W
Whoodoo_RD
Guest
The flames twitched like a dying corpse as they melted into the hearth, sending their last gasp of smoke and steam high into the cold, wet air. I watched the last embers fade to grey as they lost the last of their fiery heart beat. I yearned for its remaining warmth as I sat shivering gently on the branch of the tree that had so well concealed me.
For hours I watched the camp, high in the glacial hills of Yggdra. Sparsely decorated in pelts, I had concluded that perhaps three or four people had been settled here for at least one night. Small piles of bones littered the site, the circle of rocks in the centre radiating heat out towards the makeshift beds and fresh meat hanging from wooden spikes gave away their intention to stay.
When I had stumbled upon the camp while hunting Oracles, the faint smell of sulphur gave away their identification. Only before in Pennine Mountains had I smelt this awful stench. Fire Wizards they called them. Avalonian’s with the magic of brimstone. They had used it to start their fire, and in doing so warned beasts and man alike for miles of their presence.
I closed my eyes, resting them from the blinding snow. Perched high I felt quite safe to take a quick nap, restoring my energy. My legs hooked firmly on the pine branches, my cloak covering my image to foreigners. I had made sure the spot I had chosen was one upwind, as who knew what pets they brought with them that might sample my scent from this short a distance. For a while, I slumbered lightly.
Nearing dark, I was stirred by movement below me. Soft and precise. My hand eased gently toward my faithful dagger, fingers reaching around its ornate handle for comfort. Looking down below me, I could see the branches moving, as if an invisible force was pushing them to one side. The longer and harder I stared down, the movement below made more sense; another stealthier like me was climbing my perch.
My breath became shallow, more refined, I could smell him, yet a scent so familiar, and one only found in my own realm, the unmistakable aroma of Silksteel from the Arachite. Though this did by no means mean this was my kin approaching, it did offer a chance. I watched motionless as the branches parted more, getting higher toward me.
Then he looked up from his cloak, exposing his face. It was indeed one of my brethren. Ulnorf a young and rather courageous Kobold, had taken my idea of the camp. I thought quickly, I could not give away my position to him and risk exposing myself to any I had not seen. But would he know my call, that was the burning question.
I began to make a sound my father had taught me, a bird that dwelled only in Ruamarik. He had told me that its famous call was known to all Midgardian’s, and was often used as a signal to others in battle. At first I felt quite foolish making the sound, I had never perfected it, but it would have to suffice.
He stopped his accent and recovered his face, vanishing from my view. For a few moments there was an eerie silence.
“Cardij, that be you?” he whispered gently. I winced as he spoke, imagining that we might not be the only ones in hearing range.
“Aye, t’is me, up you come”.
With that he continued to climb, again I watched his faint outline filter through the branches toward me.
“I was told you’d be here, I saw the camp too, what have you seen?”
“Nothing, the camps been empty for a few hours now, but it looks like they wish to return”.
“My Sister, Cinestine is missing, she came here this morn to find ingredients, and no one has seen her since.”
“I have heard nothing Ulnorf, nor seen another soul for hours, who else is with you?”
The steam from our breath rose slowly over our faces as we whispered, so slowly it seemed near frozen in the air itself.
“Your father is coming, he’s gathering others too. He said the guard this morning spotted enemies abound, hunting near the camp of the undead. I know my sister was searching there this morn.”
His face uncovered once again looked full of fear and desperation. His yellow eyes lacked the normal hearty warmth Kobolds had. A small tear welled in the corner of one eye, but that could have just been the cold.
I raised my head to the sounds coming fro the south. The deep crunching of crisp fresh snow under foot awoke me keen ear. We listened for a few moments as it grew closer, and more frequent.
“Three, perhaps four I hear master Cardij, and what do you think?”
“Yes, I hear it too; they are dragging something in the snow. This is not our kin, they would cover their tracks, yet these do not.”
The next couple of minutes seemed like an eternity. Our view south was blocked heavily by trees, in fact it was the only direction that was. The suspense was tremendous; I could hear Ulnorf’s hands gripping tighter onto his bow, the leather of his armour creaking under his heavy breathing. Together we reached toward our quivers, right hand over left shoulder, drawing out slowly our hand crafted arrows by their fletchings. I took up my bow, and we both notched the missiles into the strings. And we waited.
The group stopped just short of our view. We could hear murmurings in the distance, sure enough not a language of Midgard. I clenched my fist around the heart of my bow, my knuckles cracking gently as I did.
One of the foreigners slowly came into view, his short stature made me feel less threatened. His skin was darker than most men I knew, even those who spent their days basking in the sun lit hills of Uppland. Despite his appearance, the sword he wielded made easy work of the branches he hacked at on a tree, obviously swathing wood to stoke his fire upon.
He gathered up an armful of branches, sheathed his sword and made a beckoning motion to the party behind him. Then he started toward us, or rather towards his camp below.
Two more came behind him; the first to my surprise was a tall and rather elegant woman. She was young yet her hair glistened grey, almost white in the evening sun. Her walk was very graceful, almost hovering above the snow as she strolled along with her compatriots. The second was a man, bearing two rather deadly looking swords on his back, much the same as our Shadowblades did, yet a crossbow hung from his belt, and bolts decorated a bandolier slung across his shoulder. But behind him he was dragging a large cloth sack.
“Hold your guard” I whispered softly. The sack was my interest, too large to be a trophy, yet he dragged it carefully as he went, not the action of a man carrying his kill.
The three gathered around the fire, the first put his freshly cut wood into the hearth and tried to stir new life from the now dead embers, with little success. The lady put her hand upon his shoulder, beckoning him to one side. She then clasped her hands together and began to rub them back and forth, then pulled them apart, a large spark shot from her palms into the kindling before her, setting it alight instantly.
The two sat in front of the fire on pelts, the second man pulled the sack in front of them. He untied the knotted rope from the top, and against my hopes, uncovered a small body, it was that of Cinestine. I quickly clamped my hand over Ulnorf’s mouth, just in time too.
“Three will defeat us easily, we must plan this carefully, hit them wrong, and we too will suffer! Take up your bow my friend, you take the pale man, I will take the woman as she poses more threat to us.”
We both adjusted our footings, carefully positioning ourselves for a fast escape should this go wrong. Together we drew our bows, taking our time over our aim. “When I fire, you fire, then we have only one left.”
Down below, our unwitting victims pointed and laughed at their unconscious captor. Was she still alive?
For hours I watched the camp, high in the glacial hills of Yggdra. Sparsely decorated in pelts, I had concluded that perhaps three or four people had been settled here for at least one night. Small piles of bones littered the site, the circle of rocks in the centre radiating heat out towards the makeshift beds and fresh meat hanging from wooden spikes gave away their intention to stay.
When I had stumbled upon the camp while hunting Oracles, the faint smell of sulphur gave away their identification. Only before in Pennine Mountains had I smelt this awful stench. Fire Wizards they called them. Avalonian’s with the magic of brimstone. They had used it to start their fire, and in doing so warned beasts and man alike for miles of their presence.
I closed my eyes, resting them from the blinding snow. Perched high I felt quite safe to take a quick nap, restoring my energy. My legs hooked firmly on the pine branches, my cloak covering my image to foreigners. I had made sure the spot I had chosen was one upwind, as who knew what pets they brought with them that might sample my scent from this short a distance. For a while, I slumbered lightly.
Nearing dark, I was stirred by movement below me. Soft and precise. My hand eased gently toward my faithful dagger, fingers reaching around its ornate handle for comfort. Looking down below me, I could see the branches moving, as if an invisible force was pushing them to one side. The longer and harder I stared down, the movement below made more sense; another stealthier like me was climbing my perch.
My breath became shallow, more refined, I could smell him, yet a scent so familiar, and one only found in my own realm, the unmistakable aroma of Silksteel from the Arachite. Though this did by no means mean this was my kin approaching, it did offer a chance. I watched motionless as the branches parted more, getting higher toward me.
Then he looked up from his cloak, exposing his face. It was indeed one of my brethren. Ulnorf a young and rather courageous Kobold, had taken my idea of the camp. I thought quickly, I could not give away my position to him and risk exposing myself to any I had not seen. But would he know my call, that was the burning question.
I began to make a sound my father had taught me, a bird that dwelled only in Ruamarik. He had told me that its famous call was known to all Midgardian’s, and was often used as a signal to others in battle. At first I felt quite foolish making the sound, I had never perfected it, but it would have to suffice.
He stopped his accent and recovered his face, vanishing from my view. For a few moments there was an eerie silence.
“Cardij, that be you?” he whispered gently. I winced as he spoke, imagining that we might not be the only ones in hearing range.
“Aye, t’is me, up you come”.
With that he continued to climb, again I watched his faint outline filter through the branches toward me.
“I was told you’d be here, I saw the camp too, what have you seen?”
“Nothing, the camps been empty for a few hours now, but it looks like they wish to return”.
“My Sister, Cinestine is missing, she came here this morn to find ingredients, and no one has seen her since.”
“I have heard nothing Ulnorf, nor seen another soul for hours, who else is with you?”
The steam from our breath rose slowly over our faces as we whispered, so slowly it seemed near frozen in the air itself.
“Your father is coming, he’s gathering others too. He said the guard this morning spotted enemies abound, hunting near the camp of the undead. I know my sister was searching there this morn.”
His face uncovered once again looked full of fear and desperation. His yellow eyes lacked the normal hearty warmth Kobolds had. A small tear welled in the corner of one eye, but that could have just been the cold.
I raised my head to the sounds coming fro the south. The deep crunching of crisp fresh snow under foot awoke me keen ear. We listened for a few moments as it grew closer, and more frequent.
“Three, perhaps four I hear master Cardij, and what do you think?”
“Yes, I hear it too; they are dragging something in the snow. This is not our kin, they would cover their tracks, yet these do not.”
The next couple of minutes seemed like an eternity. Our view south was blocked heavily by trees, in fact it was the only direction that was. The suspense was tremendous; I could hear Ulnorf’s hands gripping tighter onto his bow, the leather of his armour creaking under his heavy breathing. Together we reached toward our quivers, right hand over left shoulder, drawing out slowly our hand crafted arrows by their fletchings. I took up my bow, and we both notched the missiles into the strings. And we waited.
The group stopped just short of our view. We could hear murmurings in the distance, sure enough not a language of Midgard. I clenched my fist around the heart of my bow, my knuckles cracking gently as I did.
One of the foreigners slowly came into view, his short stature made me feel less threatened. His skin was darker than most men I knew, even those who spent their days basking in the sun lit hills of Uppland. Despite his appearance, the sword he wielded made easy work of the branches he hacked at on a tree, obviously swathing wood to stoke his fire upon.
He gathered up an armful of branches, sheathed his sword and made a beckoning motion to the party behind him. Then he started toward us, or rather towards his camp below.
Two more came behind him; the first to my surprise was a tall and rather elegant woman. She was young yet her hair glistened grey, almost white in the evening sun. Her walk was very graceful, almost hovering above the snow as she strolled along with her compatriots. The second was a man, bearing two rather deadly looking swords on his back, much the same as our Shadowblades did, yet a crossbow hung from his belt, and bolts decorated a bandolier slung across his shoulder. But behind him he was dragging a large cloth sack.
“Hold your guard” I whispered softly. The sack was my interest, too large to be a trophy, yet he dragged it carefully as he went, not the action of a man carrying his kill.
The three gathered around the fire, the first put his freshly cut wood into the hearth and tried to stir new life from the now dead embers, with little success. The lady put her hand upon his shoulder, beckoning him to one side. She then clasped her hands together and began to rub them back and forth, then pulled them apart, a large spark shot from her palms into the kindling before her, setting it alight instantly.
The two sat in front of the fire on pelts, the second man pulled the sack in front of them. He untied the knotted rope from the top, and against my hopes, uncovered a small body, it was that of Cinestine. I quickly clamped my hand over Ulnorf’s mouth, just in time too.
“Three will defeat us easily, we must plan this carefully, hit them wrong, and we too will suffer! Take up your bow my friend, you take the pale man, I will take the woman as she poses more threat to us.”
We both adjusted our footings, carefully positioning ourselves for a fast escape should this go wrong. Together we drew our bows, taking our time over our aim. “When I fire, you fire, then we have only one left.”
Down below, our unwitting victims pointed and laughed at their unconscious captor. Was she still alive?
