Revenge is a Dish that is Best Served Cold

[Guest Balladore]

In the early morning mists, the companions gathered in the hall... they looked about them for what could quite possibly be the last time, and noticed some things that they hadn't before... a painting... a new plant in one corner... just simple things. It's amazing how much you notice when you get ready to leave one place and set out for another.

 

The group assembled outside the main entrance to the pen, and looked about eachother and the bundles that had been packed. The cook had kindly provided them with as many rations as they could cary, as they had no idea how long or how far they would be traveling.

 

"I don't suppose you could ride a horse, Bhurin?"

 

"Well... a really BIG horse, maybe," came the reply. At this, Balladore smiled. He could find any sort of animal there was. Balladore knelt for a moment, and whispered a few phrases, and a 6 horses came running out of the woods nearby the pen- one, the largest, a Belgian style horse that was obviously for Bhurin. Though this might be slow, it was must faster than traveling on foot the entire way, and one for each of the other companions, and another for their baggage.

 

They loaded the bags onto the horse, saddled the others, and mounted. A small group had come to see them off on the start of what could be a *very* dangerous journey, and they waved them off and all said goodbye as the group rode off into the morning, with Balladore in the lead, since he knew the way, Bhurin following as fast as he could, the baggage-pony, then Jheric, Justin Silverblade, and finally Damienn. As they left, they all wondered if they would ever see their beloved pen again... but somehow, they all hoped and suspected that, with a little luck and a lot of skill, they would.

[Bhurin]

As the company made their way across the winding paths that led to Pen’s gates, all the while their home looming over and shrinking behind them, the sun slowly began to burn through the sky over head, though the fog remain stubbornly around them. The air was cool and crisp, and left a blanket of dew over the cloaks of the adventurers as they went.

 

Looking into the sky, Balladore seemed to sniff thoughtfully, before announcing quietly to no one in particular, “The skies speak of early spring… Odd weather for these territories…”

 

At this, Jheric chuckled, his face hidden underneath a hat common to traveling wizards. “You don’t need a Druid’s nose to know that, Balladore. We haven’t had sun for weeks, and a sudden burst of sunshine is a rare and welcoming sight indeed…” Jheric paused, as though a thought were being completed in his head. “Though the spring still is early, even for this tempered clime…”

 

Bhurin, quietly but awkwardly fidgeting on his horse, pulled up to Balladore’s side with relative difficulty trying to lead his horse. His wings were hidden once again underneath a blue cloak, shrouding the near luminescent limbs with practical simplicity. As he rode up next to Balladore, the Druid turned to his struggling friend and asked, “Can you manage…”

 

Bhurin scoffed, his voice somewhat irritated, “If this horse would just learn who was in charge…”

 

From behind them Jheric piped up, “I think he has, Bhurin. Though I agree SOMEONE is in denial…”

 

Bhurin narrowed his vision momentarily, glancing at both Jheric and his horse, who was aptly named Bolshie, before turning to Balladore and smiling subtly, “A spirited animal, you have found Balladore…”

 

“I told you, Bhurin,” Balladore began, stifling a chuckle, “you needn’t ride the length of our journey…”

 

Before Balladore could answer, Bhurin raised his hand and said plainly, “We need to keep our presence a secret, my friend, and a flying companion is just that… If I have learned anything from my travels, it is that one cannot outrace a wildfire of gossip. And Mind you Balladore, though our intent is just, we come not on this expedition pure. All of us have our enemies…”

 

Balladore nodded knowingly, “I understand Bhurin.”

 

Bhurin, nodding as well, turned his gaze toward the lines of trees ahead of them in the distance and pointed. “It is many days journey to Hillcrest, my friend. Even weeks… We should plot our course for speed.”

 

“Aye, I was thinking of cutting across the Murkmoors, into the Kingdom of Millas. However…”

 

“Now just a moment there,” Justin Silverblade spoke up from just behind them, “now I don’t mean to pry, but crossing across Millas’ land will add days to our journey, assuming those bloody tax hounds don’t interrupt our way. Besides, the Murkmoors aren’t easy traveling as well. Why don’t we follow the most obvious route for swift travel and make way through the Timberoak Forest?”

 

At the mention of the dreaded name, Jheric laughed, his voice echoing around them. “Justin, your courage is admirable, but perhaps you haven’t heard the latest news. Timberoak is Durluk territory. Full of Trolls and Hobgoblins, and Gods know what else…”

 

Justin shrugged, his face unimpressed, “Nothing a bright fire and a quick blade can’t frighten away.”

 

“Trolls aren’t the only thing in those woods, my friend,” Jheric’s smile was wily, even daring, “There are things that don’t fear steel, my armed companion. Things that don’t fear magic neither…”

 

“Justin’s right.”

 

All the adventurers turned to Damienn, the source of the voice defending Justin’s suggestion. They all became quiet, as they perceived Damienn’s eyes looking out toward the rolling hills and forests ahead of them. “Timberwood… It is swiftest… I do not fear what it’s shadows hide…”

 

Justin nodded approvingly, looking to Jheric with confidence returned to his eyes, “I believe it is the most suitable course of action.”

 

Balladore pondered this, looking to the course ahead, and turning the options over in his head. While he thought, Bhurin spoke again, this time his voice void of emotion, “These are not our only choices, my friend. We could venture further south and catch a galley from Kingsport into Borobay. That might cut our journey in two…”

 

“Assuming there are any Galleys into Borobay,” Jheric added, his voice still confident and assured.

 

"The choice is yours, Balladore," Justin finished, "You know these paths greater than all of us"

 

Balladore thought out all the courses thoroughly, remembering his many journeys from the past. Finally, knowing their press for time, he made his decision.

[Guest Balladore]

Balladore thinks for a moment, then, finally he presents his decision:

 

"Nothing should be left to chance, if at all possible. Therefore, we shall not go through Kingsport, lest there not be a galley and we have journeyed for nothing. Also, we are short on gold, and I doubt we could afford to feed ourselves AND hire a Galley.

 

Further, If my memory serves me, Timberoak borders King Millas' nation. Due to the fact that Timberoak is inhabited by creatures less desireable than some, we shall steer clear of that place if at all possible, and travel through the moors. However, I do not know King Millas, and if he is unfriendly to us and refuses to let us pass through his country, we shall go around, through the forest. This is not because I am afraid, but simply because monsters, while defeatable, waste valuable time in the defeating of them. With that solved, let us RIDE!"

 

And at this, Balladore urged his horse onward at a gallop, knowing full well that the others would be able to keep up.

[Guest Foe Calibur]

With the others close in toe Balladore rode swiftly onwards. Their mission grave yet just, with companions and comrade to share the misery of its sorrowful bounty, they traversed the land, leaving the Pen hold to wither from sight upon the horizon.

 

Once in a while the horses were let rest, to eat the wild grasses close on the roadside, “We’d make better time if our horses needn’t rest so often.” Bhurin seamed displeased with his massive horse and its constant hunger, “A sound… hoof beats!” Bhurin raised his head to listen closer, “Perhaps our foe’s are not so far away as we had thought!”

 

“But there is only one set.” Balladore was listening as well.

 

“It seams rather hurried…” Justin proclaimed in between mouthfuls of bread, the hoof beats gaining ground as they spoke.

 

Eager to stretch his wings Bhurin exclaimed, “We’re far from any town, I could get a better view of our mystery rider from above.” His face hopeful, he began unbuttoning his cloak.

 

“No Bhurin, if he is as you said before,” started Jheric, “ we need not warn him of our presence…” The hoof beats grew louder.

 

“What…”

 

Louder.

 

“If...”

 

Louder.

 

“It …”

 

Louder.

 

“Isn’t…”

 

Louder.

 

“By the god it’s hard to catch up to you…” A young looking elf in studded leather armor approached the small assembly and dismounted. His mount wandered off to eat, exhausted, with the other horses.

 

“Foe Calibur!” Exclaimed Bhurin excitedly as the elf walked towards the group.

[Justin Silverblade]

"Frmph mhh?" aked Justin.

 

Two members of the group looked towards Justin with a questioning look. He got up and stared an inquisitive glance at the new elf, being greeted by Bhurin readily.

 

Swallowing his last mouthful of bread, Justin repeated his question. "Foe who?"

 

"From the Pen, Justin. Foe Calibur, Page."

 

The curious and confused look remained on the face of the would-be knight. Bhurin explained that Foe Calibur was a close friend of his, and of many other members of the Pen.

 

"Ahh... Well, I'm pleased to meet ya, Foe." Justin extended his hand and examined the elf's stature. "Hey! You're one of those elves, aren't you!"

 

Justin beamed and laughed heartily. "Can't get anything past ol' Silverblade." There was a groan from the more knowledgable of the group.

 

"So, ah, Foe was it? You here to help Balladore to, huh? Well, if elven reflexes are anything like what I've heard in bards tale's, I'm sure you'll come in handy."

 

"About that," someone started, "should we be heading out soon?"

[Bhurin]

“Indeed,” Balladore said, his voice slightly overcome with eagerness. It was obvious that he was pressed to continue forward, his eyes shrouded with concern.

 

“Alright then,” Bhurin began, his voice calm but his eyes sharing Balladore’s concern. Turning to Justin and Damienn, Bhurin continued, “Before we leave, we must allow Foe’s horse a moment to find its breath. In the meantime, I shall quickly catch him up on our movements and decisions thus far. Begin to strike whatever supplies we have unpacked, and prepare to move out.”

 

“Ifm noftm dofmne!” Justin said, his mouth encumbered with bread and cheese.

 

“Then hurry and chew my friend. We leave as soon as possible”, Bhurin finished, leading Foe aside and explaining what had been discussed so far.

 

Justin swallowed his mouthful, looking rather confused. “How did he know what I said?” he asked, looking to Damienn who had already begun to wrap their belongings back into their allotted cases.

 

Damienn smiled, “I don’t think there’s a lot you could have said…”

 

“Besides, your rather articulate with a face full of lunch…” Jheric chuckled, closing a book he had been pondering over while the others had been talking.

 

Shortly after, when all their supplies were packed neatly back onto their horses and Foe and Bhurin returned from explanation, Balladore asked, “Ready?”

 

“Aye,” Bhurin nodded, remounting his horse, “Foe will be a good set of eyes to have in the night.”

 

“And a good ear,” Foe replied as he mounted his horse with elven grace, several meters from where they were standing.

 

Balladore nodded, his smile returning to his face, “Yes, he shall.”

 

“Well sirs,” Justin called, mounting his horse with knightly boldness, “I reckon our chances are improving all the time. Hate to be the guy who wants to tangle with us…”

 

Ballador smiled, then turned to the others and asked, “Ready?”

 

Everyone nodded, except Justin, who said with a friendly glee, “Yup!”, and Jheric who said plainly, “But of course…”

 

“Right then,” Balladore began, turning toward the road again, “to the Murkmoors. If we ride hard, we should reach them within five days ride.”

 

At that, Justin leaned closure to Jheric and said, “I still say the Murkmoors and Millas’ kingdom are well out of the way. We could shed off a week, maybe two, minimum if we went through Timberoak.”

 

Jheric smiled, bringing his horse to a trot as everyone else began to guide their steeds to ride, “True, Justin. But nothing slows a journey quite like dying…”

 

“Hmm…” Justin hummed unimpressed, “I still don’t see what the big deal is… There’s nothing in these territories worth getting nervous about except maybe the odd Dragon. I’ve traveled darn near close to Timberoak before, and never saw anything I needed to draw my blade on.”

 

“Perhaps you will still have your way,” Damienn said, as he rode past the two making his way forward, “If Duke Millas doesn’t give us passage through his kingdom, we’ll have to either follow the moors further east and into the Ironforge mountains, or make our way into Timberoak…”

 

Justin and Jheric watched quietly as the man rode forward, away from them. Casually, Justin turned his gaze back to Jheric and said, pointing his thumb at Damienn, “I like him.”

 

Jheric laughed, “Of course you do…”

 

A few moments later, with their mounts’ tendons warmed, they brought their horses to a full out gallop, and rode across the rolling hills toward the lush green forests just beyond the next knoll.

 

Four days later

 

The sun had disappeared again behind a somber mask of clouds when they reached the edge of the Muckmoors. They were a dreadful place, with the smell of rotting clay and vegetation putrefying the air. Here the trees grew in wide, sporadic proximities, but created a lush and stagnant canopy that blocked out most of what little light there was. Though the trees were separate enough, the way was not going to be easy going, as assorted bushes and hedges with spiked thorns and putrid buds created random nets that needed to be cut away. This meant the group had to lead the horses on foot, until they were through the denser patches at least, but this complicated the matter as the trees were all encircled by bogs and marshes. However, the worst antagonizing factor to slow their progress was the namesake of the Muckmoors; and that was the rotting wet muck that clung to their boots and equipment as they went.

 

With each passing step. They retracted a foot weighed down by the sticky mass of dark gray clay and rotted vegetation. The smell was horrid, and the horses became difficult to lead. On more than one occasion, as they made their way through, Balladore needed to calm the horses with his animal-sending abilities. With calm voice and soothing touch, Balladore would rejuvenate the exhausted animals, who could not keep up with the building load of clay on their legs. Consistently the group needed to stop to break away the larger chunks so that the animals could walk in comfort.

 

Finally Jheric could take no more. With a robe caked in mud, and an unforgiving horse, he finally broke the stillness with a shout of frustration.

 

“That’s it!” he cried, throwing down the reins of his horse, “a mage can only take so much!”

 

Foe, who had been making his way the easiest of the bunch with his elven sense of step and balance, turned to Jheric and said, “Jheric, please. Your shouts will only serve to bring unwanted attention…”

 

“Well, I’ve had enough,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his robe, “and I think it’s time to do something about this…”

 

“No Jheric, don’t”, Bhurin cried, raising his hand.

 

Jheric suddenly spoke forth a string of phrases illegible to the untrained ear. Suddenly the smell of baking clay filled the air, and a path suddenly formed beneath their feet. The clay became hard and brittle, and broke from their feet. When he was done, Jheric regarded the group, all with looks of surprise.

 

“Come on, give me a little credit. I’m no novice, you know…” Jheric said, retaking the reins and beginning to walk on his newly formed clay path.

 

The others, seeing no problem and only a solution, shrugged and continued forward.

 

As they reached a wall of thick, lethal brambles, Balladore stepped forward and said, “One moment…” He then placed his hand against the wall, and chanted a few words. Slowly, with agonizingly speed at first, then accelerating into a frenzied withdrawal, the tightly netted plants released one another and opened before them. Turning a moment to smile at Jheric, Balladore said, “There are less conspicuous ways of navigating the forest…”

 

Jheric frowned for a moment, looking down at his filthy robes, “You wouldn’t say THAT if you only brought one set of clothes…”

 

For many long moments, they made their way through the moors. Bhurin, who seemed to be the most afflicted with his size and general inclination to get himself caught on things, mumbled the odd time about the wonders of nature, but otherwise the group was silent.

 

Just as late afternoon was descending upon the moors (though none of them could tell the time of day, due to the decreased light and absence of distance reference to mountains or other land marks), they reached an area where the land was no longer flat, but gave way to sudden declines and inclines to swampy banks. Justin, who had been following in behind everyone else, suddenly called out in surprise, “Whoa!”

 

The group turned, but only saw Justin’s horse. After a moment, Foe pointed down the slope and said, “Look! He’s slipped down an embankment…”

 

Quickly tying their horses to the nearest trees, the group made their way over to where Justin slipped and looked down. The embankment, which was hidden from view but actually quite steep, went down about twenty meters. Balladore called out loudly, “Justin, are you all right?”

 

“I fine! I just fell into some kind of pond!” Justin voice came back, slightly frustrated but otherwise casual.

 

“Hold on a sec,” Bhurin called back, “We’ll get something to pull you out…” And with that, the group set out…

[Guest Damienn Ravencroft]

Balladore posted,

 

Balladore reigned in his horse, and dismounted. He peered down the embankment, but because a fog had rolled in, he was unable to see far enough down the slope to the pool. He called down to Justin "Justin! Are you alright?"

 

And the reply came echoing back. He was suspicious of this pond... the moors were known for it's deception and strange creatures.

 

"Well... what should we do? We have two options, basically. Jheric could levitate him back up to us... or we could go down the Embankment and try and fish him out manually. I think, under the circumstances, if Jheric could just lift him-"

 

Balladore ceased to speak suddenly, and his ears pricked up. "What was that?!?" The sound came again, louder... it was a gurgling sound.

 

"Justin! Hold on!" Balladore cried impulsively, and fetched his staff from its holder on his mount. He proceeded to go into a tuck and slide down the embankment quite less than expertly, rolling over and over. Finally, he reaches the end of the hill, and tumbles into the pool himself, followed shortly by Damienn, then Foe, and finally Jheric. Bhurin, however, had taken flight and hovered above the pool now, trying to fish the poor companions out.

 

Balladore surfaced and gasped for air. When he regained his breath, he called out "Justin! Justin, where are you?! Say some-- ugggh!"

 

Balladore was pulled under by something that wrapped itself around it's leg. Having had is mouth open when he was pulled under, his lungs filled with water. Alright... Stay Calm... find out what you can do. Balladore felt the thing that was grasping him by the leg... it was an underwater-g. He knew this... Realizing he still had his staff, he knew his options. He couldn't cast any major spells, because he couldn't speak underwater. The druid flailed in vain at the creature, until suddenly he feels like he's been set free. He looks around to see Damienn holding his dagger and chopping at tentacles left and right. I can't help anything here... I have to get out before I'm of any use

 

Balladore finally reaches the surface again, and gasps for air desperately. He sees splashes around him, as the tentacles are waving all around him. Before Balladore knows what is happening, he is pulled out of the water and up, up above the pool. He falls down onto a ledge, and Bhurin swoops down to fetch another of his party members... And the druid's mind was racing. He looked around to see Foe Calibur beside him.... Jheric, Damienn, and Justin were still down in the lake. He takes up his staff, and begins to chant.

 

TRE SAN IMBELLE NEI FAFIN YARA...

SELMA NAGOMA MORGANN IAMA...

SATAAN GRIESCH BOLL EVANA...

DRESIEN!

 

With the final word, a green mist appears around the top of his staff, and he twirls it to face the lake... he didn't know how much effect it would have the Lake plant because of the water that the spell had to go through, but he couldn't risk anything else with the others still in the water. After a moment, it had the desired affect; the plant slowed, but didn't stop. It's actions were delayed, but it wasn't fully unconscious as it was intended. Bhurin, by this time, was fishing out the last party member: Jheric. As he didn't carry a sword, he couldn't hack the tentacles like the others could. Finally, Bhurin severs the vine holding Jheric and carries him up to the ledge. Jheric caught his breath, and had had enough of the plant.

 

"Damn you! I'll make you pay for that!" In his rage, He threw fireball after fireball down at the lake, each fizzling just as the last had...

 

"Jheric... Jheric... JHERIC!" with the last, Balladore caught his attention, and the mage whirled on the druid.

 

"IT WAS YOU WHO GOT US INTO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE! I have half a mind to turn you into a squirrel and leave you here!"

 

"Hey! He did an honorable thing trying to save me! He acted! maybe it wasn't the best action, but he got it done!" cried Justin to his defense.

 

"You're damn right it wasn't the right action!" cried Damienn, for the first time showing some emotion on the journey.

 

"ENOUGH! IT'S DONE! What's past is finished, and we can't change it. We're alive and well, and we have a plant to deal with. Now, if you would be so kind as to assist me in turning the water foul, Jheric?" said Balladore, finishing the agrument.

 

The two calmed, using extreme self control, and began to turn the water. When they were finished, the splashing ceased all together, and the lake was once again uninhabited.

Gyrfalcon25 posted,

 

Jheric raged at himself, even as he maintained his calm control, moving his hands through the specific motions neccessary for the spell he was casting. Beside him, Balladore looked unhappy as he spoke words so opposite to his normal druidic magic... words to a spell that slew, not nurtured, that took life instead of gave it.

 

Jheric wasn't much happier with his own spell, necromatic in nature. As a mage, he knew a range of spells, but he could never bring himself to casting most of the necromatic ones he knew. As it was, his mouth twisted with distaste around the foul, dark words that poured from him.

 

"Gra'vish di dika oma faul

Gra'via zim wal promon

Gra'vish di dika oma faul

Wu'jai do'gammi granitu..."

 

Bhurin, Damienn, and Justin shied back from Jheric, their sense of being offended by the dark incantations spilling from his mouth.

 

Death Fog

A fog of acid hovered above the lake, then descended into it, merging and flowing through and with the water. Nothing biological could live through that assault, potent acids that could strip flesh from bones in seconds dissolving and decaying everything in the lake, from the plant-monster to the tinier alge, lilypads, and other plants, all gone. When the acid dissipitated with the spell, the water gleamed, pure of all life, but still deadly, full of the poisons that Balladore's spell had placed there.

 

"Well..." Jheric said, shaking his head, shivering from the coldness of his soaked robes, and the nearness of mana-shock, the point at which a mage passes out from too much spell-casting in too short a period, without the few seconds that should be between each spell to clear the mind and refocus.

 

"Well... nothings going to be living there for a while... but I don't have many spells left." He had expended most of his mid-range spells, and the Death Fog had been as powerful a spell as he could cast today, leaving Jheric with only a few minor spells and cantrips still ready."

 

"Le-lets get out of th-this sw-swamp before-re I ca-catch so-something." Jheric said, shivering miserably.

Damienn Ravencroft posted,

 

Damienn eyed the two magic users for a moment, wondering how they could stand to depend on someone else to defend them. He agreed with Jheric... it was the druid's fault... going down the hill like that, on a moment's notice? And look what had come of it... a near death battle.

 

Oh well... he was right... it was past, and done with.

 

Damienn said briefly, in a small attempt to lighten the mood "Hey... at least we don't have to worry about water-flies," which turned out to be in vain. The Druid did look sad at what he had done... but Damienn knew it was for the best... they couldn't leave the plant there to kill others...

 

Just as a test, he fired an arrow down into the lake... it disintegrated as fast as it entered the water. "Perhaps Bhurin would fly us across the now-poisonous lake? I really don't want to go swimming in that water now, if you don't mind."

 

00C: Sorry for recent absences... thanks for keeping up the char while I was gone, It's exactly what Damienn would have said and done ;-)

[Justin Silverblade]

Justin was quiet.

 

His voice was now within him, he had no reason to speak. The joyful face and spirit that he had carried with him thus far into the journey had been left to die in the pond along with the creature that had sucked him down.

 

He was uneasy, and uncomfortable.

 

"Perhaps Bhurin would fly us across the now-poisonous lake? I really don't want to go swimming in that water now, if you don't mind" Damienn said, after trying to lighten up the mood.

 

Justin pointed, motioning with his head, and emerging from silence breifly. "We can go around."

 

Entering back into thought, Justin cared not for the cold clothing clinging to his body. He had no mind for his armour either, whose weight had so easily helped the creature is almost drowning the warrior. Nay the event itself seemed to drift from Justin's mind. His only thoughts were on the characters, the group, the actions.

 

It was all so foriegn to him.

 

A mage, a druid, an elf, a winged creature. They all acted so differently from him, so overwhelming. And now with such a horrible event, but such great intentions, it boggled his mind. Justin was used to being in groups with guys like Damienn. Normal fellows. Nothing but the weapons, the guys, and the monsters. It was on those adventures that he was Silverblade.

 

Justin continued, following the group from behind. His smile would eventually return, when his thoughts no longer clouded his mind.

 

Finally he removed his shortsword from its scabbard, and admired it absentmindedly whilst the group continued on.

[Bhurin]

As the others were talking, Bhurin knelt on one knee apart from the others, trying to catch his breath. He was an excellent flyer, but mostly as a long distance glider. Hovering and short altitude maneuvering took a lot out of him, and, having needed to break through the forest canopy twice in his rescue, he was considerably fatigued. His wings and arms bled from cuts torn by the gnarled trees, soaking his torn shirt. Currently, he was trying quietly to catch his breath, while ripping the remainder of his shirt to bound his wounds.

 

Once Justin was finished speaking, and the others began to move, Bhurin rose and said, “Wait a moment, everyone...

 

I can carry all of you across, but I do not believe I can lift the horses… Or at least mine. I would rather they not be let loose in the moors for fear of injury or attack. However, those are my own feelings. They are robust animals, and may leave the moors without difficulty.”

 

At that, Bhurin pulled out the break away cape he wore over his wings, which had been frantically stuff into his belt, and began to fold it. “Perhaps going around is best, but what are all your thoughts. I should like to know before we continue..."

[Guest Balladore]

As Balladore pondered this, he came to a decision shortly, and voiced his opinion to the group.

 

"Though I may have assembled the group... I do not think I am the best equipped to be the leader... I may know the ways of the land better than some, but I do not have the abilities to guide us from trouble such as the swamp creature without someone's help. I will voice my opinion of what we should do, but not command it.

 

"I believe we should keep the horses. They are much faster once we get out of the swamp than we would be on foot, and therefore should be kept. I ask the others their opinions as well... and also that we choose a new leader for the party," the druid said. As he did so, he looked each member of the group in the eyes, wondering which would be best to lead the group, and awaited the reply of his companions.

[Gyrfalcon]

Jheric slumped against the cool trunk of a gnarled tree, and just concentrated on trying to stay warm and balance his thoughts. Through the haze across his mind, he could hear voices arguing this point or that, but Jheric couldn't care less. Back and forth went the voices... He felt a yawning pit, a growing darkness in his mind.

 

A hand shook his arm, and Jheric looked up blearily.

 

"What do you think? Should we go around or fly over? And should we keep the horses?" Damienn was asking him, curious as to why the normally talkative mage was so silent.

 

"We sh-should go ar-around... I ca-can't get dr-dropped in t-t-that way. And a ni-nice warm horse wo-would be wo-wonderful." Jheric said, trying hard to focus, but with darkness creeping into his vision.

 

"I believe we should keep the horses. They are much faster once we get out of the swamp than we would be on foot, and therefore should be kept. I ask the others their opinions as well... and also that we choose a new leader for the party..." Balladore was saying in the background, through a distant ringing. Closer, Damienn was looking concerned "You alright?" he asked.

 

In Jheric's fogged brain, that came together as

 

"You alright, new leader for the party?" With a sudden strength Jheric pulled Damienn close "I'm not a leader! You can't do this to me! I refuse to be used as a figurehead!" Damienn pulled free of Jheric's grasp, and without someone to balance him, the mage stumbled. As he fell, so to did the darkness in his head.

 

Jheric passed out.

 

OOC: Jheric is soaked, partially drowned, and going into shock from casting spells a tad too quickly... basically, wrapping him warmly will help. He won't be waking up for a while though, so you'll either have to leave him, or find some way to bring him with you.

[Guest Balladore]

Damn it all! How could we not have noticed him?! Balladore rushed over and covered Jheric with his cloak, while summoning up what little power he had left, weakening him almost to the point the mage was in himself. He cast a small Nature's Cure on Jheric, knowing that it wouldn't fully revive him, but still thinking that it would help.

 

"Someone has to carry him. I can't do it... I'm about to pass out myself, but I'll make it to the horses, anyways... I don't know, whichever of you is the strongest, I suppose, should carry him," said the druid tiredly... he had cast a few too many spells to quickly, as well. He hadn't, however, been underwater for as long as Jheric had... I hope he's alright...

[Guest Balladore]

Damn it all! How could we not have noticed him?! Balladore rushed over and covered Jheric with his cloak, while summoning up what little power he had left, weakening him almost to the point the mage was in himself. He cast a small Nature's Cure on Jheric, knowing that it wouldn't fully revive him, but still thinking that it would help.

 

 

 

"Someone has to carry him. I can't do it... I'm about to pass out myself, but I'll make it to the horses, anyways... I don't know, whichever of you is the strongest, I suppose, should carry him," said the druid tiredly... he had cast a few too many spells to quickly, as well. He hadn't, however, been underwater for as long as Jheric had... I hope he's alright...

[Justin Silverblade]

"Jheric passed out!" someone shouted, alerting the group.

 

The yell pulled Justin from his daze. His focus blurred from his sword, and focused on the tree across from him, where Balladore was wrapping Jheric up. Quickly he sheathed his sword, and lept up. "What's going on?"

 

"Someone's got to carry him. I can't do it..." Balladore was saying. "I'm about to..."

 

When he was finished, Justin put his arms on Balladore's shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. "Stay focussed." Leaning down, Justin felt under the blanket at Jheric's clothing. Cold and soaked, right through to the bone. He had seen this before, and even lost friends to it. He had to start a fire, and get those wet robes off immeadiately. Justin turned back to Balladore and spoke as calmly as he could:

 

"Balladore, I don't think we should carry him. You continue, and take the rest of the group. I'll stay here with Jheric."

 

"No Justin," Balladore started, "If he stays, we all stay."

 

Shaking his head, Justin smiled. "We'll catch up, I promise. You have children to get back, and revenge to obtain, rightfully yours. Besides, with Jheric's powers, I'm sure we'll be fine."

 

Justin took off his armour and began gathering kindling, and stacking them together. Looking to meet the gaze of those who still remained, he gestured onward forcefully: "GO!"

[Guest Balladore]

"You don't understand. I am responsible for all of you. I will not leave any of you, when you undertook this quest to help me, and at my request in the... in the first place..." Balladore's eyes came in and out of focus... perhaps there had been something in that water with that plant... As he looked around, everyone who had been held by the plant was either dazed, or unconcious. Justin had already recovered, and Damienn hadn't been infected yet, apparently. Bhurin, however, hadn't been underwater at all, and therefore was fine.

 

"No... I won't go... You can't make me..." said Balladore, as his logic slowly faded as well... Enough. He had to ward himself of this... and Jheric, as well... it was probably some type of weak poison the plant used... quickly, he summoned up a small spring near them, using up still more of his precious power. "Someone... go and find me... a plant with... heart shaped leaves and... tiny red flowers... quickly, as fast as you can..." at this, someone (he couldn't tell who because of the toxins) left, and they quickly returned.

 

"Here, Balladore. BALLADORE! Wake up, you have to... fix us, or whatever!" At his name, the druid snapped into conciousness again, and looked up at Damienn who handed him the flower, and collapsed.

 

Balladore crushed the plant's leaves and poured the juice that was produced by this into a flask he had recently emptied of whiskey. Then he filled it to the top with the water he had summoned, and began to, lethargically, chant. As he finished, he dropped in a few of the flowers, which were as small as his thumbnail, and took a sip... he felt a little better instantly, but to be completely cured of the poisons would take a while. "Bhurin... come administer this to the rest of the party, if you would..." and Balladore slumped against a tree and rested.

[Bhurin]

When Jheric had collapsed before them, Bhurin had observed his friends with concern but silence. He was not a healer, and knew little of human diseases as he was not susceptible to many. Though he bled mortal blood, Bhurin had never been sick nor intoxicated by outside agents, with the exception of magical plagues or poisons. So he remained quiet, knowing that his friends could solve this dilemma, and turned his attention to his own wounds.

 

The lacerations on his torso were of no real concern -more scars to add to his collection- but the ones on his wings were sore and difficult to bound. He spent a while, while the others tended to Jheric, binding his wounds. However, when he heard Justin command the others to go, as well as Balladore’s strained words, Bhurin looked up once again in trepidation.

 

Jheric was unconscious, and Balladore was slipping, his final coherent words telling of a plant with heart shaped leaves. Damienn immediately leapt to his feet and vanished into the woods. Bhurin quickly turned to Justin, saying, “Stay with them…” before vanishing into the forest as well.

 

Bhurin searched for long minutes, agonizingly trying to decipher one plant from the next. Finally, from across the way, he heard Damienn call, “I found one!” Bhurin quickly unfolded his wings and broke through the forest canopy once again. He soared across the tree tops until he found his friends again, gently landing next to Balladore as he prepared the antidote. By this time Justin and Damienn were beginning to show signs of poison, Justin’s skin turning pale and Damienn sweating profusely. Bhurin quickly walked up to Balladore, who handed him a mortle and pestle, the cup filled with a grimy substance.

 

“Bhurin... come administer this to the rest of the party, if you would...”

 

With that, Bhurin took the small portions of medicine and set out to help his comrades…

 

Hillcrest

Oakwood Forest

Ranger Training Grounds

 

It was dark in the woods that evening, the stars blocked by a low hanging tide of clouds, moving against the moonlight. Though it was still sometime before spring would finally arrive, crickets already sang in the evening air, and the sounds of the forest were many, to the sensitive ear. They murmured quietly in the night, a quiet song in the background of a dark and obscuring wood.

 

It took a focused mind to hear and see more through the night’s many tiding; which was precisely the reason hunting was conducted here.

 

As a dark figure made its way through the underbrush of the woods, disturbing not a leaf or twig as it moved, it passed like a shadow against the trees. Draped in dark shrouds and a cowl to hide its face, the shadow was nearly completely invisible. With bow in hand, tarnished with ash to hide it from perceptive eyes, the figure already had a an arrow notched. It looked around every tree and bush, its vibrant green eyes searching tirelessly for something.

 

Suddenly, the most subtle of whispers drifted through the woods. Quiet, but different from the other noises in the brush. The shadow figure, reflexively and with incredible speed and pose, drew its bow and fired, angled high. The arrowed soared through the thick foliage of leaves, but disrupted none of them as it passed. As though it had never been, the arrow disappeared and was gone. The shadow figure, quickly but silently drawing another arrow, turned to its left and fired again. Then it stood straight up, resting the tip of its bow on the ground, and lowering its head.

 

After a few moments, a voice, almost musical in tone, said, “Enough…”

 

The figure raised its head and smiled underneath its cowl as three other figures emerged from the woods. They were also draped in black clothes, but two now had arrows sticking out of their persons, one shot in the chest, the other the abdomen. The third figure, removing its cowl, revealed itself to be an Elf with deep brown hair and blue eyes. He stepped over to the shadow figure, who still stood unmoving, bow in hand.

 

“Excellent job, Bladesong,” the elf said, his voice friendly and calming, “not one miss, and two direct hits. You’ve improved greatly since you’ve been here.”

 

The shadow figure removed its cowl then, revealing an elven maiden with long beautiful hair and a white, pleasant smile. Bladesong gave her hair a shake, freeing it from its cloth prison, before saying with eager pleasure, “I thought I missed that first shot!”

 

One of the other figures, with arrow sticking out of his chest, removed his cowl as well, revealing another male elf with short red hair and dark brown eyes. As he pulled the arrow from his chest, he said, “You surprised me! I was just getting ready to break away, and then I was shot. I thought you had gotten lucky, but when you shot Kyl, I knew I that was that.” The elf, as he spoke, also removed his black shirt, revealing the sheen of Elven chain mail. The arrow had done no damage to the beautiful coat, and pulled easily out of the tightly bounded silver rings.

 

Kyl, the third elf, pulled the arrow from his abdomen and removed his cowl. His face was scrunched up, as if in pain, “I fell off my branch when you got me…”

 

Bladesong smiled, obviously pleased with herself, and said, “Sorry about that.”

 

The three talked for a while longer about the exercise they had just partaken of. However, just as they were about to turn back to camp, another voice emerged from the woods, “Evening…” Suddenly, fours arrows sailed from the trees, as though fired simultaneously, and landed right at their feet, nearly hitting them all. The four elves jumped, their eyes jumping from the arrows to the direction in which they were fired.

 

With the grace of a gliding wind, the Rangemaster, Tarran Skyfire, stepped forward. He was wearing the clothes common to the rangers, a green and gray tunic with gloves and soft leather boots. His hair, a brilliant white, was loose upon his shoulders, yet he had remained unseen to them. And, though they saw him now, he still walked with uncanny silence.

 

“What’s the idea?” Baldesong demanded, her voice becoming tempered with irritation, “What are you trying to prove? That you can scare the life out of us?”

 

Tarren’s face, calm and almost grim with seriourness, turned to Bladesong sowly. When he spoke, his voice was calm and cool, like a rustling brook, “Whilst you are in Oakwood, you must remain on guard. This is not a private territory, nor are you the only ones using it. If you are not prepared, you would disrupt the work of others, or fall victim to real attack. You have been warned of this danger before…”

 

The four young elves turned their gaze, realizing their error. Bladesong, though, narrowed her eyes with still continued irritation, her mind filling with troubled thoughts.

 

“Make your way back to camp,” Tarran said, retrieving his arrows, “you have trained enough this eve.” With that, the Rangemaster walked into the woods and vanished from sight. The Rangers in training all quickly gathered their things and set out back to camp, Bladesong fuming quietly the whole way back.

 

“Who does Skyfire think he is?” she asked, as she led the way back to the Ranger’s training camp out of the woods, “our King? I respect his title, but he’s far too condescending…”

 

“Well Bladesong,” said Fireye, who had removed his cowl first after the excerise, “The Rangemaster cares deeply for us all. He only wants to make sure we come into our abilites safely…”

 

“Bah!” Bladesong said dramatically, “He seems more concerned with showing off and trying to prove he’s better than anyone else.”

 

“I think you’re too hard on him Bladesong,” Said Kyl, ducking under a low hedge, “Skyfire wouldn’t behave so childishly. He’s been Rangemaster of Hillcrest for over four hundred years. I do not think he would behave so…” Kyl stopped his sentence however, when he perceived the look Bladesong had stopped to give him. “Never mind,” he said quickly, turning his gaze away.

 

Bladesong frowned, her lips tightening, before she turned and continued on. They didn’t talk further until they were out of Oakwood, and back in the camp.

 

Bladesong, after returning her equipment, made her to her quarters on the far side of the camp. The camp was surrounded by large walls, a human design, but was filled with living and training structures noticeably Elven. The camp had been built hundreds of years ago by the First Elven and Human rangers, who protected the lands of Hillcrest in years past, and who still do to this day.

 

Bladesong, as she entered the cabin her and Battlewrath called home, threw down her rucksack and said, “By Lor’eth, I grow tired of these walls! How much longer will they make us sufer in here while Mother’s death goes unavenged…”

 

Suddenly, she noticed a figure sitting in front of the fire place in the hearth room. Her hand instantly went to the dirk she kept behind her back, and she cautiously said, “Who’s there?”

 

The figure did not turn, but raised its hand and waved slightly. Bladesong instantly realized that it was Battlewrath, who was not common to sit still, nor enjoy the company of fire. “Battlewrath? What is it?” Bladesong asked, walking over to her brother. When he did not move or answer, her hand released the dirk and she knelt in front of him. “Battlewrath, what is wrong? Why are you just sitting here?”

 

Battlewrath, who had much changed in the way of build and appearance his short time in the ranger’s camp, looked far away in thought. At first, he did not answer, his eyes far away and lost. Finally, he handed Bladesong a letter he was holding in his hand tightly. “Bladesong,” he finally said, “I received today…”

 

Bladesong quickly took the letter and began to read it. As her eyes scanned over the words, her brother continued. “It’s from the Council…”

 

Bladesong read furiously, her eyes eager with anticipation. Finally, she finished the document, and her eyes filled with the same distance as her brother’s. Finally, she looked again to his eyes, waiting for him to pierce the silence. “Battlewrath…”

 

“We have our Bloodfeud,” he said plainly, his eyes filling with tears.

 

Bladesong quickly hugged him, and said, “Brother, we shall have our revenge…”

 

They sat there in silence for a long time, thoughts shared between them, though they did not speak. Finally, Battlewrath spoke again, “First we need to finish our trials, and be accepted as Rangers.”

 

“We shall brother! We shall demand them to test us! We are ready!” Her voice was energetic now, filled with an unknown lust and power.

 

Battlewrath nodded, knowing that if he were destined to avenge his mother’s death, he would accomplish the trails before him. “Bladesong,” he said, “we shall succeed. No matter the task, together we shall be victorious…”

 

The two regarded each other, smiling and hugging. At last they went to sleep, to rest for the morn’s events and the challenges they would need to face.

 

They slept under a starless sky…

 

The Muckmoors

 

Balladore awoke to the sound of a fire crackling beside him, his body warmed and his thoughts clear. No longer did his body suffer from the effects of the poison, and he felt his mind return to peace once again.

 

When he sat up, he found that he was on dry, solid ground, a well tended fire burning brightly next to him. Around the fire he saw the other members of the group, lying down and sleeping soundly. He also saw the horses, aside the camp tied to trees, peacefully lying down. Finally he saw, leaning against a rock near the fire, Bhurin sitting up and writing something into a large book. Bhurin’s eyes didn’t venture when Balladore sat up, so Balladore said somewhat plainly, “Where are we?”

 

“Still in the moors,” Bhurin said not looking up still, his voice calm and even quiet, “on a length of land not soaked to its bones.”

 

“How did we get here?” Balladore asked, noting a plate of cooked meat beside him.

 

“Damienn, Foe and I carried everyone here, or rather the horses did, most of the way at least.” Bhurin said, turning the page in his book, and continuing to write, “When we returned from searching for the Kimber Leaf, we found nearly everyone completely gone from the effects of the plant’s poison. Even Damienn, eventually, could not stay conscious, and the anti-poison you made needed time to work…”

 

“How are the others?” Balladore asked, reaching for the food and looking to his sleeping friends.

 

“They are all well and alive. Even Jheric, who was touch and go for a while.” Bhurin said, finally lowering his quill and closing his book. “All of them fed and sleeping. You, on the other hand, over exerted yourself, and have only now awoken. You are to eat your dinner, and return to sleep. I am taking watch.”

 

Balladore began to chew the succulent meat, noting the taste of deer as he did. After he was done, he said, “What about you?”

 

“Me? I’m fine…” Bhurin said, who had returned to writing, “Some bumps and scrapes, but nothing too life threatening.”

 

Balladore reached for a waterskin by his things, and took a long drink of water. After that, he stared at the fire for long moments, listening to the crackling of burning wood and the scratching of Bhurin’s quill. Finally, after some time, Balladore said, “Bhurin?

 

“Hmm?” Bhurin replied, his eye brows stretching up in acknowledgement, tough his eyes never leaving the page of his book.

 

“Will you lead this party?”

 

Silence returned again at Balladore’s question, Bhurin seeming to continue on as though he hadn’t heard. Finally, putting down his book next to him and turning to face Balladore, “I believe you already know the answer to that.”

 

Balladore nodded subtly his eyes turned to the fire.

 

“And,” Bhurin continued, “I think you know what I think of this leadership predicament, and the truth that lies before you.”

 

“That I must lead the party,” Balladore said, his eyes finally turning from the fire to meet Bhurin’s. “But Bhurin”, he continued, his voice suddenly tinged with anxiety, “I’m no leader! I can’t do what is required…”

 

“Balladore”, Bhurin interrupted, his voice assertive but calm, “You kow, as well as I do, that I cannot do what you ask, nor can anyone else that is here. We have come, following you without recourse, all of us pledging our dedication to your cause. YOUR cause, Balladore. Though I share your pain, my friend, I cannot bring myself to lead this quest anymore than I can turn from it. You must find the path, Balladore, for fate has brought this tragedy upon you, and your must answer it. Despite our greatest intentions, none of us have right to travel with you if we do not understand that this is not a struggle placed in your path, not ours. The plant in the lake was a test…”

 

“One that I failed!” Balladore said, his voice filled with disgrace, “I nearly killed myself, and all of you with me, with my rash actions!”

 

“Balladore, look around you”, Bhurin said, indicating to the other members of the group, “do you see anyone fallen?”

 

“But if I hadn’t reacted so foolishly, none of this would have happened…” Balladore turned his gaze away from Bhurin back to the fire.

 

Silence ensued again, but only shortly. Bhurin rose from his seat, and walked over to where Balladore was sitting. Kneeling down, Bhurin said, “True, my friend. But, if you hadn’t resisted the poison to make an antidote, what then? You saved them, Balladore; everyone of them. They do not hate you for your zealousness; they owe you their lives, and delight in that. You may not think it, but you have a great strength in you, my friend. I have known it as long as I have known you, and that is why I shall travel with you out of this moor; why I will be next to you when you speak to the council; why I risk my life to save your family. Why I follow you, Balldore… I have faith that you shall lead us to a desired end to this journey. I know that as long as you forge the path, I shall step on secure ground.”

 

Balladore smiled then, and was silent for sometime. Finally, he took Bhurin’s hand into his and shook it. “Thank you friend”, he said, his eyes now filled with hopeful promise, “I shall take lead, as long as you and the others shall support me.”

 

“Then you shall lead us to the end,” Bhurin said, shaking Balladore’s hand in return, “for none of us shall falter. And neither shall you.”

 

Balldore hugged Bhurin then, then sat to finish his supper as Bhurin walked back to his seat by the stone. When Balladore finished, he asked, “What are you writing?”

 

“A poem”, Bhurin answered, as he continued to work in his book.

 

“Read it”, Balldore asked, as he lay back down on his back and gazing toward the stars.

 

“It isn’t done”, Bhurin answered, scratching away at his pad.

 

“Come on”, Balladore urged, closing his eyes, “read me what you’ve got.”

 

Bhurin smiled, “Alright then. I shall read you the first verse, though I would warn you of the rough nature of this poem…”

 

As Bhurin spoke, Balldore listened and began to drift to sleep. The last thing he remembered was Bhurin’s voice, mingling with the wind, as he at last fell asleep.

 

Depart we must from safe abode,

To journey wrought with peril.

Face we now, a darkened road.

Brimmed with toils of feral…

 

Our will is strong, our hearts are set,

We venture in the dark.

Though uncertain, we don't regret,

This quest we have embarked...

[Guest Balladore]

As he woke, Balladore smelled many things... his own breath, as the cure he created had been rather rancid, horses, acid from the lake, and the smell of breakfast being made. He looked over to a small fire to see Bhurin cooking, and yawning as he did so. The others slept still, but he could tell that all of them were at least a little better from their previous condition. As he watched Bhurin, he realized that he probably hadn't slept all night, as he had been the only one un-affected by the poison.

 

"Bhurin, get away from that. I'll do it, you need rest. This is the last day we shall spend in this place, if we even take the whole day here. Our wounds have almost healed, but you need rest. We set out, at full gallop, tomorrow by the very least," the Druid said to his friend, and walked over to the fire shooing the winged man way to rest. At some protest, Bhurin finally allowed Balladore to take over the creation of their morning meal.

 

"I have a feeling, Bhurin... we need to make haste. My children... something is either very wrong, or very important. I know they are alive, though, wich is somewhat calming... I hadn't been so sure about that message from Hillcrest..." in reply, Bhurin only yawned and drifted off to sleep. The druid smiled... he had found such a friend in him... and if he needed anything at this point, it was a friend.

 

As the others stirred, breakfast was nearly done, and Balladore served the conscious members of the party and explaining their surroundings to Jheric, when he finally awoke.

 

"I'm sorry, everyone. I acted rashly back there... and I put your lives in danger. I am sorry," he said reptetively, and looked down at the ground.

 

"Well... you were right... what's done is done, and we need to move out as soon as possible," Jheric replied sheepishly.

 

"Aye, I agree with you there. As soon as our sleeping beauty awakes, we ride like the wind for King Millas' territory... and pray to the Gods that he allows us to pass through his kingdom... it would save us many days' hard travel through the forests of Timberoak," replied Balladore, and was immediately lost in thought

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ranger's Barracks, Hillcrest

 

"Song, are you ready?" Battlewrath thought at his sister... it was easier for them to communicate this way... no one could hear them, and the words were just... more honest.

 

"Aye, almost... I'm just stringing my bow."

 

"Well hurry up about it, will you? The trial takes place immediately!"

 

The two stepped out together, and walked out to the Arena... the Arena was a place reserved for one special purpose... the testing of Rangers-to-be. After much debating between Bladesong and Skyfire, the Rangemaster had agreed to try them... but to the best of his ability... and somehow Battlewrath took him to mean that he would try them harder then he would "Regular" troops... though they were Feud declarers, and they would need more skill than any ordinary ranger.

 

As they came to the gates of the Arena, they saw Skyfire, who nodded curtly to them and led them inside. In the stands, there were several council members, and Blackstaff was among them. Their friends, including Fireye, were also there. Bladesong had been nervous in preperation, so she wore gloves to conceal and reduce the fighting factor of her sweaty palms.

 

The siblings followed the Rangemaster into the center of the Arena, and listened as his voice seemed to boom out to everyone in the Audience:

 

"On this day, the two Elves known as Bladesong and Battlewrath shall undergo "The Trial." If successful, they shall rightly earn the title of Ranger. May the Gods' will be done in said trial."

 

The crowd burst into applause at this, and the Rangemaster strode out to the side of the ring.

 

"Trainees ready?" bellowed the Rangemaster, as it was quite a distance from the side of the ring to the center.

 

The siblings took eachother's hand, and lifted their other arm into the air "We are, Rangemaster!" called back the brother and sister. At this, Skyfire took hold of a rope, and pulled. A giant bell rang somewhere off in the distance, and the two unclasped their hands. They had planned for this; Battlewrath drew his sword and dagger, and Bladesong nocked an arrow to her bow. Both were equipped with a bow and a quiver of arrows, a sword, and a dagger, if the need arose.

 

The two now began walking slowly in a circle... the first attack would come soon... not right away, as a rule, but soon... and it did. A figure charged at them from the edge of the arena, and Battlewrath decided not to waste any energy.

 

"Take him down, Lutra,"

 

Without replying, his sister drew back her bow, and fired. The shaft found its mark, and "slew" the first oncomer... Everything here would be fake... no one would be harmed in the training, everyone was equipped with sufficient body armor to withstand almost anything, but once hit, the threat was removed permenantly.

 

Suddenly, An arrow flew from behind them... it was heading straight for Battlewrath's back, as he was turned around at the time. Bladesong could see it though, and she sent the view quickly to her brother... The arrow was closing distance, and Battlewrath poised himself. Finally, when it was about a three feet from him, He did a back flip, and caught the arrow with his foot, snapping the shaft in two. Bladesong fired an arrow in the direction that it had come, and apparently found her mark, as another shadowy figure stepped into the ring and kneeled to watch the rest of the trial.

 

On and on it went... Skyfire was the master of ceremonies, and he would not call a halt until he was satisfied that the two were able to take on the full title of Ranger. He threw obstacle after obstacle into their path, but the siblings always overcame them. Finally, when the sun had almost reached the horizon, which was the official limit to the time the trial could continue, Skyfire himself gave a battlecry, and charged.

 

He carried two blades... longer than daggers, but shorter than swords... they were bothed curved slightly, and as he ran, he twisted them menacingly, and they moved as if they were mere extensions of his arms. Bladesong's eyes filled with fury, and she flung down her bow and drew her sword and dagger. She stepped so that she was right next to her brother, and they braced themselves for the onslaught. Closer and closer he came, until finally they met with a clang of steel, and the fury of battle.

 

Skyfire thrust and parried, his blades moving fluidly, and the two siblings found themselves hard pressed to keep up. On and on the Rangemaster's assault went, until finally Battlewrath found a loophole.

 

He's getting tired, I can see it... He's fighting two people, and we are only fighting 1/2 person apiece. "Sis? Fight defensively, and wear him down. No offense, let him wear himself out," he thought at his sister, who gave a brief nod to show that she understood.

 

With their new battleplan, the siblings quickly took control of the game. Slowly but surely, Skyfire got more and more tired, until finally the two moved in for the kill... they had been disguising themselves to make the Rangemaster think that they had been tired themselves, as well, but now dropped all pretenses and attacked. The result was instantaneous.

 

Bladesong attacked him from the left, and occupied both of his blades, while Battlewrath moved in and stabbed him in the back.

 

Skyfire turned around, bewildered... he had never been beaten in the trials... but then again, he had never entered them himself, either... he had wanted all of the trainees to pass, before now... but somehow he thought that these two elves were getting in over their heads... Well... little matter now, he had lost, and to the victor go the spoils, as they say.

 

The Rangemaster signaled to someone on the side of the Arena, and they rung the bell again.

 

"I now declare... that Bladesong and Battlewrath… are presented… with the Title of Ranger!”

And with that, the crowd erupted into cheers. The two siblings hugged each other in the middle of the ring, happy to finally be Rangers, as they had vied for so long.

[Guest Foe Calibur]

Opening his eyes lazily Foe sat upright, noting that most of the camp was already awake, “Good morning everyone…” he said sleepily. His learned eyes traversing the span of the camp, noting that the effects of the poison seamed all but present.

 

“Good morning, “ Came Balladore’s voice as Foe pushed himself upright.

 

“Glad you’re finally awake,” Justin was sitting next to the fire, eating a dear steak hungrily.

 

“Ah, the sleeping beauty has awoken…” It was Jheric’s turn to chide Foe for his long sleep.

 

Smiling light heartedly, Foe erected himself and picked up his blades, curved ones, to strap once again to his back, where they had been the entire trip thus far. Looking down as he strapped them on he realized that he had not removed his Studded leather from the night before, making it easier to equip himself today.

 

“Foe… I’m sorry,” Balladore began the speech he had spoken to all as they awoke, as Foe neared the fire.

 

“Don’t be,” Foe interrupted, ”I don’t see the faith of friendship as a reason, no matter what the consequences, as a reason for regret.” He smiled before continuing, “You acted to save a comrade… I admire that.”

 

Balladore nodded, “Thank you… though my actions were still rash, and inexcusable, I just about got the rest of you killed.”

 

“You mustn’t forget that it is we who chose to join you, and we did so with good faith. We know that anything you do would be for the best of the party, for to deny that would be to deny our inspiration for following. Please, without you, rash decisions or not, we would not be here… alive… today.” Foe sat next to Balladore, he had come to admire this Druid, “Now… if you’ll excuse me, sleeping is exhausting business, I’m a little hungry…” Foe looked at the pan Balladore was holding eagerly.

 

After a few seconds Foe’s request sank in, “Oh! Of course…” pulling in the pan Balladore had been cooking with he asked, “Foe? Why did you choose to come? We barely know each other.”

 

Smiling yet again Foe answered, “Despite what many people say, knowing one by face or personality isn’t truly everything. I heard of your plight, and I knew of your name. I have many friends within the walls of the Pen, and I wished for you to become one of them. I believed in your cause, having lost loved one’s of my own, and have felt the sorrow you now feel. I thought I could be of aid, and maybe… a friend.”

 

Taking his steak Foe thanked Balladore and left him in quiet contemplation to go sit by a nearby tree and eat in silence. Foe was not usually very outspoken, quite quiet most of the time.

 

“Foe!” Justin walked across the clearing merrily, “Ye’ve missed most of the morn!”

 

“Nonsense… the sun has barely left the horizon.”

 

“Ha! The best part of the morning is when the sun has yet to reach the horizon!” Justin motioned wildly with his arms as he spoke.

 

“Though I hate to be wrong…” Foe winked at Justin, “You are quite right.” Taking a bite of his breakfast Foe motioned to the sky, “She’s a fiery one, bounds unbridled and untouched by any mortal… though not out of reach of a dreamer.” He paused for a moment, “ She stands brilliant, day after day, to spring forth joy into the hearts of many; yet only to undergo a transformation so vast as to encompass the world in darkness, to leave traces of fear in even the strongest of men. But no matter what form she chooses, no matter what she embodies, her ambrosias beauty stands nigh upon the horizon to stare down upon us evermore.” Foe looked at the sky longingly, “But you’d have to talk to Bhurin to understand fully… not all of us are blessed with the gift of flight. Though I imagine it’d be quite splendid…” Foe trailed off as he took another bite of his meal.

[Bhurin]

The group waited for roughly an hour before Bhurin arose. As the giant angelica rose to his feet, Balladore was about to protest, but stopped when he realized that Bhurin looked wide awake, even vigorous.

 

“Bhurin,” Balladore began, looking him up and down, “You’ve been asleep for less than two hours. You should really rest…”

 

“I am fine Balladore,” Bhurin said, stretching his arms and flexing his wings, “I shall manage on what I have had, and make up for it this eve. Until then, we must press on…”

 

“Aye!” cried Justin, throwing down a stick he had been whittling, “the best news I’ve heard in days.”

 

“Gather your equipment, and leave no trace of our presence here,” Balladore said, indicating to the fire and their various goods, “I should like to pass as discreetly as possible until we are out of the moors.”

 

With that, the rest of the group set out to pack their things and make out for the day’s journey.

 

As they did so, Jheric, as he busied himself, made his way over to Bhurin and said, “Thanks for the hand back there, friend. It would have been a very undesirable end indeed, were you not there.”

 

Bhurin smiled, as he loaded a bag back onto his horse, “It was my pleasure, Jheric, though no thanks are needed…”

 

“Ah!” Jheric said, raising his hand and waving it quickly, interrupting Bhurin’s words, “I owe you one, fair and square, and a mage always makes good for what he owes.”

 

Bhurin chuckled a moment, before making his way over to another pile of goods and replying, “Then I shall sleep much better tonight, knowing I have the watchful eye of a mage over me…”

 

Jheric smiled back, and returned to packing away his things.

 

Within the hour, they had set out again, leaving only their footprints as evidence. And (thanks to a certain Druid) the footsteps, too, disappeared swiftly, and were gone.

 

Forging their way ahead, the group was determined to leave the moors within the next matter of days. But, a heavy fog hung over them all, as they rode into the unknown, not knowing what to expect next…

[Guest Damienn Ravencroft]

After everyone woke and had eaten, the party set out across the moors once more. They traveled on and on, stopping every once in a while to "rest their horses" (really, though, it was to rest themselves and sneak a bite to eat, for some). Finally, after another day and a half of travelling, they came to the edge of King Millas' realm.

 

As the rode up to the wall that was placed on the border to fence out any enemies or wild animals, where the Tower Guard patrolled, an armed watchman called down to them:

 

" 'oo Goes there? I say, speak up!"

 

"A few travellers wishing to cross through good King Millas' territory!" called back one from the party who wasn't Damienn.

 

"Well, you'll 'ave to get permishun from 'is majisty, won't ya?"

 

Damienn was afraid of this. He had heard of kings like Millas before... they were reluctant to help anyone unless there was something in it for them... and what had their party to offer? They didn't have enough gold to pay their way across his country... there weren't enough of them to serve as mercenaries... Perhaps the could "owe him one"? Somehow, though, Damienn doubted that King Millas would settle for an owed favor, even if Balladore would be the last one in the world to welch on a debt.

 

"Come 'long naow, Ain't got all day, 'ave I? Some o' the Tower guard will provide an excort from 'ere to there for ye." And with this, the portly guard raised the portcullis and they rode under to wait for the Tower guard to assemble their lazy selves into riding formation.

 

Damienn sighed. After all they had been through to make haste, they would lose most of that time going to court and pleading with King Millas... If we even get there, that is thought Damienn looking at the rather... wide... tower Guard.

[Guest Zephryin]

Standing in the entrance, a young fellow in plate armor looks about the empty hall, taking in the very apparent absence of people. After a moment of standing still, he swears a mighty oath, and slams his gauntleted hand into the stone wall. They were already gone! Damn those goblins! Damn them all to hell! Several weeks ago, he finally recieved a letter of approval from the leaders welcoming him to the Pen's ranks. In his excitement to arrive, he had foolishley decided to cut through the forest...and had run straight into maurading goblins, "unfriendly" trolls, and other upleasantries; now he had arrived too late. He heaves a weary sigh, wanders to a bench to think what to do next...

[Ozymandias]

Many miles away, a young Nether Mage cleaned out his castle with brisk efficiency. Devils ran and flew hither and thither, running this errand and that, snarling and making obscence gestures at their master more than usual as they did the housework. None of them dared confront him directly, however, as all knew in what passes for bones in a Devil, that he could, on a whim, send them into hopeless battle to meet their eternal doom. And they would have no choice but to comply.

 

The dark wizard himself whistled a funeral dirge as he swept and mucked out his rookery, the contents of which were better left to childhood fears than living, breathing form. All zombies, of course, guarded the edges of his lands and the castle grounds themselves, being kept carefully outside, for as any idiot knows, zombies have neither the brains, hygeine, nor physical cohesion to be clean. This wizard was a man who had his borders broken by vengeful heroes easily, and often. He had but one saving grace- he was tidy.

 

And so it went, until the young man came upon an odd sight fluttering about and making ghastly noises in a corner. Staring at it intently, he searched and searched his brain until he found the appropriate memory.

"Aha!" he cried. It was a messenger pigeon, he recalled. It had flown across the sky almost a week ago, and in a rare moment of inspiration, he had sent his Devil prince after it. The poor bird summarily captured, the mage had an art project.

 

Somewhat disappointed when he realized it was only a magical construct, he nevertheless went to his delightful task with gusto. Then he completely forgot about it later that day, or maybe a day or two later. He couldn't recall. So here it flopped, oozing and spitting, with (he noted with some amusement) its message scroll still firmly tied to its leg. Sighing with the desire to rid himself of useless knick-knacks, he pushed it up to the windowsill with his broom and gave it a sharp swat to send it tumbling away.

 

Out of sight and out of most minds, the unfortunate creation flew about in dazed circles for several hours before finally crossing the border of the mage's lands. Free of the place's leechlike negative magical aura, its body remained shattered, but its purpose srung forth anew. Return. So, it did.

 

 

*****

 

 

Hearing something like large amounts of raw meat colliding with the wall just outside, Zephyrin stood and walked over to investigate. He opened his mouth and eyes wide in nauseous shock as he saw the source of the sound flying awkwardly toward him. With no further warning, it alighted on his shoulder and cooed.

A coo that was a hissing and fluid filled noise at the same time, so that one would think one or both of the creature's lungs were punctured. Noting in the midst of his mild shock a message scroll around its...ankle...he did the only thing he could think of doing at the moment, and retrieved it.

 

When Zephyrin had unrolled it, he read:

 

__________________________________________

 

To Whom it May Concern,

 

You may or may not know, but one of our fellows in

pen, Balladore, has left The Pen's company, for his

family may be in grave danger. I have followed

he and his volunteers to try and keep their travels

from harm, but I fear they may not be able to

make it without more than my help. Please!

Rouse what force you can, and come quickly!

But keep numbers small, these are circumstances

where stealth may outweigh force. I have left a

trail that any aid may follow. But hurry, I beg you!

 

Yours in haste,

 

Ozymandias

 

___________________________________________

 

His messenger burbled again. Zephyring glanced at his shoulder. Too many eyes looked back. Shuddering in disgust, he began to simultaneously plan who he would bring and how, and how to most carefully and quickly remove what was left of the pigeon from his shoulder. As he paced, it relieved itself on his armor.

It wasn't until he heard the sizzling and smelled the acrid odor that he realized the feces were acidic.

[Guest Balladore]

As they rode, their horses walking, the group sighed often... The tower guards were *extremely* lazy, and it seemed like an eternity before they finally reached the palace of King Millas.

 

The widest of the group, who was uncannily, the leader, lead them into the court of the king, and they saw that he was asleep. After being informed not to wake the king under any circumstances, the border patrol left to (supposedly) return to their post, while the normal guard of the court remained and cast a wary eye over the party.

 

Finally, when the sleepy King Millas awoke, Balladore presented the case for the group:

 

"Your Majesty King Millas, I am Balladore. Our party is passing through to Hillcrest, and passing through your Kingdom would shave days off our travel time. If, however, we were forced to go around through Timberoak, we would gain days and lose time... I state in advance, however, that we have only our honest debt to offer as payment for passage, Your Highness..." Balladore said, his voice trailing off at the end unintentionally. Though he had sounded confident throughout his speech, he felt much less so.

 

Finally, a reply came from the very large monarch: "Hmmm... we is lacking in entertaineement lately... here is what me says: If youse can beats a team setted up by my chiefy war guy, you pass... if you lose, if yous still alive, you musta go back where-a yous came, and through the dark treeplace. Deala?"

 

As the group considered, Balladore asked for a private conference, and this was granted by the king. The party stepped into the empty room, and talked freely.

 

"I think we should do it. Any chance we have at gaining time we should take," said one party member.

 

"No, it's too dangerous... did you hear what he said? 'if yous steel alive'... what does that mean?"

 

"So what?! It's DAYS off the time our journey could take. We need to fight," replied the first speaker.

 

"Alright, let's take a vote," said Balladore. "I'll call the name of each party member, and you will respond with "Fight" or "Return."

 

As he called the first name, Balladore wondered what the result of the vote would be...

[Justin Silverblade]

And in the corner... a frog gave a croak.

[Bhurin]

The group remained obediently silent, each of them awaiting their turn in contemplation as Balladore’s eyes scanned his party. He paused momentarily, knowing that the decision was not a frivolous one, allowing his comrades to contemplate their decisions.

 

His eyes wandered momentarily across the small, ill-ventilated room Millas had provided to them for their discussion. It was some sort of living quarters, though immediately one could tell it hadn’t been so always. The smell of mead and stale floor hung in the air, and the only draft that penetrated the room came from a chimney flume where an ancient stove sat.

 

Balladore’s mind strayed as he superficially scanned the room, his mind lingering on his family. The more he allowed himself to think about it, the more he felt the desperation well up inside of himself. It choked his breath and sickened his stomach, but he remained vigilant in not allowing his demeanor to slip. Not only was it the Druid’s way of things, but he knew that, with an uncertain path ahead, an assured stride held moral as surely as any word or blade.

 

Finally, as though the silence were shattered with due intention, Balladore turned his head and gathered his thoughts. His voice rang out his first decision: that decision being the first person he saw.

 

“Bhurin, my friend, what say you?” Balladore’s eyes became fixed beyond the others, as the winged adventurer stood behind the rest of the group slanted against the wall. “And please, speak honestly, for I would you answer no other way…”

 

The others jolted slightly from the sudden loss of silence; including Bhurin who perked at the mentioning of his name. He looked up slowly, his arms folded against his chest, till his grey eyes locked with Balladore’s. Bhurin’s eyes were contemplative, even distant, and when he spoke his voice was monotonous but firm.

 

“The path ahead is one most uncertain, as others who would traverse the distance from our point of destination to here would go by the main Road that ropes around the mountains to the south… I have considered our progress since we set out, and have often wondered whether it would have been better to have added the weeks onto our journey and travel safely… But time is of the essence… And I regret not our decision. The only path to travel now is the one ahead of us, and I feel we should journey as quickly and efficiently as possible. So, if this Millas thinks he can delay us with some bravado show of arrogance, then he is sadly mistaken. I say we stand and fight, and demand they allow us to do so immediately… I fear no man with a blade…”

 

The others all looked at Bhurin in both surprise and subtle shock. His normally diplomatic words and disposition were suddenly burning with a fire. His voice rumbled through their minds, and the look in his eyes became vivacious and passionate. Suddenly, the previous years of Bhurin’s past as an Archmage and Warlord flew through his being. Bhurin was roused to a cause.

 

Balladore merely smiled subtly and nodded. Bhurin’s answer, or its delivery, had come as no shock to him. He knew his friend well, and also that Bhurin would neither abandon his cause or rest soundly until Balladore’s wife and children were safe.

 

“A brother in arms,” Balladore, as he nodded with satisfaction. Then after a quick pause, Balladore turned his attention to his next companion…