Post/Author/DateTime	Post
#1 Band2 May 16, 2008 11:33:22	Episode 2 is done. As I get the episodes of Sands and Ashes edited I will post them in this thread, since all but the last two were on the mailing list. Apparently the story is not as PG as I thought. I noticed one word replaced with ***** in the first episode by the server, and have replaced it with a word more exceptable to the server. If anyone see any that I miss any in later episodes let me know and I will try and fix it.
#2 Band2 May 16, 2008 11:33:53	Saved for timeline.
#3 Band2 May 16, 2008 11:34:15	Saved for character listing.
#4 Band2 May 16, 2008 11:40:30	Locale: A small village on the caravan road near Eldaarich Date: Dominary 19, Desert’s Fury, 190th King’s Age (Free Year 11) “Excuse me, sir, but we won't be moving on today. We will have to spend the night here.” Itzcoalta looked up from the parchment he was studying. “What? Why is that? It is only mid afternoon. There is plenty of good traveling time left in the day,” he said as he twisted on his stool to stare at the rugged caravan master, who stood just inside of the mekillot hide flap that covered the door way. “Well sir, I am sorry for the inconvenience, sir. But it’s the village headman, sir. He is very insistent that we stay. Insists that the nights around here are not safe,” replied Laxu, the Tsalaxan caravan driver. “Why does he say the nights are not safe?” Itzcoalta asked, anxiety in his voice lessening slightly. “Dwarven spirits, sir. The headman says that two months ago, these dwarven spirits appeared in the area. At night, they attack anyone outside of the village, up to 10 miles away. He says if we left now we will still be in the area when the sun goes down. If we wait and leave tomorrow morning we will have plenty of day light to travel out of their area.” When Laxu finished his explanation, Itzcoalta turned an accusing eye on him. “I see. And why did you come to me with this information? Are you always so informative with your passengers?” “Just informing you. That is all, sir,” replied Laxu. “I do not believe you. Tell me,” ordered Itzcoalta. Laxu shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Well sir, the thing is. I figured you would want to know. That's all. I don't know your business, so I don't know what sort of delays you will tolerate. Besides I thought you may be able to do something about the problem,” responded Laxu as he lowered his gaze, so as not to meet the other man's eyes. “What do you think I can do that your guards cannot?” asked Itzcoalta. “Its just that I think you are a little more than you seem. I was thinking you are a templar, sir.” “Really, and why do you think so?” Itzcoalta's voice contained more curiosity than the anger that Laxu expected. Embolden he continued. “It’s that sword of yours, sir,” Laxu pointed to the weapon that lay on a table with the rest of Itzcoalta's gear a few feet away. The three foot blade was made of obsidian. “That is a mighty fine sword. The obsidian looks almost flawless. Don't know that I have seen many weapons that well made.” “So, I have a nice sword, and that is why you think I am a templar?” Itzcoalta said with a small laugh. “Like I said, it is a fine sword. And most warriors, when they heard me rush in here with urgent news would have grabbed their weapons immediately in case it meant trouble. But not you. Didn’t even make a move towards it. If there was trouble you intended to use something else. Maybe something more powerful than that nice sword of yours.” Holding up his right hand Itzcoalta said, “Enough. Enough. Let's just say for the sake of argument that you are correct. I'll meet with this headman and see what he has to say. Can you arrange a meeting?” “Yes sir,” and with that Laxu turned and went out through the hide covered doorway. ‘Damn, you are going to have to be more careful. Your disguise may look perfect but you are going to have to act the part if you want it to work,’ Itzcoalta thought to himself. “I wonder what he would think if he knew the full truth,” Itzcoalta wondered in a whisper. Indeed, Itzcoalta was a templar from the city where he had joined up with the Tsalaxan caravan, but he had only recently completed his initiation into the templar order. Before that he had been something else… **** ‘Who is this dung-filled fool?’ thought the headman as he noticed that muck-stenched money-grubbing merchant, Laxu leading another man towards him. Itzcoalta was wearing his wide-brimmed straw hat to shade his eyes from the sun’s bright rays and a scarf pulled up over his noise and mouth as a protection against the silt that blew in from the Silt Sea a short distance away. His tailor-fitted bright red shirt was only a dusty orange from the silt clinging to it, while his loose fitting, multi-colored pants blew in the stiff breeze. He stood 5 feet 8 inches tall, and had the look of a man who recently got in shape. “This is Itzcoalta,” Laxu said as they reached the headman. “He wishes to hear more about your problem.” “Problem? What problem? There is no problem. It’s been solved. No one goes outside the village after nightfall, and no one dies. See. No problem.” Itzcoalta had a little trouble understanding the man's Eldaarish dialect. So he turned to Laxu. “Tell him that I want to know more about the dwarven spirits. When they first appeared? How many have been seen?” “The short spirits, aye. Fifty-one days ago was the first we heard of them. One of our herders was attacked when he was late bringing his animals back to the corral.” ‘Piss on that fool. By the next morning half the herd had wandered off and was lost. Two aprigs were worth more than his mite-infested hide.’ “Since then, we learned that if everyone is inside by dusk, the short spirits do not bother us. But plenty of our village has seen them.” The headman spoke in a short choppy manner and threw Itzcoalta a few looks of contempt for interrupting his work in the fields for this. ‘Who does this kank-faced, money-slave think he is? He is nothing but another greedy merchant outsider. The rudeness of him to interrupt my work. And why does old high and mighty Laxu defer to him so much. It’s not like that old bastard to be so subservient. As many times as he has come through here with his caravans, the only times I have seen him act as such is when he is dealing with Daskinor's templ…’ The headman’s eyes suddenly widen in panic. Dropping to his knees head bowed to the dirt at Itzcoalta’s feet he groveled, “Sorry. Sorry, Lord. Forgive this unimportant person. I am not worth, but please pardon my rudeness!” “Stop it! Get up!” Itzcoalta ordered. His voice was hard with anger that someone else had apparently seen through his disguise and disgust that a city would foster a culture that required such demeaning behavior from any of its citizens, slaves or freemen. “I said stop it! Now get up and tell me what I want to know! Why did you not send word to the templars? Surely they could have handled this.” The headman stopped groveling and looked up at Itzcoalta. He remained on his knees as he began to explain. Laxu translated, “He could not notify the templars. He is responsible for this village, sir. The templars expect him to solve any problems that come up. If they get word that he cannot perform this duty they just kill him and appoint another headman. He was too frightened. He came up with this solution and so the entire village has adopted it. He did not have much else to choose from. He says that some from the village have seen where the dwarven spirits rest during the day. It is a rocky mound a couple of hours west of here.” As the headman's words finally trailed off, Itzcoalta, watching the man with pity, spoke up, “I will free your people from this evil so that it will no longer trouble your village. You have nothing more to fear. All I need is a guide to take me to this resting place of the spirits and I will destroy them.” ‘Evil? Why does this disguised templar-lord speak of evil? The spirits are just another problem in this miserable life. One to solve or not to solve. How are they evil?’ Confused though he was by Itzcoalta's words, his initial fear had begun to leave him. ‘In any case, this is a templar in disguise. From either the northern city or the one from the south. It does not matter which, it is forbidden for either templars to be on Eldaarish land. No matter that this village is on the edge of the land or not. I will have to report this. Now who can I send…?’ **** Less than an hour later, Itzcoalta set out with the village guide riding his crodlu. No longer dressed in his traveling attire, Itzcoalta wore armor made from thick mekillot hide. His hat was replaced by a helmet of the same thick hide, which fit snuggly on his head, but made him appear almost half a foot taller. His obsidian sword was now strapped across his back along with a shield made of bone and leather. He had gotten ready in his tent, where outside eyes could not notice the bright flash of light or the thin layer of chalk that covered the ground after his special preparations were done. The village guide road a crodlu borrowed from the caravan master and the two made quick time through the hazy desert. The constant silt in the air reduced visibility, but did not slow down the travelers much. The guide reigned in his mount and pointed, “There it is.” Itzcoalta gazed up at the dark crimson sun, and noted its position in the sky. ‘At least two more hours of sunlight remained before sunset. Then the spirits will be at full power.’ Both dismounted and Itzcoalta handed his reigns to the guide. Taking his water skin from the saddle and pulling down his scarf, he took a long drink. Turned to the guide, he ordered, “Wait here with the animals. Wait until sunset. If I am not back by then ride back to the village as hard as you can.” Since he did not speak the Eldaarish dialect, Itzcoalta hoped that the man could understand him, and turned to look in the direction the man had pointed. A rocky outcropping jutted out of the desert sands. He could just barely make it out from this distance through the silt haze. Without looking back at the guide, Itzcoalta started out on foot towards the outcropping. Upon reaching the outcropping, it did not take him long to find the cave entrance. He could not see anything through the cave’s darkness. Looking back the way he came he could not see the guide or the two animals through the haze. ‘Good. If I cannot see him he cannot see me do this,’ Itzcoalta thought. He quickly sent a small plea to his patron for protection. In answer, a faint shimmering force surrounded his body. The spell would enhance the protection provided by his armor. And if that failed the more powerful spell he had cast back at camp should also protect him. Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Itzcoalta brought out a small glass bead. The bead glowed with a light almost as bright as the harsh sun. Holding the bead aloft with his left hand, Itzcoalta drew his sword with his right, and entered the cave. Almost immediately Itzcoalta had to stoop over. The cave’s ceiling was too low for him to stand up to his full height. Hunched over, Itzcoalta followed the cave as it slanted downwards. After a couple dozen steps the floor leveled off, but at this point the cave was barely more than 2 feet high. Getting down on his hands and knees Itzcoalta peered down the tunnel. After a few feet the tunnel opened up into a large area, but Itzcoalta could not see what was in the room from here. Slowly, cautiously, he crept forward, and slid into the room. The room was large enough for him to stand up. Holding the light bead overhead he looked around. The room was a tomb. Cloth-wrapped bodies were laid out on niches carved into the walls. Crude sarcophaguses were thrown about the floor, their contents spilling out. “Noooo! The light! No light! No light! No life!” a haunting voice shouted out. Suddenly two figures appeared before Itzcoalta. They were once dwarves that much was clear, from their short height and stout muscles. Their skin was an unnaturally pale white, and their eyes glowed with a dark menace. A low moan escaped both their lips as the two spirits rushed towards Itzcoalta. Taken off guard by their sudden appearance, Itzcoalta brought his sword up and tried to lash out at the first ghostly figure and missed. The two figures closed on him quickly attempting to smash Itzcoalta with their fists; however, his armor prevented any harm. Trying to step back to get away from the creatures Itzcoalta foot struck the wall behind him. With no room to maneuver Itzcoalta could not get enough room to effectively wield his sword and his next swing was batted aside by one of the creatures. Panic rose within him as the two creatures pressed in closer, one trying to claw through his armor to no avail, while the other reach around the armor to his side and tried to dig its clawed hand into his side. The protection spell Itzcoalta had cast prevented the creature from doing any damage. Remembering his spell protection, Itzcoalta tried to calm his rising panic. As he did so a new tactic came to him. Looking deep into himself, Itzcoalta tired to access the power of his nexus, seeking inner strength to enhance his physical strength. It worked. Vigor and intensity surged through his muscles. While he was distracted, the spirits batter against him again but his armor and his magic continued to protect him. With his renewed vigor, Itzcoalta struck out with his sword, slashing the outstretched arms of one of the creatures. The wound did not bleed, but the creature let out a loud howl and backed away from Itzcoalta. Its companion struck at the man again but still had no effect. With one of the creatures having retreated, Itzcoalta now had a little room to maneuver. He dropped the glass bead on the ground and stepped to the side to gain a little room between himself and the nearest of the undead. As he did so he drew his sword back over his right shoulder while gripping it with both hands. He pause a second until the creature lunged towards him before swinging away. His blow struck the creature on the side of the head and sent it reeling. The creature bounced of the wall before tumbling to the ground. Before he could absorb his triumph the second creature charged him again moaning louder. It renewed its attack frantically, landing two blows underneath his armor before Itzcoalta could respond with a back-handed swing that glanced of the creature’s arm without harm. Neither had the creature harmed him as his magic continued to hold strong. As he turned to deal with the undead, the creature he had felled crawled towards him and took a feeble swing at him which bounced harmlessly off his leg armor. Moving deeper into the room Itzcoalta repositioned himself so that he would only have to deal with the standing spirit. It pursued him across the room and the two struck at each other. Itzcoalta blow landed on the creature’s left shoulder, after which Itzcoalta stepped to the side to avoid the creature’s strike. A loud moan of frustration issued from the creature and it swung again and missed. Itzcoalta’s next blow landed squarely in the creature’s chest and sent it flying into the wall behind it. A large hole gapped in the undead spirit’s chest showing the creature’s body was almost hollow. Despite the devastating wound the creature still moved trying to push itself off the wall and approach Itzcoalta again. Before it could Itzcoalta stepped forward with an over-the-shoulder slash. The obsidian sword slashed into the creature’s neck almost decapitating it. The undead spirit’s body collapsed to the floor no longer moving. Itzcoalta watched the remains for a few seconds before a scratching sound brought his attention back to the other spirit. It was trying to claw its way across the floor towards him. Two swings of his obsidian sword caved in its head and stopped its feeble movements. As he stood over the two corpses, his breath came heavily. Lowering his sword to his side, he disconnected to his nexus. As the adrenalin flow ceased, the fright of the fight began to dawn on him. It had started so fast. He had not been in many close, physical confrontations such as this. But now he could see the benefits of his intense training. ‘Without it, I probably would have panicked. I would never have been able to tap my inner strength. And without that I do not think I would have ever struck down these monstrosities.’ As his breathing calmed, he went back to the entrance to retrieve the dropped light bead. Bending to pick it up, the bead suddenly went clattering away from him to the far side of the room, propelled by some unseen force. Straightening quickly, Itzcoalta readied his sword as his gaze searched the room. Suddenly he could sense an attack on him in Mindscape. As he focused his consciousness into the Mindscape he threw up a hasty defense. Itzcoalta’s form in the Mindscape changed into a mythical winged snake creature. The graceful form twirls in the air to avoid the incoming attack. Just barely does the winged snake dart out of the way of a giant skeleton hand reaching up through the ground. Darting to safety Itzcoalta prepared an attack of his own. Seeking to blast the skeletal hand to bits the winged-snake spits a lightning bolt at it. Before it could strike, the hand turned into a raging desert wind, and the lightning bolt passed threw it harmlessly. Now the storm wind hurled towards Itzcoalta in an attack. He conjured a cave around himself to be protected from the wind. The walls of the cave shake from the wind but were able to hold it off. Itzcoalta could feel cracks being to appear in his cave. His inner nexus was beginning to fade as his energy was almost depleted. Dropping out of Mindscape he scanned the room for his attack. He saw it on the other side of the room in the darkest corner away from his glow bead. But before he could act another attack came on him in Mindscape. Returning to Mindscape he just managed to throw up a multi-color wall before the storm could engulf him. The wall deflected the force of the storm, but then collapsed. Itzcoalta fell out of Mindscape; his inner nexus was empty. Frantically, Itzcoalta charged across the room, trying to reach his opponent before it could attack him again with psionics. He only made it halfway across the room before the attack came. Searing pain shot through his temple, throwing him off balance. Itzcoalta collapsed against the nearest wall. Dropping his sword, he held his head in his hands rubbing his temples trying to stop the pain. The next attack came a moment later. It was like a knife through his brain. Itzcoalta’s head snapped back as if struck, slamming into the wall. A thin trickle of blood started from his left ear. His vision was blurred by the pain. It cleared slowly as he waited for the next attack. But it did not come immediately. As his vision cleared he could see that the creature was advancing on him now, to attack him physically. Grinding his teeth through the pain, Itzcoalta picked up his sword and took a few gingerly steps towards the spirit. The two exchanged ineffectual blows, Itzcoalta’s sword not able to penetrate the creature’s undead skin and the monster unable to strike through his armor. Another round of blows accomplished nothing, and the two combatants retreated a little to assess each other. The pain in Itzcoalta’s mind was still intense. He tried to come up with some strategy but the pain clouded his mind. Before he could think of anything the creature was on him again. This time striking pass his armor and hitting him, but the protection spell still held, preventing the creature from damaging him. Itzcoalta landed a lucky blow, his sword striking the creature a glancing hit across the forehead. Almost instantly, the pain was gone, and Itzcoalta realized his strike had disturbed the creature’s concentration. He needed to attack before the creature could work its psionics again on him. A couple of wild swings did nothing but drive the creature back, but when it stumbled slightly against one of the sarcophaguses, the obsidian blade found another opening, cutting a large wound down the creature’s left side. Wounded, now the creature tried to flee back to its dark corner. But Itzcoalta would not let it go, chasing after it and striking at its back. By the time Itzcoalta had struck two more blows across the creature’s back, it seemed to know that its doom was near. Turning, it tried to attack Itzcoalta again to bring him down with it. His spell continued to hold, just barely as Itzcoalta could feel it beginning to weaken. But it would not matter. After a few misses, Itzcoalta landed a strike into the undead’s stomach. The creature collapsed to move no more. Quickly, Itzcoalta retrieved the light bead and made a quick search of the cave for any other opponents. When he found none, he sat against the wall to rest. While the intense pain in his head was gone, he was still injured. He would have to rest back at the village before seeking healing magic from his patron. His strength and will returning, Itzcoalta climbed to his feet. Sword in one hand and the light bead in the other he made a detailed search of his surroundings. The cave was clearly an ancient tomb. He found a number of remains, but no sign of any more of the dwarven spirits. The remains of the tormented spirits that he had defeated had collapsed as if hollow and began to decompose quickly. By the time Itzcoalta had finished his search they were almost reduced to dust. Itzcoalta returned the way he came. When he reached the cave entrance, he could see that the sun was setting. “Hopefully, the village guide is still there and has not been frightened off yet. Well, I had better hurry... ohf!” A fourth dwarven spirit landed on top of Itzcoalta knocking him to the ground, his sword flying from his hands. Taken by surprise, Itzcoalta was now pinned beneath the creature, and he could feel his magical protection giving way. He tried to throw the creature off of him but did not have the strength. The creature tried to dig its claws into Itzcoalta’s head, but could not. Just as the spell protection broke, Itzcoalta rolled his body sideways, knocking the undead off balance, and allowing him to roll away from the beast. Climbing quickly to his feet, Itzcoalta eyed the dwarven spirit, which gazed back at him. His sword gone, Itzcoalta had little option. “To hell with this. I have no other choice,” mutter Itzcoalta. His hands dug into pouches around his belt and came forth, one with a strip of leather and the other with small wooden stick. Waving his hands in an intricate pattern, Itzcoalta began to speak in an arcane language. As he did so, his body began to glow with a silver light. The undead leapt forward to attack. Itzcoalta was quicker, finishing his incantation by pointing at the creature. A brilliant bolt of blue-white lightning emanated from his outstretched hand and struck the creature. The flash of the lightning bolt had slightly blinded Itzcoalta in the dim light of dusk, and the loud crash of the thunder had been deafening. As he blinked his eyes clear of spots, he could see that his spell had blast the creature into oblivion. **** His duty finished, Itzcoalta returned to the village. There he met with the village headman and Laxu. The caravan leader was overjoyed. “Wonderful, this is great news! I will make arrangements so that the caravan can leave immediately. Now we can get back on schedule.” The headman was more subdued. “You are a powerful warrior, Lord. The entire village marvels at your prowess,” he said mildly, though his thoughts were confused. ‘Why did you do this, oh high and mighty one? Why did you risk your neck for us? It was not your problem, as you are not from this village. It was not your responsibility as you are not one of Daskinor's templars. You are just an outsider, a spy sent by another city’s cruel sorcerer-king. So why did you do it?’ **** In short order Laxu had finished his preparations and the caravan had left the village, disappearing into the dusk. His work finished, the headman was discussing the day’s events with his wife. “This foreigner was truly strange. Why did he do what he did?” the headman asked. “It should be clear, even to a mul-headed pile of mekillot droppings such as you,” replied his wife. “He wanted to show off the power of his King, so that when they conquer us, we will be suitable intimidated and will bow down before them and cause no trouble. Also to make us think he and the other templars of his King are more powerful than our King’s templars. That would make us lose confidence in King Daskinor’s forces when the enemy attacks us.” “That foreign spy was truly dangerous. It is good that you reported him to the templars. You are so wise. But it is also best that he has moved on. Otherwise, when the Daskinor's templars came to arrest him, they may have accused you of being involved with him.” “Ah, you are right, wife. Now I see how devious that filthy spy was. Good he is gone! Now I do not have to ponder that riddle any more,” stated the headman. “Humph,” was all his wife replied. ‘You stupid old fool. You couldn’t even see that! If it wasn’t for me you would have been executed a long time ago for incompetence. Ah well, you are my old fool, and you are headman. And that makes me headman’s wife. That is something in this miserable life. Well, at least we do not have to fear the nights any more.’
#5 Band2 May 23, 2008 11:34:19	Episode 2 – Hated Destroyers Locale: A hanging jungle on the Jagged Cliff Date: Dominary 20, Desert’s Fury, 190th King’s Age (Free Year 11) Wir-obech had risen early. Standing just inside the entrance to his cave, he gazed into the dark mist outside. Long dark hair was gathered into a thick braid down his back almost to his waist. Both hands slowly moved through the air in a circular path from above his head down and around to meet at his abdomen, reverently, while his mind was on the events of the upcoming day. Wearing no shirt, the hard compact muscles moved fluidly with each motion. ‘They are coming. It will be today,’ Wir-obech thought. ‘I will be prepared.’ When he finished his gestures, he returned to the back of the cave that was his home and ate a small meal besides the clear pool of water there. The cave was not large, but was more than adequate for Wir-obech’s small body. He stood only three and a half feet tall, and could easily move through the cave despite the low ceiling. He would call himself a rhul-than, but others would say he was a halfling. Once his body was refreshed, he performed a short ritual signifying the meal’s end. Then he went to prepare himself for the coming confrontation. He knelt in front of rock shelf in which his “equipment” was stored. Wir-obech brought both hands up to his shoulders palms facing out. Closing his eyes, Wir-obech took a deep breath. As he exhaled he pressed his hands forward slowly, as if they were meeting some resistance. Wir-obech intoned the ritual of awakening. As he finished he ran his hands along the material of his protective armor. The ceremony done, Wir-obech proceeded to put on the armor. It was unlike anything any Tablelander would have recognized. It appeared to be the black, scalely hide of some animal, but it fit Wir-obech’s body incredible well, as if it were a well tailored suit of clothing. Once he was fully dressed, including a helmet of the same strange material, Wir-obech moved to the next item. Again he knelt and performed the ritual of awakening. A small smile appeared on his face, as Wir-obech stroked a small spear that rested on the shelf. The spear, not made of wood, bone, or any recognizable material, seemed to move ever so slightly in response to his touch. Taking the “spear” from the ledge, Wir-obech hung it from a small hook on his armor at his left hip. He stood and walked to the next shelf, knelt, and began the ritual again. As his arms reach out they paused for a second then spread apart with his palms faced down over a blade. The blade looked similar to a single-edged sword blade. The sharp edge curved outwards slightly, while the other edge was straight and dull. Unusually however, the blade had no hilt or handle. In place of a hilt were a number of loose straps. Wir-obech raised the sword using his left hand and placed the sword straps against his right arm. Instantly, the straps came alive and wrapped themselves around Wir-obech’s arm securing the sword in place. The last item he needed was on an upper shelf. This time he bowed before it, and performed the ritual again. Reaching up with both hands he took a staff from the shelf. The staff was four feet long and ended with a spiked ball on both ends. It too was made from some unknown material. Now fully armed and armored, Wir-obech sat in the center of the cave, with his legs crossed and placed his warstaff across his lap. Closing his eyes, Wir-obech slowed his breathing down. Slowly blocking out the rest of the work, he concentrated only on his breath. A deep inhale was followed by a long slow exhale. And again. And again. Entering his trance, Wir-obech tried to become one with his weapons. Suddenly, Wir-obech’s eyes flew open. He felt another presence warning him. The enemy had come! They had entered the forest he was sworn to protect. It was time to face them. Quickly, he was on his feet and out of the cave entrance and traveling down. **** Wir-obech was in place now. Hidden within the large palms of a fern, he waited in ambush. Thick vegetation surrounded him as far as the eye could see. Of course one could not see very far because an obscuring mist filled the air most days. Wir-obech could just make out objects 60 yards away. The thick jungle hung down the side of the steep slope of a cliff that stretched up into the sky and down in the darkness below. Above was the small city where Wir-obech had grown up. He had lived there until he felt the calling of the nature spirit to him. He had traveled down to this thick hanging jungle and met the elder druid who tended to it. After years of apprenticeship he was initiated as a druid. All the while he had continued the martial training he had received as part of his town’s militia on his own. Now, Wir-obech felt he had found his life’s purpose. The elder druid had moved on, to another place that needed him, and this jungle was Wir-obech’s responsibility. And now he waited for Them to appear. They came from down below. Wir-obech had never been to where the enemy lives, but he had faced them a number of times before. Ven-pahrs, they were called. Evil is how Wir-obech knew them. They worked destructive powers called “magic” that drained the life from the land leaving behind only ashes. The nature spirits cried out for protection from these evil creatures and Wir-obech was there to answer their call. Wir-obech heard them before he could see them. The plants rustled with their passage. Then he could see them. Two of the creatures came into view. They were taller than Wir-obech, about seven feet tall, but incredibly skinny. It appeared their skin covered only bones, with little muscle or flesh beneath. The ven-pahrs were spread apart. One would approach near Wir-obech’s hiding place, while the other maintained a distance of about 30 feet. ‘They are covering each other,’ thought Wir-obech, ‘So I cannot act against them both at the same time.’ Wir-obech quickly devised a strategy. Holding the warstaff with one hand, the halfling began chanting softly, “Sum, ohm, mala sum. Sum, ohm, mala sum. Sum, ohm, mala sum.” The chant helped him contact the nature spirits so that he could ask for their help. As he finished, Wir-obech gestured with his free hand. Suddenly the vegetation around the far ven-pahr lashed out at it. Branches reached out to hold it, vines wrapped around it tying it in place. The ven-pahr cursed in surprise. The trapped one struggled to free itself but was held tight. The nearest one was only a dozen steps away from Wir-obech with its back towards him as it started to go to help its comrade. Barely rustling the leaves of the fern, Wir-obech charged forward. Swinging the warstaff horizontally at head level, he caught the ven-pahr directly in the chest as it turned in surprise. The blow knocked the creature off its feet and the warstaff’s spiked head left a huge bleeding hole in the creature’s chest. Despite the horrible wound, the creature, lying on its back on the ground, began to murmur in a strange archaic language as it gestured its arms in the air. The creature was drawing energy from the land to use its magic! Before it was too late Wir-obech rushed over to the fallen monster with warstaff raised above his head. The warstaff crushed the ven-pahr’s head open before it could finish its spell. But the arcane words did not stop. Spinning around, Wir-obech looked towards the trapped creature. Another ven-pahr had appeared. Apparently trailing behind the other two, Wir-obech had not seen it until now. As he watched it finished its casting. The plants that held the trapped ven-pahr disintegrated into ash. As it did so, two arrow-shaped bursts of energy flew from the ven-pahr’s outstretched hand towards Wir-obech. Twisting Wir-obech tried to hurl himself out of the way, but the bolts both struck him. The pain was intense but did not incapacitate him. Quickly he was on his feet and moving towards the two ven-pahrs. They were both below him on the slope, so Wir-obech let himself fall towards them. He collided into the one that had cast its spell at him sending both of them down into the thick underbrush. The two enemies rolled on the sloped ground through the heavy underbrush. They were too close together for the warstaff, so Wir-obech stabbed with his armblade, while the ven-pahr scraped with his claws. The sword missed, and Wir-obech’s helmet protected him from the ven-pahr’s claws. Their downward roll began to come to a halt. Wir-obech ended up on top, and struck down again with his sword. This blow cut a large gash down the creature’s arm. The next punctured its chest. The third sliced through the creature’s neck ending its struggles. All the while, Wir-obech’s armor protected him from any damage. ‘There is still one more’ thought Wir-obech as he rolled off the dead ven-pahr and looked up slope. The last one was moving down the slope towards him, trying to follow the wild ride down the slope the halfling and ven-pahr had taken. Wir-obech tried to hide in the underbrush, but was too late as the ven-pahr arrived. Quickly it called on its magic and a small part of the jungle died around it. A beam of orange light flung towards the halfling. This time, Wir-obech dodged aside and charged the creature. Wir-obech swung the warstaff diagonally in a low attack. But the creature had a quarterstaff of its own and blocked the attack. It swung the other end of its staff towards Wir-obech’s head. The halfling was able to meet the attack with his warstaff. The two opponents stood facing each other, weapons locked together. Wir-obech tried to push his opponent backwards. Despite his small size he was strong for his race, usually much stronger than the skinny ven-pahrs. But this one seemed unnaturally strong. It pushed back and was winning. Quickly, Wir-obech changed tactics. He pivoted on his right foot. The sudden movement left the ven-pahr off balance. As it fell forward, Wir-obech pushed with his staff keeping the creature away from him and sending it tumbling to his left. As it fell, Wir-obech brought the lower end of the warstaff up striking the creature’s leg. Now the enemy was down. Wir-obech started to move towards it to finish it off. He only managed one step before he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. His heart froze for a second then he spun around. The next few seconds were all a blur. Wir-obech spun around to see a tall ven-pahr standing over him. Some of the vegetation around them turned to ash. The ven-pahr chanted a short arcane phrase, and Wir-obech was suddenly blinded by light. He had the sensation of falling. As if he had fallen off the cliff and would plummet to the bottom. The sensation lasted only seconds. When it ended, Wir-obech realized he was lying on the ground, staring up at a sky free from the gray mist. He sat up and glanced around to see what happened, and his breath stopped short. Gone were the green plants, gray mist, and tall cliff of his home. Instead he was surrounded by empty rock. As far as he could see were rocky barrens, flat and featureless. Wir-obech had lived his entire life within the dark confines of the mist, while clinging to the cliffs of his home. His mind could not grasp the endless horizontal expanse in front of him. His mouth forwarded words but no sound came out. His mind shut down and he fainted.