Where is the thread for stories?

[Rieve]

Here is an old story from my archive...

The story is true, only the needle should be replaced to preserve the record. (no one is old enough to get that one...)

Bertoxx server, if you know any of these people be sure to tell them Rieve thinks highly of them.
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There is always a chance…
The Ridgerunner can appear anywhere along the path, and we can’t stray from it.

Our ambush was almost perfect, almost.

After a couple of free rides to bind points for Anana and Anthalia, we were busy buffing up, getting the groundwork set for the Ridgerunners demise. Problem is, he had other plans. He sniffed us out. There was one thing he didn’t count on when he spawned in the midst of us. We were out of mana, two members were still recovering from rez sickness, but the thing he missed, we were one hell of a team.

Anana is new to me, a guild mate and I can say now a very good Mage. Calm in the face of certain doom, sure in her team mates, eager to the futile fight.

Devils; an old friend. A monk of cunning and skill, scale and claw to the fight for friends, fearing nothing except the pain of another.

Bonecold; a necromancer of utmost skill. Evil or not, I have found a trustworthy friend who has always been generous to me and any of my friends.

Mistyree; a druid, a kind lady, and a beautiful spirit. Right there to help, always one step ahead of the fight, and fun all the way.

Anthalia my love and hunting partner. Quick to snare, always willing to do anything for a friend, deadly in a corner.

Well, we had a corner. The Ridgerunner spawned right in our midst. Anthalia and Anana were newly rezzed and just buffed. Mistyree and I were very low on mana from having just buffed. Bone was recovering from having rezzed to people.

I don’t know how many people hit root at the same time, but we scattered after that with the Ridgerunner striking at our heals. With a few spot heals and time to memorize more offensive spells we were ready all except for being nearly mana free. Devils had tried his hand against the Ridgerunners kin. Without much fast healing and some crippling and slow magic on them, they hurt bad. So he was patient and hardened his fists on the broken pillar near by. Anana prepared… drawing the roots of her mana to summon an element of earth to aid us. Mistyree scraped the for the mana to heal. I did what I could to enrage the Ridgerunner, casting what I had to get his attention, focus his rage. Bone waited with a gleam in his eye. A pile of bones with the skull glaring at the Ridgerunner, new its fate. Anthalia plied her trade, sneaking vines about the Ridgerunners ankles, slowing his run to a crawl. Caressing her bow, waiting for the right moment. Calling on the power of Tunare to stop our menace when it broke free of my roots.


We earned time to meditate. The Ridgerunner threw his best at us. Poison flew, he cursed us, breaking our roots and chasing us laying claws to us when he could. Mistyree cured us, we healed as we needed to, and we waited. Finally, with hopefully enough mana to get the job done, we unleashed hell. The powers of earth pounded, whistling fists flew, a bow sung, poison plague and curses wracked the Ridgerunner. He was a powerful foe. Was.

The ambush was his that time. He had the upper hand. He played every card he had, but we had the trump card. We played ‘teamwork’.

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P.S. I was all of level 67 or so and was tanking RR Droognar(sp) (the one by Tarlang) for this group wit druid healing... =)

[Macnair]

[gurgul]

Here is a story I am writing right now. It is not taken from in-game events it is just simple fan fiction. It is not finished but it is a good start. I am a hack of a writer but here it is:

Oh, btw, I was unable to indent for some reason. Very sorry.



Travelers

To a traveler, the commonlands might not appear out of the ordinary. From the rolling hills in the west it flattens into sparsely wooded flatlands in the east. Its human inhabitants are fairly normal in appearance and normal in their occupations and the wildlife is not exceptional. Indeed to the average traveler nothing about the commonlands would appear out of the ordinary but the commonlands rarely sees an average traveler.
It happens that the commonlands is situated in the midst of four of the most inhospitable environments on Antonica. To the south lies the desert of Ro. Vast, waterless and inhabited only by madmen, the desert of Ro is rarely traveled. Anyone foolish enough to start the journey, and hardy enough to finish it, would find themselves staring at the impenetrable, poisonous Innothule swamp which lies to the south. To the west of the commonlands lies the Kithicor Forest. A traveler setting out across the Kithicor Forest would undoubtedly be impressed by its ancient trees, rolling hills and deep clear rivers. It is a beautiful sun-dappled forest by day but, of course, night follows day and at night, the Kithicor changes. Scattered amongst the trees a day’s ride into the forest a traveler would find many camps with tents still set. Camps with firewood still piled neatly beside cold fire pits and bedrolls still spread. Empty camps, the owners vanished without a trace. Some say the wood is haunted, others say that the trees themselves are wicked. No one knows for certain and the Kithicor does not give up her secrets.
To the east of the commonlands is the festering boil of a human city known as Freeport. A thriving port city, it grew as fast as the greed of men could feed it. It is Norrath’s single largest collection of crooked merchants, smugglers, slave traders and cut throats and there is no law to balance this corruption. The Freeport Militia is little more than a crime family for hire by the highest bidder. To arrive in Freeport a traveler would first have to cross the ocean of tears from Faydwer or cross the Timorous Deep from Kunark. Few honest men make this journey and any honest man who did brave the perils of the sea to arrive in Freeport would be very lucky to exit into the commonlands with his life much less his belongings.
As inhospitable as the environs to the east, south and west of the commonlands may be, they are absolutely cheerful when compared to what lies to the north. In that direction lies an evil that stretches back to a time when the world was new. An evil that even the most ancient of the Koada Dal elders speak of in hushed tones. To the north lies Neriak. To the north lie the Tier Dal.
And so the commonlands residents see few average travelers, few travelers of any sort actually and perhaps none as odd as the travelers that appeared one autumn morning on the edge of the Kithicor. A young Fier Dal led them. Dressed in greenish brown leather and a fine chain tunic that reflected the colors of the foliage around him, he carried an intricately carved bow. A shoulder strap held a quiver of 4 arrows on his back and at his hips were two scabbards containing ornately hilted swords. He walked quickly east across the open farmlands.
Behind him rode as odd a pair as could be imagined. The first was obviously a warrior from the north. He was large even by the standards of the northmen and his armor appeared to have been hammered out of thick steel plates. He rode a massive gray war horse and from the saddle hung a horned steel helmet and an improbably large two handed sword. Beside him rode a tall, lean, dark skinned man dressed in opulent red silk robes. His horse was brilliant white with crystal blue eyes. Both the robed man and his mount were immaculate in spite of the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. They rode in silence, the Northman peering around him as though he expected trouble at any moment.
Some way behind the two horsemen walked another Fier Dal, a female. She was dressed much like the Fier Dal who led the group and walked just as quickly and quietly eastward.
As they moved east the commonlands became increasingly more populated, the farms less widely spaced. The farmers they passed pretended not to notice them until they had passed and then overcome by curiosity at so strange a group they would finally look up and invariably find one of the elves staring back.
“why do you always peer around like that?” The dark skinned man finally spoke in a flat unemotional tone.
“It is my nature.” Replied the Northman.
“The way ahead and the way behind is watched by our Fier Dal companions. What do you hope to see that the eyes of elves have missed?” said the dark skinned man in the same emotionless voice.
The Northman said no more but continued to survey their surroundings as before.
Midday found them approaching a crossroads. What appeared to be either a large house or a small inn sat on the near side of the cross roads, along with a stable and on the far side was a small building with a very large chimney and another smaller house. The lead Fier Dal circled wide around the cross roads while the two riders headed straight toward the largest house. The trailing Fier Dal knelt beside a young elm tree and watched them go. When next the northman glanced in her direction she was gone. As they rode closer it became obvious that the large building was indeed an Inn. They rode around to the front of the inn and dismounted. As they were tethering their horses to the hitching post located there, the door of the inn squeaked open a few inches and stopped. Someone was peeking out and was apparently undecided on whether to open the door or to bar it until they went away. The dark skinned man finished with his tether first and stood staring into the distance, apparently uninterested in his surroundings. When the northman finished he turned and removed the two handed sword from his saddle. The door suddenly slammed shut and the scraping sound of a wooden bar being slid into place could be heard.
The northman turned when he heard the door slam, then looked down at the scabbarded sword he held in his left hand and let out a long sigh. With his right hand he reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a golden coin.
He walked to a small window to the left of the door and tapped the coin against the glass. “Look here, sir. My gold. I come to spend my gold not to take yours!”
“Why the monstrous big weapon then sir?” Came the clearly suspicious reply from the inn.
“Well, I can not leave my weapon on my horse while I sit inside. Someone might steal it” Said the northman.
“Someone might steal your horse too for that matter but I ain’t lettin’ ya bring that inside neither.” Said the voice.
“There are horse-thieves hereabout?” Asked the northman.
“There’s every type of thief hereabout.” Said the voice. “And every other type criminal as well. Including them what robs innkeepers.”
“How do you make a living if you won’t let people into your inn?” Asked the northman, losing patience.
“I sell ale to farmers. Farmers that I have known. Not great skulking, heavily armed highwaymen and the robed fops what rides with’em.” Said the voice.
The northman heard a somewhat unnatural sounding chuckle from behind him but when he turned, he saw only the dark skinned man still staring off into the distance with a seemingly complete lack of interest. “Well, it appears that we’ll be sleeping under the stars again tonight.” He said.
Again they rode east and as the afternoon wore on the northman turned to look back at the crossroads and there following behind them again was the Fier Dal female. She lifted her bow in greeting and he nodded in return. The sun sank lower and lower behind them and their shadows grew longer and longer until finally they touched the feet of the Fier Dal leading them. At that instant he turned and stopped. He waited until they were a stone’s throw away and then pointed to a small grove of aspen trees to the south east. They rode toward the grove with the Fier Dal jogging ahead. He disappeared into the trees and by the time they entered the grove he was no where to be seen.
They dismounted and the northman began clearing a space for a fire. He laid his bedroll on one side and turned to look for some wood and there, before him, were both the Fier Dal. The male had an armload of dry sticks and set them near the place the northman had cleared. The female stood in front of him with an arm full of shrubs and berries. She was short, light, athletically built with thick brown hair and green almond eyes.
“These will nourish your horse.” She said, handing him what she held in her hands. “Please, do no harm here.”
The male Fier Dal appeared beside her and said. “We will tend the fire while you sleep.” With that they both walked back into the wood.

They woke early the next day. The male Fier Dal was with them while they readied their horses. “On the road ahead there may be trouble.” Said the Fier Dal.
“What trouble?” Asked the dark skinned man.
“ There is a creature here that should not be.”
“What creature?” The northman was unstrapping the sword from his saddle and slinging it across his back.
“Silka believes it is a creature of the southern swamp. I myself, did not see the signs of its passing” Said the Fier Dal.
“It is a troll.” The female Fier Dal’s voice came from behind them.
They turned to see her walking into the camp. “It is a troll.” She said again.
“A troll?” Said the northman. “Here?”
“A troll.” Said the dark skinned man. “Well, that would be interesting indeed.”
“I thought all the trolls were dead or exiled to gunthak or something.” Said the northman.
“Not all the trolls.” Replied Silka.
They mounted and rode east for most of the day. Both Fier Dal roamed ahead now. At midday they turned and followed a road to the north. That night they made camp on a hill top in the center of a circle of tall stones. During the night the northman was awakened by a hand on his chest. The male Fier Dal was kneeling next to him and whispered in his ear “Riders come this way.”
The northman scrambled to his feet, sword in hand. Across the fire the dark skinned man was standing with his hands held out to his side. His eyes were closed and he mumbled strange words quietly to himself. The words were foreign but when the northman concentrated on them he seemed to hear the roaring winds of a storm or perhaps it was waves crashing on a rocky shore, or the roaring of a great blaze. It was hard to be sure. At the bottom of the hill horses could be heard and then odd voices. They seemed to stop to converse for a second and then head straight up the hill toward the camp. The Fier Dal disappeared as the horsemen approached. The riders came to the outermost edge of the sphere of light given off by their small fire and stopped. They were smallish with elaborately decorated armor. Their faces were hideous in the flickering light of the fire and then he recognized them. Guktans!
“Hello, the camp.” Shouted one of the guktans in heavily accented common tongue. There appeared to be 3 of them. Two were armored in some sort of odd platemail. The third wore mismatched leather and cloth.
“Hello.” Answered the northman, sheathing his sword and sliding his arm through the shoulder strap.
“I am Sir Gillirib of Gukta. With me is Sir Ribert and our squire. May I ask your name and your business here sir.” Said one of the Guktans in a tone that did not entirely please the northman.
“I am Tindoor, warrior of Halas, first sword of the broken river clan and my business is my own.” Said the Northman.
“Is that a fact then.” Said the Guktan in an offended tone. “And who is this man.” He said, pointing toward the dark skinned man.
“That,” said Tindoor “is Lord Bodack, Arch….…”
“You may call me Bodack, your lordship.” The darkskinned man cut Tindoor short before he could finish.
“You are a Lord of Erudin?” Asked the Guktan sounding very skeptical.
“No no, I am no Lord, Sir Knight. I am merely a researcher for the great library of Erudin. This large fellow was hired to defend me while I travel. He is overly protective and tends to exaggerate at times but he is dependable enough.
Tindoor glared fiercely at Bodack but said nothing.
“And what research would you be doing in the commonlands then?” Asked the guktan.
“We merely travel through on our way to Faydwer, sir. I do mostly hydrological research. Winds and tides. That sort of thing.” replied Bodack.
“The two of you traveled from Erudin then?”
“Indeed.”
“Through the Karanas?”
“just so.”
“And Kithicor?”
“It does lie between here and Erudin. A quite necessary part of the journey.”
The Guktan’s eyes narrowed as he considered this information. It did not make sense but how else could they have gotten here?
“The two of you traveled through Kithicor alone?” he asked again.
“Oh no, no not alone.” replied Bodack. “We have a couple of companions who traveled with us.”
“Four of you then?”
“Four, yes.” replied Bodack.
The guktan’s eyes narrowed again as he digested this new information. It could not be true. Four people traveling through Kithicor. They would have to be……
“And where are these other two companions now?” asked the Guktan.
Bodack looked around as though he was surprised at their absence and said “Why, they were here a moment ago. I am sure they are nearby.”
Just then a short distance to the north a clear piercing howl rang out and was immediately answered by another to the east.
“They never go far.” said Tindoor smiling.
All three Guktans exchanged uneasy glances. “Well, then,” said Sir Gillirib “if everything here is well, we will be on our way.”
“Safe travels.” Said Bodack.
Tindoor waved at their backs.

They broke camp the following morning and again followed the road north. Shortly after midday they spotted a small village in the distance ahead. As they approached they noticed a great deal of activity which seemed to consist primarily of the townspeople disappearing into their homes and then reappearing armed with weapons or large farm tools. They then ran off toward the north end of town. Bodack and Tindoor kicked their mounts into a trot and followed behind them. At the far end of the town they discovered the source of the commotion in an alley between a stable and what appeared to be a tool shed. There, blocking the entire alley, was what appeared to be a makeshift tent constructed of a huge filthy blanket, supported in the middle by a single pole. Protruding from the front of the blanket was the large, greenish, frightening head of an adult troll.
The troll peered out with his entirely black eyes, at the semi circle of crudely armed townsfolk that had formed in front of him. He seemed completely calm. The townsfolk on the other hand were highly agitated.
“Go or we will kill you!” Cried a townsman, sounding completely unsure of his ability to carry out the threat.
The troll turned his black eyes toward the man and spoke in a deep rumbling voice “Kill me? Why kill me? I harmed you?”
“You’re a troll! You can’t be here!” Shouted another man.
“Go or we’ll kill you.” Shouted another.
“Can’t go.” Said the troll “Injured. I don’t harm you. Injured, need rest. Why kill me? I harm no human.”
“You must go!” someone shouted.
“I don’t harm human people. Why kill me? Why go? Need rest here.” Said the troll.
Tindoor and Bodack, sat on their horses outside the semi circle of townsfolk watching the drama unfold. Silka and Tanson, the male Fier Dal, stood between them fingering their bows.
“An injured troll makes camp in the middle of a human village?.” Said Tindoor.
“That troll is not injured.” Tanson was clearly suspicious.
“A tent.” chuckled Bodack “Why a tent?
“This will end badly.” Said Silka.

Bodack turned at the sound of hoofbeats and saw the three Guktans riding up from the south. “Well,” he said with a knowing look, “that explains it.”
“He’s not here to harm humans.” Added Tindoor.
The troll caught sight of the Guktans as they rode up behind the townsfolk and in that instant everything changed. The dirty blanket seemed to disintegrate around him as he rose to his full height. What they had thought was a tent pole was in fact a spear, seven feet long with a shaft far to large for any human hand, it was tipped with an 18 inch spear head which glowed a sickly metallic green. The troll was covered from neck to foot in green chainmail with intricate runes worked among the links. The townsfolk had been brave enough to hurl threats at what appeared to be an injured and docile troll but this armed and armored creature was another story altogether. They scattered as the troll, spear in hand, stalked into the thoroughfare. The Guktans spurred their horses straight at the troll, who hurled the immense spear with all his strength directly into Sir Ribert’s chest. The spear head drove straight through the Guktan Breastplate carrying Sir Ribert, already dead, off his horse. The troll rolled to the ground as Sir Gillirib charged past, his sword finding empty air where the troll had been moments before. Sir Gillirib reigned in his horse, trying desperately to turn for another pass before the troll could retrieve his spear.
But the troll made no move to retrieve his spear, he stood with his eyes locked on Sir Gillirib, mumbling as the guktan fought to turn his horse. Then, just as the guktan was kicking the horse into another charge, a hideous beast, an ethereal blur of fangs and claws, struck the horse at a full sprint and locked terrible jaws on its throat, dragging both horse and rider to the ground. Sir Gillirib was pinned beneath his horse as it thrashed, his legs and pelvis smashed. The troll watched impassively for a moment then turned and walked to the corpse of Sir Ribert. He planted one chain-clad foot on the fallen guktan’s chest and yanked the spear free. As he turned back to Sir Gillirib the injured guktan closed his eyes and began to pray.
“Troll!” Tanson’s voice spun the troll around to face him. He and Silka stood side by side, bows fully drawn.
“Not your fight, Elf”sneered the troll.
“The fight is over!” replied Tanson. “What you do now will be murder.”
The troll shrugged “Murder then.” Behind him, the squire was helping Sir Gillirib extricate himself from beneath the dead horse and both were chanting a song of worship to Mithaniel Marr. Suddenly a beam of sunlight seemed to pass over the fallen guktan and in that instant he was again whole. He jumped to his feet and found his sword but not without the troll noticing. The troll whirled to meet him and they began to circle each other.
The scene was ludicrous. The guktan, 5 feet tall, with a sword barely two feet long circling with a troll, 2 feet taller, holding a spear that the guktan would not have been able to wield. It was clear that the troll was toying with his opponent. The Guktan dared not advance to within jabbing distance of the spear but could not bring himself to retreat. And so they circled, both with an expression of purest hate.
“We must stop this.” Tanson said to his companions.
“We must not involve ourselves” replied Bodack with no more emotion than ever.
“The troll did not attack first.” stated Tindoor. “Is it truly our fight?”
“What are you saying?” Cried Tanson. “It is a troll, and judging by the runes in his armor I would say a very dangerous troll. We can not let him wander the land of men. It is a troll!”
“We must kill it.” Silka’s voice was quiet but they all heard it.
“We must not involve ourselves” replied Bodack.
“I will not let this happen!” Tanson spun back toward the two adversaries and raising his bow screamed “Stop it now troll or I will take your eyes!”.
The troll hesitated for a moment, stopped circling and looked toward Tanson. “ Elf,” he snarled “Not your fight!.”
The troll stared at Tanson, weighing his chances. The Fier Dal would shoot true, that was certain and there were two of them, and two others, a northman and a robed one. Four to one was not good but he was Heyokah. From the corner of his eye he saw the spirit beast that had killed the guktan horse move quietly behind the elves. The robed one troubled him though. Finally he lowered his spear and continued, “So frog will not die today but die soon. And you elf, I remember you too.”
“And I shall remember you as well, troll..” Tanson replied coldly, while lowering his bow.
Sir Gillirib breathed a great sigh of relief and in the blink of an eye, before the guktan could inhale his next breath, the troll took a tremendous stride forward, drove the spear tip through his throat and charged off down the alley. Tanson’s bow was up in an instant but as he was drawing the string he felt his shoulder suddenly clamped in a crushing vice. A snarling rending vice. Tindoor saw the beast sinking its fangs into Tanson’s shoulder and threw himself on it. With a tremendous heave he was able to wrench it free and hurl it to the far side of the thoroughfare. The beast rolled to its feet and charged toward Tindoor who now stood with his feet braced and his sword in the high guard position. In the brief moment that it took the beast to reach the center of the road it was pierced by arrows in the throat and ribcage and just as a third arrow pierced its right eye a bolt of flame struck it squarely in the chest destroying it completely.
Silka ran to where Tanson knelt on the ground, while Tindoor raced down the alley in pursuit of the troll. In a few minutes Tindoor returned “Gone without a trace.” he said.
“He managed to severe Gillirib’s spine before he left.” Said Tanson, standing up.
“And how are you?” asked Tindoor.
“Bruised,” replied Tanson “but elven chain does not pierce easily.”
“A worthy foe.” Said Tindoor.
“Or something.” Bodack seemed thoughtful.
“That spear would be a fine trophy.” Tindoor said wistfully.





Troll

Gurgul ran straight west. His enormous bulk drove his armored feet deep into the ground as he ran, leaving a clear trail behind him. The spirits he had called while escaping down the alley swirled around him at impossible speed, writhing and spiraling in all directions. This undulating veil of spirits which surrounded him rendered him completely invisible to even elven eyes. His trail, on the other hand, would be easy to follow. Even the northman would be able to follow that trail. The elves would be able to follow it at night in a rainstorm. He was counting on it.
He ran till the sun was touching the tops of the hills of the western commonlands and there before him was a small river and a short distance beyond it another small human village. He waded waist deep into the river and stopped. Leaning down, he drank deeply, gorging himself on gallons of water. he then stood for a few moments letting the cool water soothe his tired limbs. He ran his fingers over one of the many runes embedded in his chainmail and opened his mind to the spirit world and the power of his ancestors. He felt his feet leave the sandy bottom of the stream and continue to rise until he was levitating several feet above the surface. He now turned to the north east and again he ran but this time there would be no trail.. He ran all night to the north and east and as the sun began to rise he saw the huge ridge that ran along the northern edge of the commonlands. The ridge was the northern limit of the commonlands, and though it was wooded and green there would be no humans there. No human ever approached the ridge since it acted as the border between the lands of men, and the Nektulos Forest. The Nektulos belonged to the Tier Dal.
Gurgul reached the ridge and began the ascent. It was steep but not too steep to walk. The trees and underbrush were thick and it was gettting dark. Finally he found the small spur of rock he was searching for and wedged himself between it and the side of the ridge. He had been running for hours with no food and only the water he had drank from the stream. He was exhausted. He lay back and once again he opened his mind to the spirits and as he closed his eyes to rest the spirit beast that had aided him against the guktans was again with him. It paced silently along the ridge above him, guarding him as he slept.



Pursuit

Tanson stood and retrieved his bow from the ground where it had fallen when the beast attacked him. “We need to hurry if we are going to catch that troll. They can run for days and he already has a good start on us.”
“Lead the way.” Replied Tindoor, he had strapped the sword across his back again and was mounting his horse.
“My path lies to the north east.” Said Bodack. “I can not be diverted to chase trolls that have done me no harm.”
“He is a murderer!” Tanson seemed confused by the fact that anyone would not see the urgency of his plan.
“The trolls and the guktans are at war.” Bodack’s voice was impassive. “Killing your enemies in time of war is hardly murder. He killed his enemies and left. He harmed only those that had attacked him.”
“Harmed no one?” Tanson now seemed utterly shocked “What of his beast attaching itself to my shoulder? That was his doing and he certainly meant me harm!”
“Had the beast not beset you just then, I believe it is safe to say that the troll would now be wearing one of your arrows in its hide. Is that not so? Were you not about to loose an arrow in his direction?”
“Trolls are an evil, murderous race of beasts.” Silka broke in, “They have killed countless elves and I have little doubt that this troll has killed his share of elves in his time.”
“Tell me M’lady.” Replied Bodack with exaggerated courtesy “When these trolls killed the elves, did the killing take place in the Greater Faydark? Did the trolls invade your home? Or did those elves die while travelling the Innothule swamp? I have been to both places and I have never spotted a troll in the Faydark. I have on the other hand, encountered the occasional Fier Dal or even Koada Dal in the Innothule who openly admitted to be hunting trolls.”
“What are you implying,.” Tanson’s voice was suddenly low and cold.
“Only that the words evil and murderous have no place here. Evil is a matter of perspective and we have witnessed no murders.” Was Bodack’s calm reply.
“Let us follow the troll.” Said Tindoor in a placating tone. “ When we catch him, I will challenge him to single combat. A trial of arms. Let the gods decide if he is a murderer or not.”
“My path lies to the north and east.” Replied Bodack. Turning his horse and riding north.
“So be it then.” Said Tanson. He and Silka moved down the alley and picked up the Troll’s trail immediately. Tindoor sat for a few moments as though unsure which of his companions he should follow. In the end the idea of single combat with such an opponent and the glory of the victory to follow won him over and he spurred his mount in pursuit of the elves. As he left the town behind he saw them directly to the west, jogging quickly in the effortless way that elves have. He kicked his horse into a gallop and quickly closed the distance between them. As he got closer they turned and stopped. They greeted him with a nod, which he returned and then they all, again moved off at a trot. After an hour or more of this Tanson again stopped.
“What is it?” Asked Tindoor. “You can not have lost the trail. I can see it from my horse.”
“Yes, the trail is quite clear.” Replied Tanson.
“Yes, he has left a very obvious trail.” Said Silka.
“Entirely too obvious.” Said Tanson. “Leading to the west.”
“Ah, I see.” Said Tindoor sounding disappointed.
“We have no choice but to follow.” Silka continued “We do not know his intentions but we know that he passed this way and that he wanted us to follow him. We should be wary in case he has prepared any surprises for us.”
They again followed the trail west but this time they moved more slowly and the elves examined their surrounding more carefully. When night fell, they had to slow their pace even further so that Tindoor would be able to follow them in the moonless dark. They moved on at this snail’s pace for several hours after the sun had set until finally they reached a small river. They were able to ford the river but the trail did not resume on the other side.
“Well, “ said Tanson sounding frustrated “he may have followed the river in either direction.”
“Or he may have just begun hiding his trail.” replied Silka.
“So it is pure guesswork at this point.” Added Tindoor.
“There appears to be a village directly to the west.” Said Tanson. “They may be in danger.”
“He does not appear to be intent upon harming humans though” replied Tindoor.
“That can not be trusted.” Silka’s voice was filled with contempt. “Had we not been there earlier he may have murdered everyone in that village. We can not risk it.”
They again moved west and spent the remainder of the night searching the area around the village for signs of the troll’s passing. They found none.


Elementalist


Bodack rode north until he left the village behind him and then turned and rode more easterly. The horse ran easily, its crystal blue eyes never wandering from the path ahead, its snowy white flanks never heaving with exertion. It was unnaturally tireless and it ate the miles at an unnatural pace. It made the common folk nervous to see the brilliant white steed speeding by with its crimson clad passenger. The silken robes which streamed out behind him as he rode were a greater display of wealth than most had ever seen and what the horse must have cost was unimaginable to them. Most troubling of all was that he headed north east with such urgency. What calamity had occurred or possibly what calamity did he intend to unleash? To the north east. On the very doorstep of the Tier Dal.
It was late afternoon when Bodack arrived at the foot of the tall green northern ridge of the commonlands. Turning east, he followed the foot of the ridge till the sun began to set. He spent the night reclining against the smooth trunk of a large elm, eating dried fruit from his saddle bags and dozing peacefully as though he were in a park in Erudin.
Sunrise found him standing calmly beneath that same tree. His horse was no where to be seen but Bodack did not seem the slightest bit concerned by that. He stood staring to the east, apparently mesmerized by the sunrise. He closed his eyes and began to murmur a litany of unintelligible words. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face and it relaxed him. He felt the firm earth beneath his feet and the slight breeze ruffling his robes. In the distance he heard the sounds of a stream as it tumbled down the side of the steep ridge. He opened his mind to the sensations around him. He was aware of the earth beneath his feet stretching in all directions, reaching down deep into the core of norrath. The warmth on his face, stretching back to the fiery core of the sun. The wind that caressed his skin and clothing, part of the huge currents that streamed over the surface of Norrath, roaring through mountain passes, swirling over the great oceans. And those great oceans, fed by the stream he heard in the distance and countless streams like it.
His mind left norrath behind and entered another plane. It was like the heart of a star. Pure heat beyond imagining. Blazing fire but unlike a star this fire stretched forever in all directions. His mind moved on and he felt water, surrounding his consciousness. Water, pure and endless. His mind moved again and here was earth. Not the putrid layer of rot which covered Norrath but pure, dense earth. The stuff from which the gods crafted worlds. Then finally, the sky. Sky in every direction. Up and down. Endless sky.
Bodack understood the Water, the Fire, the Earth and the Air. He saw the four primal planes and he saw where those four planes intersected and formed this world. Where the four planes met, their essences intermingled and formed the countless materials that made up the mortal realm but they lost the strength of their pure form. Bodack had devoted his entire life to harnessing the power of the pure elements.
He focused on the endless sky that his mind was travelling through and the air in front of him seemed to shift and twist and finally to tear apart. For the briefest moment that endless sky was visible through the tear that Bodack’s magic had created in the fabric of the mortal plane. Just as quickly as it had opened the tear sealed again but it was enough, for in that brief moment, something mighty passed through.