just knew that she had the power to keep track of their enemies.  But he knew the gleam of ambition burned in her breast; it would only be a matter of time, before he would have to put her in her place.  That was the way of the Shadow, only the strong survived.  

Overhead amidst the scattered black birds, and scavengers, a white dove surveyed the scene of carnage, the smashing of a thousand hopes as Shadow prevailed on the battlefield.  Yet hope lingered on, as the remnants of the resistance regrouped.  That much was certain, the war would not end.

Garnak looked up as if to gaze upon the now darkening skyline, the moon was a beautiful sight, in the sky.  Unlike the burning sphere that burned his eyes in the day, the darkness was comforting, and welcoming.  He squinted slightly as he spotted a white flicker among the black flecks of birds in the sky.  

Garnak paused and looked to Vuna who had busied herself with ordering the soldiers about, as they prepared to move out, he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.  He was tired, and he doubted that Vuna would even know what the significance of the bird would mean.  Not that she wouldn’t posture and lie to that effect, but he knew she was not much smarter then the rest of his blessed race.  Something that sadly Garnak was not blessed with, his mind was sharp, and it was as much a curse as it was a boon.  His men fell into orderly formations as Vuna assumed her place on the wagon.  Garnak, reached his seat, and ordered the caravan forward.  There was never any rest for the wicked…

*************************************

The white dove landed next to Semmarin’s corpse and gently pecked at him.  His form glowed slightly, as he took a breath, it was painful.  It was strange it was like waking up from nothing.  There was no dream, there was nothing, he just opened his eyes and regarded the bird with a curious look.

The dove spoke, “Treachery is the way of Shadow.  There is evil in your midst.  What I have done for you, I cannot do again, but you must try and have hope.  If it is lost nothing will survive.  The Shadow will have won.  Now go, they wait for you in the tower.”

The bird then flew off into the distance.  Semmarin stood, and made his way towards his companions.


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## Tokiwong (Sep 4, 2003)

*The Traitor*

Semmarin stumbled through the darkness, alone and cold.  His body ached, from death, and his second breath.  A chill wind passed over him, as the tower came into view, he approached the door and knocked gently, and waited.  There was a long silence, before the door opened, and Borca greeted Semmarin with his warhammer in hand, but the look of shock on his eyes, spoke volumes as Semmarin stumbled past.  Two miracles in one night, but the damage to the morale had been done.

Semmarin slumped against the wall, his whole body aching.  Despite his pain he could feel the tension in the room.  Borca took his seat next to Malstrom as Dae stood, scouring the room with his cold, angry eyes.  Tuk sat quietly reflecting on the day, and what had been lost, he sighed in defeat.  Corine glanced down to the halfling; she turned her gaze back to Vykos.  Vykos sat at the table his mind thinking, a sardonic smile on his face.

Dae finally broke the silence, “We were tricked.”

Vykos turned to Dae and nodded, “We were baited.  It was a dangerous game they played, we fell for their trap.  An interesting predicament, to be sure.”

Borca scowled, “It was treachery, plain and simple.”

Corine nodded, “We can’t go pointing fingers, Borca.”

Dae nodded, but his mind was already boiling with the possibilities.  He had his suspicions; they burned through his mind like a raging inferno.  He knew whom he could trust, and whom he could not trust.

Don’t trust the woman, she means to betray you.

Dae glanced around the room, for a moment.  It was a whisper in a voice he did not recognize but very much understood.  For some reason he wanted to believe if for no other reason then because it seemed the most plausible.

Malstrom glanced to Dae, and then looked to Vykos, “What do we do next?”

Vykos replied with his usual casual grin, “We rest of course.  We sleep and dream.  We have faced a bitter defeat this day.  But we have the morrow, we start anew, and do not give up.”

*******************************************************

The smell of seasoned, and cooked orc flesh, wafted up to Runt’s nose.  The dawn was beginning to set, and the orcs had made camp.  It was a loud affair of eating, shouts, and carousing.  The halfling slaves rushed about trying to keep the orcs fed, and happy, so as to not draw their ire.

Runt ate his meal quietly, and glanced to the bandage over his left shoulder, where a Sarcosan blade had bit his flesh.  The wound would heal, and leave a proud scar for the orc scout.  It had been a good night, and Runt had earned twelve new scars, of honest kills.  The One God had favored him on the battlefield and granted him great prowess to destroy the heathens that threatened his blessed order.

Runt turned and saw the Priest Mother, standing watching her faithful feast, and celebrate the victory.  She was slim for an orc, but impressively muscled.  She had a mane of black hair that blew in the wind, and her tusks were sharp and powerful.  Her face was angular, framing her red eyes, almost perfectly.  She was a beauty among her kind, and Runt admired her, it would be an honor to earn the right to be her consort, and father her children.  She would give him strong kin, and Izrador would bless them for greatness.

Sitting near her was his chieftain, Garnak.  One of the most powerful orcs Runt had ever met, and if he did not mistake it, quite crafty.  He had peculiar habits, his armor was immaculate, and he kept himself well groomed, and spoke with words that most orcs would find useless or perhaps too flowery.  But his prowess on the field of battle was well known, he wore many scars from his kills, and he was a good strong leader. Although Runt saw that unlike other males, Garnak approached the females as if he was their equal, it was nearly heresy, and he wondered just how long the Priest Mother’s would stand such insolence.

Runt instinctively drew his kukri and held it close to hand trying to snatch some of his meat.  It belonged to a burly orc with a large gut.  His eyes were a milky red, and he was missing his left tusk.  The larger orc sneered, “You too small Runt, let me have this, I am bigger, give it to me little one.”

Runt narrowed his eyes, “I will have my fill, Utha, now take your hand from my food, or your hand will join my meal.”

Utha slowly recoiled his hand, and then looked to the other orcs, many of them watching the larger orc defer to Runt.  Utha stood and puffed out his chest, “Give me your meat, Runt, or I kill you.”

Runt stood and growled, “You must try first,” as he looked up, he stood nearly a head shorter then Utha, but his frame was muscled and wiry.  Many of the orcs stood, and formed a circle around the two, watching with great interest.  Vuna walked towards the circle, interested to see what the males were gawking at.

Utha growled bearing his yellowed teeth, and drew a dagger; the blade was sharp, although crudely made.  Runt drew his kukri, the blade was equally sharp, but had been crafted in a dwarven forge.  Runt had killed the dwarf with a dagger similar to Utha’s.

Utha slowly began to circle Runt, and Runt followed suit, the two staring at each other with hate.  Utha growled, and lunged forward, letting out a powerful roar.  Runt though was ready, and brought his kukri up under his forearm, he rolled to the side, and let the blade slash at Utha’s thigh drawing a line of black blood along his furry leg.  Runt rolled, and came up in a low, crouch, as Utha turned quickly, he simply chuckled at the slash.

“You are weak Runt, you is too small to be proper orc, you will have no mate little one.  I will enjoy eating your flesh, weakling,” Utha grinned.

Runt narrowed his eyes; he kept his distance from Utha, and weighed his options.  Utha was stronger, but Runt knew he was quicker.  Utha may have been laughing but he knew that Utha was hurt, but Runt realized that his shoulder still ached from the ambush.  All things considered, he figured he had an even chance of winning the fight, and with the larger orcs need for bluster; probably better then that.

Utha tried to intimidate Runt by using his own dagger to carve a scar across his chest and show just how little pain he actually felt, as blood dribbled from the self-inflicted wound.  Runt just watched, realizing that Utha may be tougher then he had earlier realized.

Utha stalked forward, as Runt waited crouched.  Utha tried to stab downward with his blade.  Runt rolled to the side, coming to his feet and ready.  He stayed on the defensive, parrying and dodging.  Utha became frustrated, and swung wide; Runt ducked and stabbed his kukri deep into Utha’s side, piercing vitals, and then pulled the blade out with a spray of black blood and sliced flesh.

Runt spun with his slash, moving away from Utha, as the large orc clutches at his injury.  Somehow the fat orc was still standing, malice and rage burning in his pale red eyes.  He rushed forward, taking Runt by surprise and tackled the smaller orc.  The larger orc let out a roar as they fell back.  Runt landed hard on his back, and the larger orc fell on top of him.  Luckily Runt placed his blade between himself and Utha, and the blade bit deep into the larger orc’s belly.  Runt could feel warm blood; he struggled to get the larger orc off him.  He struggled free, and realized that his shoulder wound was bleeding, once more.  He winced from the pain, as he stood, his kukri black with blood and regarded his peers.

Runt added another scar to his good shoulder.

Vuna was impressed and moved forward.  Runt blinked as he saw the Priest Mother approach and bowed his head, in deference.  The gathered orcs did not dare to look directly at the blessed Priest Mother.  Vuna whispered a word of prayer to the One God, and her hands took on a sickening red glow, she placed it on Runt’s shoulder, and their was the sound of burning flesh as the wound cauterized and sealed, leaving another scar on the orc’s flesh.

Runt felt a brief wash of pain, and then there was nothing.  He glanced to his shoulder, the bandage was gone, and only a scar remained from the wound he had received.  The Priest Mother had given him a blessing, and healed his wounds.  She turned from Runt, and moved back to where she was seated, without a word.  Runt stood motionless, and then glanced around, seeing looks of jealousy on many eyes, but none dared act on it, after glancing to Utha.  The tribe would feast well that night.

*****************************************************

_The Corruption…_

Dae slept that night, and he dreamed…

Dae laid on the soft snow, and felt a burning in his mind as the alien whisper continued to speak to him in a hushed tone, as if it feared discovery, "She knows you know.  She is already plotting against you, she will be the death of you."

Dae sat up, and spotted a flickering figure amidst the soft snow fall, a maiden dressed in a soft blue and white gown, her skin, was warm to the touch as she knelt next to him, and wrapped an arm around him to help him sit up.  She was beautiful and yet a being of awe, as she continued to speak, "Do not fret, and do not know fear for there is one among you that can help you, the dwarf, Borca, knows of her treachery."  She smiled softly, bearing perfect white teeth, at her hip Dae noticed the slender shortsword that Borca always carried, the hilt was covered in smooth leather, and the bottom of the hilt sported a black gem of some type, a swirling black of mystery.

The woman kissed his forehead, and then retreated into the mists, as she continued to speak, still only a soft whisper, "She knows..."

Dae then awoke in a cold sweat...

_The Guide_

The young elfling, Semmarin was troubled… 

Sleeping was easy; his body had been broken, bruised, and even dead, only to breath a second breath on a field of death.  The whisper of the trees, whispered danger to his heart, the animals of the woods, shout cries against the encroaching darkness.  The world itself was dying, every day, and he could feel the pain right in the very fiber of his soul.  Semmarin was not even sure if he was sleeping anymore but he saw the world far below, and felt the wind on his face.  The sky was dark, contrasting with the large white feathers beneath him, as he sat atop a massive dove; it glided amidst the darkness, the wind growing bitter and cold.  Yet the dove remained strong and warm.

Below Semmarin could see a great army amassing, the dove swooped down closer to the frozen earth, and the horde shouted, as arrows flew, but the dove pressed ever onward, amidst the swarm of arrows and javelins, still pressing on further North, into the eye of the encroaching storm.  It was only then when he noticed the blood on his hands, the Dove was bleeding, and it crashed to the earth, in a heap throwing the elfling onto the icy ground, nearly shattering his bones, but he lived still.

The Dove looked up, "You must not lose hope, that is all we have against the Shadow, hope and the will to fight on against evil.  Not just the evils of man, not just the evils of darkness, but pure evil, in a form so heinous, that it corrupts the very earth itself," the Dove stood, its wing broken, but still it would not give up, "There can be no good in this world, if we lose hope.  Believe in me, but more importantly believe in you.  You will have to make the choice between what is right, and what is wrong, the group is splintering, and you will suffer further tragedy, by your own hands."

The Dove stepped forward, hobbling as it spoke, "You must know trust, and you must know who to trust."

At that moment Semmarin woke up to the smell of Tuk's cooking...

_The Past_

That same voice in the woods, and on the battle field, that same look in the orc's eyes, perhaps it was just a fleeting memory, as Malstrom slept, the pain of his wounds still burning all across the dworg’s body though subsided by the care of Valthis, it is still bothersome.  But his sleep was anything but peaceful, as he dreamt of what could have been, what had come to pass, and that, which was often forgotten in the shadows of time.  He could recall early in his travels a small village of miners, or perhaps a better term would have been slaves in the service to a puppet prince of the Shadow.  The village was small and poor, but they had pride, and this pride grew into rebellion.

The men enlisted Malstrom’s aid despite your heritage, and he was given a simple weapon, and a wooden shield, as the men descended upon the encampment of the Shadow's forces, only to face the full wrath of the shadow, and the orc forces that had been itching to taste of man-flesh.  It was a slaughter, and the young chieftain of the orcs, smashed the rebellion, and showed no mercy for their insurrection.  The men were slain in the fighting, and then placed on pikes, while the women and children were killed in their sleep, and then left to burn as they lit the flames of the fire.

But the dworg, they had fun with, he remembered the fun they had, breaking his fingers, scarring his back, for days on end, until they grew tired, and tied the dworg’s arms to a long wooden shaft, and released the wolves on him.   He remembered the orc chieftain's face, the one they called Garnak Mansplitter, Malstrom remembered the intense nature of his reddish gray eyes as he let out the command to let the hunt begin.  But somehow, he survived, he ran for days, until exhaustion, and then beat the two wolves to death once the warrior had managed to remove the wooden pole... the vision was all too intense as he relived it, but he awoke in the bed, to the smell of a halfling breakfast...

****************************************************

The morning came all too quickly for the insurgents.  The air was still salty with scorn, and distrust.  Vykos seemed to weather it all with a faint sardonic smile, but the meal was hushed, even as Tuk tried to engage in a hearty discussion of the various recipes he had used to create the meal. 

Vykos spoke as the meal drew to a close, “We need to speak of our future plans.”

Malstrom nodded, “Indeed we do, but first my companions and I, need to speak of what we plan to do,” he gestured to Semmarin and Dae.

Corine raised a brow, “Why is that?”

“We must decide if we wish to stay with this group or press on by ourselves.  We need to evaluate our options,” the dworg replied diplomatically.

Vykos nodded, “Then make your decision.”

Malstrom nodded, and stood, both Dae and Semmarin following him upstairs.  They closed the trapped door behind them, and sat looking at each other in silence for a moment before Malstrom spoke, “I don’t know if we can trust everyone in our group.”

Dae grunted in acknowledgement, “Indeed I only trust those in this room.”

“So you think you know who are traitor is?” Semmarin replied in a whisper.

“I think it is Corine, I mean how did she survive on her own?” Malstrom replied, “She may be good, but she isn’t that good.”

Dae nodded, “I agree, the woman is the most likely traitor.  I had a dream last night that confirmed as much.”

“A dream?” Semmarin replied.

“Aye,” Dae replied, “A voice told me to not trust the woman, it told me that we could trust Borca though.”

Malstrom mulled over the words, “How do we know we can trust the voice?”

“I don’t know, but it seems true enough to me, Corine has had the most opportunity,” Dae replied.

“Hmm,” Semmarin replied, “I think we should speak to Borca.”

“Perhaps we should stay with this group, and alert Borca of our plan,” Malstrom replied.

“We may have to kill Corine, if she turns out to be the traitor,” Semmarin replied, “are we prepared to do that?”

“I am,” Dae’s voice flat and calm.

“Then we are decided, we stay, and Dae you speak to Borca,” Malstrom replied, “when you are both alone.”

Semmarin nodded, “I hope we are wrong.”

Malstrom nodded, “We must be prepared to do what must be done for the good of the Resistance.  We cannot let betrayal from within defeat us.”

The trio agreed, and proceeded downstairs.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Sep 4, 2003)

Tokiwong said:
			
		

> *The Traitor*
> 
> “We may have to kill Corine, if she turns out to be the traitor,” Semmarin replied, “are we prepared to do that?”
> 
> ...




Great intrigue Tokiwong!

I remember that Corine is an NPC...how about Borca?


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## Tokiwong (Sep 5, 2003)

Borca is also an NPC and well things only get worse from here before they get better


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## Tokiwong (Sep 6, 2003)

*Needless Sacrifice*

“I am relieved that you have decided to stay with us, all of you,” Vykos replied to Malstrom.  He reclined in his chair, and rested his hand delicately on the table, “We have faced a major setback.  But from the ashes of failure, a new and even more daring plan can be spawned, but it will take great sacrifice on your parts.”

Corine nodded, “And what do you have in mind?’

“In my studies and readings, I have found references to a place simply called the Temple of Souls, it is said that this hidden place houses artifacts of power.  Perhaps they may give us a way to even the odds against the forces of Shadow, for they hold the advantage, and we are few.  Desperate times, call for desperate measures,” Vykos replied.

“Indeed, Archwizard.  This is indeed if ye want us to be questing for some place such as this, do you know where it is?” Borca replied.

Vykos grinned, “No, but one of you knows someone that does.”

Malstrom scanned the table, “Who?”

“Tuk, when he was a slave, came into contact with a sage in Al Kadil, perhaps we can exploit that, and get in contact with this man, and get the information for its location.  Indeed, the journey will not be easy, but we have a chance for success I cannot let pass.  Valthis and myself will linger here to try and muster resistance.  The rest of you should leave on the morrow, it will be a long journey, if you choose to go,” Vykos replied.

Borca shrugged, “I am in, if we gets a chance to kill orcs, then why not?”

Malstrom and Dae both nodded, the two large warriors glancing to Corine.  She nodded her head in agreement, and shifted the focus to Semmarin; he shrugged, and then nodded his head.

Tuk sighed, “I can’t see why we can’t try, but it will be a dangerous journey.”

Semmarin grinned, “Of course it will.”

Malstrom nodded, “We will rest another night then, but for the moment, I want to check the site of the ambush and dispose of any lingering corpses.  I do not wish to deal with any fell.”

Dae stood, “We should get to it.”

Semmarin stood as well, “Borca would you care to help us?”

Borca shrugged, “Honest work, and it must be done, lets get to it.”

******************************************************

Borca tossed another body onto the pile, and then tossed his torch onto the gathering of corpses.  The flame slowly burned, as the smell of dead burning flesh filled the air.  Dae tossed another body onto the growing pyre of corpses.

Dae turned to Borca, “I think that is all of them.”

Borca nodded looking off into the distance, “Aye, I think so.”

“So Borca what do you think of the attack, you think we have a traitor?” Dae tried to sound casual but his voice was gruff.

Borca glanced up to Dae with a quizzical look, as he stroked his beard, “That be an odd question, well of course we have a traitor, the question is whom isn’t it?”

“That is why I am asking you, you seem to know the others better then me,” Dae replied, trying to ease the aging dwarf.

Borca grinned, “I get the feeling you know who the traitor is.”

Dae shrugged, trying to avoid the obvious, “Who do you trust?”

“I trust no one completely, Dorn.  But if I had to pick someone I trust less then others, it would have to be probably the same person you don’t trust,” Borca replied kicking a hand back onto the flames.

Dae spoke quietly, “I had a dream Borca, and in that dream I was told I could trust you, a voice told me not to trust the woman-”

“You have seen the lady in blue,” Borca replied with a toothy smile.

“The lady in blue?” Dae replied somewhat surprised.

“Yeah I see her too, not all that pretty not enough stubble on the chin for me tests, not like me wife,” he grinned, a dark grin.

“Aye, well to answer your question I think Corine cannot be trusted,” Dae added.

“I be knowing that for some time now, but the others don’t see it, but she knows, she always knows lad.  The lady in blue has never steered me wrong,” Borca replied.

Borca started walking back towards the rest of the group, “The question is now what do we do about it?”

Both Semmarin and Malstrom saw the two approaching, and finished their business and joined the conversation.  Both interested to see if the dwarf could truly be trusted, and hoping that they had not made a fatal mistake.  The look on Dae’s face put them at ease though.

Dae replied as he glanced to Malstrom and Semmarin, “I do not know what we should do for now.”

Semmarin spoke, “We should wait, and observe her, and let her expose herself.”

“Whatever we do, she must not be alone, but we also cannot show that we suspect her, or the ruse will fail,” Malstrom added.

“So what do we do if she turns out to be the traitor?” Semmarin asked.

“We kill her,” Borca replied icily.

*******************************************************

It was raining again, five days of rain, ice-cold rain.  The landscape was wet and muddy, and Corine walked silently next to Dae.  The party had set out for Al-Kadil, but had decided to make a side trek to Hope Point to pickup supplies, and a masterwork blade for Dae.  But considering that the rest of the group was fae, she and Dae had decided to go alone into Hope Point, although Borca waited outside the town about a half-mile out, and the rest of the party was nearly a day away.

Corine shivered as they approached two orc sentries.  The creatures stood taller then Dae, and there black skin and fur, was wet, and smelled horrible.  There armor was dirty, and decorated in wicked spikes, making their already imposing visages all the more sinister.  Corine smiled weakly, but her mind burned with hatred.  She hated orcs, but she kept that rage in check, it would be no use to her here.  Her only weapon a thin dagger tucked into her boot.

The shorter of the orcs, spoke to Dae with a sneer in his grin, “Stop human, and come closer so that we may inspect ye.”

Dae grumbled, “Aye,” he walked towards the orcs and complied with the sentry’s command.

The orc gruffly grabbed his face and inspected it closely, and then padded him down quickly.  He shoved Dae past, and did the same to Corine, until he was satisfied, “Get along human, and cause no trouble.  Take your wench with ye.”

Dae grabbed Corine by the hand and led her into the city, before she did something that would get them both in trouble.

They walked quickly down the broad avenue towards a large square.  The street was lined with refuse and the poor.  It was muddy, and the road was a slick mess.  Dae kept his long fur jacket close around him as he passed a hanging cage, where a cutpurse of some type was languishing thin from malnourishment, and mad with exposure.

A large crowd was gathering in the square, orc sentries seemed to be keeping the people penned in.  A raised stage stood at the center of the crowd, and a tall Erenlander male was speaking to the gathering.  He was not tall, but his presence was forceful, and his dark hair, and pale eyes made him stand out.  He wore a suit of black chainmail, and wore the symbol of Izrador upon his chest.  A red cloak billowed in the rain, and although his face and hair was wet, it did not deter his fiery speech.

Next to the legate was a large orc, his fur and skin was slick with water, and he focused on the crowd.  Although his right hand was vice gripped around the back of a youth’s neck.  The lad seemed to weep and whimper, dressed in thin rags, soaked to the bone, he shivered, in the downpour.

Dae glanced to Corine and tried to find an escape, but a forceful look by an orc deterred him.  The two insurgents joined the crowd, hoping to not stand out.

The legate scanned the crowd and continued his tirade, “So this, this” he gestured to the youth, “is how you repay the One God’s generosity?  You would dare to believe that you know better then he?  Some would even dare to strike against him!  This is chaos and madness,” he shouted in the Erenland tongue.

People muttered, as the legate paused and walked to the edge of the raised stage.  He pointed into the crowd, “Do not believe the lies that these misguided miscreants spew.  Do not fall into temptation and forsake the One God, for you will know only suffering and death.  Do not follow the path of this one here,” he turned to the youth, running his hands roughly through his blonde hair.

He grabbed a hold and pulled his head back, and spoke loudly, “Do you have anything to say for yourself, heretic?”

The boy screamed loudly, “Father!  Please help me,” but nothing happened only silence, as people watched the legate draw his blade.   The boy wept loudly, but no one stirred.  To the crowd he was already dead.

The legate turned to the crowd letting go of the boy, “There will be decisive and immediate punishment for those that dare to challenge the Church of the One God.  There is only one fate for those who sin so greatly against our Lord.”

The orc pushed the boy forward, and the legate spun bring the blade down in a wide arc, drawing a clean line of blood across the boy’s side.  He collapsed, and tried to crawl forward, his lifeblood pooling on the slick muddy wood of the stage.  The legate gripped the blade in both hands and brought it down through the youth into the hard wood.  He stopped moving, he gurgled something incomprehensible, before his eyes glazed.

The legate turned to the crowd, “This is the fate of all those that challenge the One God.”  He pulled the blade free, and cleaned it, and then exited the stage, the crowd parting before the legate, and his orc entourage.

****************************************************

Semmarin crouched and looked around the green clearing.  He was nervous the journey had gone all too well, and the weather was now cooperating.  Things were perhaps going too well as he scanned the surroundings with his sharp eyes but spied nothing out of the ordinary.

Malstrom rested, his dworg eyes more useful at night, when he could see much better then the others could, even if it was in hues of gray.  His large form was curled up on the cool ground and he dozed, as Tuk tended to a midday meal.

Semmarin stepped close to Tuk, and took a peak in the pot, “That rabbit smells good Tuk, you do good work.”

Tuk grinned, “Ah I do the best I can with what we have, not the right blend of spices, but the flavor should suffice, I know a recipe for rabbit that is just delicious.  I wrote it in me cookbook.  Once we find some right minded civilization, I will have to prepare it for you.”

Semmarin raised a brow, “You can read and write?”

“Aye I can read, milord.  I learned when I was a scribe in the service of a legate, it was part of me duties, and I did them well mind you,” Tuk replied proudly, “You wish to see my cookbook?”

“Another time Tuk, I do not know how to read,” Semmarin replied awkwardly.

“Oh, well perhaps I can teach you milord, I mean it is the least I can do for this wonderful bow you gave me milord,” Tuk replied, spooning out a portion for the elfling. 

Semmarin took the warm bowl, and sampled the food, it was as he had come to expect, quite delicious.  The halfling was spoiling them with such good food.  He could not remember the last time he had eaten so well, since he had left the Aruun all those years ago.  Tuk grabbed himself a bowl, and the two ate in relative silence savoring the flavor, of the rabbit stew.

Semmarin paused for a moment though.  His senses were much more acutely attuned then Tuk’s, and he glanced around.  He felt the earth shift slightly beneath him.  Semmarin stood, and drew his longbow.  The weapon was sleek, and well crafted, a testament to Semmarin’s own skill.

Tuk placed the bowl down, and looked around, “What do you see?” as he nervously clutched his shortbow.

Semmarin was bout to speak, when a tree went sailing overhead, slamming into the ground across the tree.  A large brutish humanoid loomed into view, its skin was a sickly gray, and its arms were long and muscled.  In one hand it clutched a large war club, which it swung casually.  Its face was stretched in a wide a grin as it spotted the two tiny fae, its mouth filled with gnarled yellow-brown teeth.  It stepped forward, its gait was awkward, as it picked its way through the thick brush.  It stood well over three times Semmarin’s height, its figure dominating the clearing.

Malstrom having heard the commotion grabbed his greataxe, and rolled to his feet.  He turned and stared upward as the ogre loomed over the burly dworg.  Malstrom shouted, “An ogre!”

Semmarin rolled away from the ogre, and raised his bow, and let an arrow fly.  The arrow pierced the tough flesh of the creature, causing it to stumble.  Black blood dribbled from the wound, as it brought its trunk of a club down on the dworg.  Malstrom raised his axe, and blocked the massive club.  But his muscles strained under the brunt of the attack, forcing him back from the attack.

Tuk raised his shortbow, and steeled himself as he let his small arrow dart right into the flesh of the ogre.  It seemed more annoyed then hurt, and continued to focus on the dworg in front of it.  Malstrom swung his massive axe and caused the ogre to stumble back to evade the strike.  The stumble did not deter the brute as it stepped forward and swung the club in a low arc, smashing the trunk into Malstrom’s side.  The dworg sprawled backward, landing on his back.  He sat up, and spat up blood, and slowly got to his feet as the ogre pressed the attack.  Both Semmarin and Tuk, put more arrows into the brute, but it kept coming.

Malstrom turned to flee, but the ogre reached back and brought his war club over his head and crushed the dworg where he stood, in a sickening sound of shattered bones.  The dworg died almost instantly, from the powerful blow.

Tuk screamed, “Malstrom!” and let another arrow fly, piercing the ogre’s cheek.  It stumbled back, bleeding from several wounds, and turned to retreat.  Although it was still hungry, the large humanoid fled the clearing as quickly as it could, its long stride, although awkward, allowed it flee into the forest with great haste.

But the damage had been done.

*******************************************************

Dae and Corine stepped into the smoky tavern.  Several gnomes glanced up from tables eyeing the two strangers with suspicion.  But one of the gnomes, a slim pipe smoking nave with a wild gray mop of hair, stood and approached the two insurgents.  He looked up to the large Dorn and grinned widely, “Aye it seems like ye be returning for your blade eh?”

Dae nodded, “That was the deal.”

“The captain be waiting in the back,” the gnome turned, “I will let him know you be here.”

Corine turned to Dae, “This blade better be worth all this trouble,” she spoke softly.

Dae grinned, “A masterwork short blade crafted by a dwarf smith, I think is worth this trouble.”

Corine paused, “What if this is a trap?”

“I trust them, they helped us out before,” Dae replied, as the gnome returned with a healthy grin, and generous puffs of smoke.

“The captain says he can see ye,” the gnome replied and walked towards the back.

Corine and Dae followed, the smaller back room, was darkly lit, and a single dark haired gnome sat reading over ledger notes.  He was graying in the temples, and he wore a thin mustache, on his tanned weathered face.  He wore simple finery, and had an open bottle of Sarcosan brandy on his desk.

The door closed behind Dae as he spoke, “Captain Brighthand, nice to see you again.”

The gnome nodded, “Welcome back Dae, it seems you have returned in more pleasant company,” eyeing Corine with a nod.

Dae replied, “She is a friend, do you have the goods?”

The captain reached down, and placed a large thin box on the table.  He opened it, and inside was the gleaming short blade, it was a beautiful and sharp.  Dae grinned, “We need supplies any way you can help us?”

“I can spare some rations from my ship, ten days worth, but that is about it, my men have to eat as well, Dae,” the captain replied. 

“That is plenty,” Corine interjected before Dae could reply.

Dae grumbled but scooped up the weapon, “I take it you put the rest of the metal to good use?”

The captain nodded, “It wasn’t wasted, now you best be going, this place isn’t a right minded place for people like ye.  The orc patrols be looking for you and your dworg companion.”

Dae grinned, “Thanks again Captain, I hope we cross paths again.”

*****************************************************

Borca lead the way into the clearing, as the sun dipped into the west.  The cover of nightfall did not cover the scent of burning flesh, and the fact that the campsite was nowhere to be found.  The broken trees, and large footprints littered the clearing, and blood both black and red, were visible in the moonlight.

Corine crouched down inspecting droplets of black blood, “Shadow,” she hissed.

Borca glanced to Dae, and then to Corine, her back turned.  The dwarf grumbled, “I wonder what could have gotten them?”

Semmarin dropped from the trees, causing his allies to raise their weapons, “An ogre,” the elfling offered showing his palms.  He stepped forward, “It killed Malstrom, and we chased it off.  It returned a few times, but we hid in the trees, and it seemed quite aggravated that we had eluded it.  We burned his corpse he would have wanted it that way.”

Dae scowled, “Malstrom was a good friend.”

“Aye I will miss the dworg, he had character, and was a good man despite his lineage.  May ye rest in peace lad, too bad you could not go all the way to the end,” Borca replied to no one in particular.

Corine sighed, “This is not a good start to our quest.”

Tuk scampered down the tree, and stood with the rest, “What do we do now?”

Semmarin hefted up his pack over his shoulder, “We press on.  Malstrom would have wanted us to complete the mission, we mourn him.  But we honor him by succeeding.  That is what we do now.”

“Aye elfling, lets go,” Borca  followed Semmarin.

Corine turned and followed, but there was a look of loss in her eyes, as Dae turned as well.  Tuk sniffled a tear back, “You will be missed Malstrom.  We won’t fail, I promise!” The halfling scampered after the insurgents.


----------



## Tokiwong (Sep 7, 2003)

*Total Chaos*

Tuk shivered in the cold, the party had already broken the tree lines and was camped out in the high grass of the plains.  A fierce gale ripped through the empty space, causing a large ripple of grass, and the grass stirred in an endless whisper.  It had been a hard journey so far, but thankfully Corine and Semmarin had been skilled in keeping the party fed, food was plentiful with two experienced wildlanders working in tandem to keep the party fed.  

Dae crouched near the fire, and glanced to Borca who was busy tending to his warhammer, while the rest of the party sat in silence.  They were all tired and cold, the gnawing cold was a constant.  Semmarin stayed alert but little had transpired over the past week of travel, and it seemed that the lands were empty of any signs of life or activity.  There was freedom in knowing that they were alone, but there was also the realization that they were quite vulnerable out in the open high grass.   The elfling felt almost naked without the cover of trees, they were in a dangerous place, in a foreign land he was not all that familiar with.  

It was a recipe for trouble.

Corine returned from her hunt and dropped two rabbits next to Tuk, “This will have to do for tonight.”

Tuk nodded and set to the dirty business of preparing the food for the evening meal, “Thank ye milady.”

Corine sat with a sigh of relief, “How far do you think we have to go?”

Semmarin replied without even looking at her, “Three weeks at worst, we have a long way to go yet.” 

Tuk sighed, “My feet hurt, why do places have to be so far from each other.”

Borca shrugged, “Cause men like to spread out, now in a proper dwarf clan hold things are not so spread out, we believe in conserving that kind of energy for other things like killing orcs and mining iron.”

Semmarin smirked, “Pleasant conversation at last.”

Tuk grinned, “Borca can you tell of us of the clan holds?”

Borca grinned, “Why certainly little one,” as Borca began a grand explanation of what life is like in the Kaladrun Mountains.  The cold austere halls of the dwarves, the mining of precious ores, and the nearly daily battle against the legions of orcs that threaten to destroy the dwarf race altogether.  It brought back good memories for the dwarf, but a flood of painful memories raced through his heart.  Of his late wife, and his son, dwarves rarely cry, but the old warrior had to steel himself to keep his composure.  He kept these thoughts to himself, they were his burden alone, but the whisper knew.  She always knew.

******************************************************

Four more days of travel, and the party was growing weary.  The open plains were mild in the day, and freezing in the night.  A fierce wind howled, and the green-auburn waves of tall grass flowed like waves all around the party.  Dusk was setting in, and Semmarin started to slow his pace as he squinted.  He raised his hand to block out the light of the setting sun, as he peered through the swaying grass.

It was a hamlet, quaint and silent.

Semmarin raised his hand, and turned to the his companions, “I see a village, do you think we should approach it?”

Dae scowled, “No, we should go around, they are most likely slaves to the shadow, we will get no friendly reception there.”

Corine nodded, “Maybe, perhaps you should scout ahead Semmarin?”

Semmarin nodded, “You all wait here.”  The elfling turned and stalked off into the high grass, his elven cloak blending and shifting colors, and he was lost amidst the swaying grass.

Tuk moved forward and sat watching where Semmarin left, welcome to rest, and not have to move.  It was a blessing for the little halfling, a moment of rest.  

_The time is now Dae, she will betray you, kill her now, before she has the chance_, the voice was seductive as it whispered to Dae.  He glanced to Borca and then turned to Corine, his eyes narrowing, “Corine…”

Corine turned to Dae, “Yes?”

“Go ahead lad, now is as good a time as any,” Borca replied resting his warhammer on his shoulder.

Dae nodded and drew his bastard sword, keeping the tip pointed towards the ground, “Why did you betray us?”

Corine stepped back, “What?  Why?  What are you talking about, I have always served the resistance, what is going on?”

Tuk stood glaring at Dae, “What are you doing?”

“Silence Tuk,” Dae’s words were cold, but one look at his eyes, and the halfling cringed not sure what he could do to such a massive warrior.

Corine drew her own blade; “I don’t need to prove myself to you, Dorn.”

“You need to give me a reason for not killing you, what do you have to say to prove your innocence,” Dae replied.

Borca stepped forward, “We know you are the traitor, lass, spare yourself the trouble and submit.  I promise to make the death quick and painless.”

“I submit to nothing,” Corine replied.

Semmarin returned at this moment, “I saw a figure, and the village seems to be dead, the villagers died of plague and,” he stayed his words seeing the scene develop in front of him.

Corine glanced to Semmarin, and then back to Dae, “Dae I don’t want to fight you.”

“Too bad,” Dae swung his blade, and slashes Corine across her arm as she brought her blade up to defend herself.  She swung wide, causing the Dorn to step back, as Borca moved in to flank her.  Tuk drew his spear, too scared to act, but ready in case they came after him next.

Semmarin heard something else though, and drew his blade and spun on his heels as a walking corpse lashed out from the grass.  Dozens of shambling figures stepped forth from the high grass.  The fetid smell of decay, and the glow of the eyes, was all too familiar to the elfling.  The fell surrounded the party.  Semmarin lashed out with his shortsword, Dae turned his attentions to an oncoming farmer, whose face was ripe with putrid sores and his flesh, gray and shriveled.  Tuk raised his spear, and impaled a screaming woman on the end of his weapon nearly knocking him over, and Borca slammed his warhammer into a fell, and then smashed child-like corpse with no remorse.

Corine turned and fled towards the village, slashing at a walking corpse taking its head, and evading another blow.  Borca howled as she fled for freedom, but she quickly halted her run.  The village was alive with movement, more shambling creatures, and more death.  It was hell, and she was in the midst of it, stuck between the murderous dead and the murderous living.  As she saw the number of the fell increase her choice was made for her, she ran back towards the party, keeping her weapon raised and ready for any attack.

Semmarin chopped down a skeletal peasant, and stumbled back from a powerful punch to his stomach.  He raised his blade but Borca cleared the path, “This place is death, we must flee it!”

Tuk stumbled back, and began to run, he spotted Corine through the high grass and followed her into a small clearing.  Semmarin stumbled after, followed by Dae and Borca.  Corine raised her blade towards her companions, and glared.  She said nothing, but let the fury in her eyes speak for her.

Dae stepped forward, “You cannot escape traitor.”

Borca followed, “Kill her Dae and be done with it, we waste time with talk.”

Tuk jumped in front of Corine, “You stop this right now!  Corine is not a traitor, she saved my life, she saved your life; how can you turn on her!”

Dae growled, “This does not concern you, Tuk step aside.”

“I will not stand aside, Dae, I do not forsake my friends, I owe her my life,” Tuk replied raising his spear.

Borca growled, “Kill her now, the fell will be on us soon.”

Dae stepped forward.  Tuk narrowed his eyes, but stood his ground.  Dae raised his blade and brought it down forcefully on the halfling, there was no scream.  Nothing.  Tuk fell back, his lifeblood dribbling on the ground.  

Semmarin scowled and lowered his blade; he wanted no part in this dirty business.

Corine knelt down, and cradled the halfling in her arms, “You bastard!  You want the truth; I have always fought the Shadow!  Ever since I was young, I have hated them.  I would rather die then be a thrall to its Evil!  Kill me if you must, you ”

“Why are you listening to her Dae, kill her now,” Borca growled.

Dae stepped back, the murderous gleam slipping from his eyes, “If you want her dead so badly, then you kill her Borca.”

Borca replied, “You said you would go to the end with this Dae, you killed the halfling, finish the job, and let’s be done with it.”

“No,” Dae turned, “I will not.”

“You pathetic waste of flesh, you were so close, and then you give up?  You think she will ever trust you again Dorn, don’t be so foolish.  If you won’t kill her I will, but it won’t stop their, it seems you don’t have the stomach for the work that must be done, in this dark world,” Borca replied as he dropped the warhammer.  He unsheathed the shortsword, and the black metallic blade burst into flame, the gleam in his eyes were foul, and the glow made Borca seem all the more sinister.

Dae stepped back, “What sorcery!” and instinctively raised his blade to parry the enchanted blade, pushing it aside, and drawing his masterwork shortsword in his offhand, as he raised it to the ready.

Corine and Semmarin both fled from the dwarf as he started to laugh a chilling laugh of despair and madness.  They fled into the darkness and the waving grass.  Leaving Dae to face the dwarf alone.

The dwarf rushed forward and brought the flaming blade in a wide slash, causing Dae to stumble back.  He caught his footing, and slashed the blade drawing blood as he used his off-hand to try and keep the dwarf on guard.  Borca kept coming, as he slashed Dae violently across his chest, causing the large Dorn to tumble back, his flesh burning from the flames.  Dae scrambled quickly to his feet and lead with his shortsword sliding into Borca’s chest, but his chainmail saved him from truly grievous injury as he parried the slash from Dae’s bastard sword, batting the weapon aside.  He pushed the large warrior back and slashed him again with his blade, causing the Dorn considerable pain.

“You can’t kill me, Dae, I have the Lady’s favor now, join us or die?” Borca spoke gruffly.

Dae scowled, “I will not submit to shadow, traitor!”

“Traitor?” the dwarf asked in a curious tone, “Oh you made the wrong decision Dae.”

Dae took the moment to flee, as the dwarf followed in a gentle stroll, the blade flaming with power as he sauntered after the human.  There was no sign of Corine and Semmarin.  Dae was alone in the high grass, and he could hear the laughter emanating from Borca as he stalked ever closer.

Dae sighed, there was no escape, he was wounded, and a proper Dorn did not die on his heels.  A proper Dorn died fighting; so he turned to see Borca glaring at him.  There was a palpable aura of menace and darkness around the dwarf as he grinned, through bloody teeth.

“Well hello, old friend,” he spoke with a snarl.

“I am not afraid of you Borca,” Dae replied getting into his stance.

“I was hoping you would say that,” he stalked forward, and then there was the sound.  The Dwarf took one more tenuous step forward before he fell face forward into the dirt.  An arrow protruded from the back of his skull and Corine stood behind him her bow was gripped tightly in her hands.

Corine walked forward and removed the arrow from the back of Borca’s head.  She faced Dae, “I will believe that the dwarf poisoned your mind.  But I will never forget the murder of Tuk.  When and if the day of reckoning comes, this arrow,” she raised the bloody arrow in her hand, “will be your death, Dorn.”

Dae said nothing, and instead removed the dwarf’s head.  Corine went to tend to the body of Tuk.  The sword was buried, and the body of the dwarf was burned.  Later that night a second funeral pyre was lit.  It was a dark day for their journey.

_This brings us full circle with the first post in the Story...._


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## Broccli_Head (Sep 8, 2003)

Nasty turn of events, TK. 

So was Tuk a PC?


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## Tokiwong (Sep 8, 2003)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> Nasty turn of events, TK.
> 
> So was Tuk a PC?



 Tuk was an NPC but he was well liked, and he is still missed, the little fellow had character he will be missed, alas poor Tuk we barely knew ye


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## Derulbaskul (Sep 25, 2003)

Thanks, Tokiwong. Yet another excellent story hour. It's amazing how Midnight seems to have inspired such a high standard of story hours.

Cheers
D


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## Tokiwong (Sep 25, 2003)

More to come, more to come


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## Derulbaskul (Oct 1, 2003)

Bump... 'coz I really like Midnight.


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