Marches Day 6, Year of the Second Son.

            Today has been a most peculiar one. I shall begin with the dream.

            It was dark, save for the ring of light in which I stood. All around me, figures moved, shadowed forms, whispering, their voices too soft for me to make out. When I tried to move closer, or call out to them, they would fade back into the darkness, though the whispers would become louder. A feeling I cannot explain came over me, a longing deep in my soul to join these mysterious entities. One stepped forward into the light, a kindly looking older woman, a warm smile upon her lips and her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I knew who she was. Don't ask me how, but from the soft curls of auburn hair to the loving blue of her eyes, I knew her. "Mama?" I heard my own voice whisper, and she nodded slowly. A thousand questions begged answer, but before even one could pass my lips, a gentle voice echoed around me. "Follow your heart, my son, and know that I love you....." Her voice faded, and with it the image seemed to follow, her body wavering, silvery tears streaking down her cheeks. "Mama? Mama!" I cried out for her, reaching to her, her hand reaching back towards me. The instant our fingers touched, she vanished, leaving only a few specks of shimmering light, and a softly whispered "I love you..." I stared for what seemed an eternity, willing her to come back, hoping beyond hope she would once more step out of the shadows, but she never did. I collapsed to my knees and wept bitterly. Gentle arms fell around me, and I looked up into the face of a green eyed angel......

            I awoke to a purring ball of fur on my chest and the smell of frying eggs all about me. O'Toole groused sourly as I shifted, setting claw to comforter and nicking my skin. I left him to continue his mid-morning nap, shuffling blearily into the small kitchen. It, like the bedroom, is much smaller than the main archives, and, like the rest of the house, is cluttered with all manner of books and scrolls. This morning, however, it also contained Angela. She was moving between the old pot bellied stove and the table in the center of the room, which already held, along with its usual literary guests, two plates of fried eggs and bacon, along with two cups of what appeared to be juice. She turned as Rose sprang from her position in front of the glowing stove and bounded across the room to licking my hands and face, setting my spectacles askew. Angela crossed the room and grabbed me around the waist in a morning hug. "Morning bro! Hey, you ok?" Her tone and face slipped from warm greeting to concern. "What's wrong?" I blinked at her as I returned the embrace. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong."

"Bro," She gave me a look that she reserved for when I was dodging questions. "You've been crying. IN all the time I've known you, you've cried exactly twice. Once when those boys chased you with rocks, and once when Rose was sick and you thought she was going to die. Now, out with it, or I will be forced to tickle you until you snort like a pig rooting for mushrooms." I rubbed at my eyes with mild surprise, glancing at a polished bit of metal I use for a mirror. My eyes were indeed red and swollen, with tracts of fresh tears shining on my cheeks. "I'll tell you over breakfast." I said, then picked up on the change of subject. "Speaking of which, and not that I am complaining, mind you, but why pray tell are you cooking breakfast in my house at this time of morning?" Angela smiled and jerked a thumb at the window. "I figured you'd probably never get out of bed on a morning like this without a fire, and I didn't think you'd really mind some company." Outside, a fine sheet of white blanketed everything, snow coating every leaf, bud, and flower. In Colodo, "spring" is relative. Most natives agree it’s more of a hiccup between winter and summer than an actual season. That said, I had to agree, cold mornings are not to be spent alone.

            Breakfast was scrumptious, though after O'Toole's sudden appearance, I was left with a little less bacon and alot more cat hair. Angela though this was hilarious, to the point that she actually fell off her chair, clutching her ribs and practically howling as the little fur ball latched tooth and claw into my shooing arm. When she finally stopped snickering, I told her about the dream, the grin quickly faded into a mixture of warmth and sisterly love. She reached across the table and patted my arm gently. "Well, it was only a dream, right? Ask me, comes from wearing those silly spectacles of yours to bed" She smiled softly. "If you'd just let me try that spell...." I returned her smile and shook my head. "Not a chance kiddo." She faked a pout and then smiled again. "You know what you need?"
"A quiet day at home?" I ventured hopefully.

"A trip to the Mucky Mule."

            I winced. The Mucky Mule is Bebla's local tavern, and on a good night, it is about a level below a riot. Angela love it, I don't. Between loud drunks, rank pipe smoke, and the occasional whiling bard, the whole scene makes me want to flee screaming into the night. I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head firmly. "No. Not a chance. I'm sorry Angela, but there is no amount of wheedling, cajoling, or bribery that will make me leave my nice, warm house for the bowels of the Mucky Mule. And that, is final." She cocked an eyebrow at me...

Half of an hour later, I was moodily ensconced in a corner booth of the Mule, nursing a severely tugged ear and a badly bruised ego. Let me tell you something, you don't know pain until someone almost a head shorter than you drags you across town by your left ear, swearing its "for your own good." She was presently off chatting with some of the local girls, giggling and going on and on about god only knows what, though judging by the glances they kept casting at Mr. Sals son Jonah, I can hazard a guess or two. I, meanwhile, kept myself occupied by reading one of the books I'd managed to grab from home, a rather fascinating collection about Troll Baiting, and by casting my own glances at the bar maids. All things considered, the tavern was rather calm tonight. So much so that the little group that slipped through the front door would have gone unnoticed, save for the loudmouth in the rear. "Holy dung weevils! Colder'n ogre balls out there!" The whole tavern fell silent as every eye turned upon them, wide eyed stares giving testament to how rare strangers are in Bebla. The loud one was the most noticeable, both because he wasn't cloaked, and because the half plate of his armor was almost blinding even in the light of the Mule's torches. The man looked like a large walking mirror, with a typical "hero" head slapped on top, jet black hair, perfect teeth, and a cleft chin. I noticed more than a few of the barmaids and farmer's daughters were eyeing him. The other four, cloaked and obviously displeased, turned to apparently glare at him. "Real nice Dirk." One said, pulling back the hood to reveal a young looking girl with a head of chestnut brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Real low key. Like a dragon with a head cold." Dirk rolled his eyes. "Tilly, you really need to relax. I mean honestly, who...."
"The name," Her snarl cut him off and he looked down at her in, well, it looked like fear. "Is, Filly, not, TILLY!" She lunged like a crazed lion, and would have been upon him if not for the inhumanly fast reflexes of two of the others, their hoods falling back during the struggle.

Elves! The pair of them were honest to the one god and his son elves! A male and a female, the former taller than the latter, with slightly shorter hair the exact same oak brown as the female's. "Lemme go! He said it on purpose, you know he did, when I get my hands on him I'm gonna...."

"You are going to settle down before we have to settle you down." The female elf said flatly, holding her by her right arm as the male held her left and nodded slowly. Filly sneered and Dirk skirted around them quickly, jumping slightly as she snapped her teeth at him and snickered. The big man made a beeline for the bar, and more to the point barmaids, while the rest glanced around the room, then drew close, holding a whispered conversation.

            The rest of the evening was as normal as evenings at the Mucky Mule got, especially with strangers in town. Dirk spent the entire time at the bar, laughing, telling crude jokes, flirting with the barmaids, and basically getting himself in good with the farmers and merchants. The rest seemed determined to introduce themselves to the entire tavern, moving from one table to the next in pairs, chatting with the villagers, nodding or shaking their heads, then moving on. The male elf and the still hooded member of the party stayed for a long while at Angela's table, apparently very interested in everything she had to say (her companions had since gone to flirt around Dirk). I went back to my book, and was halfway through the story of the Massacre at Gellbedine  when a voice sounded right in my ear. "Good book?"

To say I was surprised would be a gross understatement. The book flew into the air, and it was only by good fortune and helping hands that I didn't end up sprawled across the floor. "Whoa there, big fella, we ain't gonna bite ya!" I blinked in surprise at the one called Filly, leaning on the table and holding the book in one hand. The female elf was holding me by one arm and with a seemingly ease pulled me back into my seat. I looked from one to the other in mute surprise and the elf smiled. "I apologize, we did not mean to startle you. Or at least, I, did not mean to startle you." She cocked an eyebrow at Filly, who was presently leafing through my book and looked up with a completely innocent face. "Me? Why, V, I'm shocked that you would even accuse me of such........oh ok, so I did." She winked at me with a devilish grin. "No offense, I just couldn't resist, you looked so engrossed in your book and, well," She shrugged and went back to thumbing through the text. The elf lady sighed. "You'll have to excuse her. My name is Vilmarith Ravenflight, and my friend is called Filly. May I ask your name, good sir?"

I blinked at her then realized I was being rude. "Oh, yes, of course, my name is Jack. Er, just, Jack." Filly looked up and grinned widely. "Oh! So you're the crazed healer everyone keeps tellin' us about! Funny, you don't look barking mad." I blushed and hung my head a bit, catching Vilmarith throwing Filly a glare out of the corner of my eye. The girl was almost instantly apologetic, her face fully of sympathy. "Hey, hey, cheer up! I was only funning ya, big guy, you shouldn't listen to what these yahoos say about ya anyway!" I couldn't help but grin. Yahoos. It somehow struck me as a perfect term for the rest of the village. Vilmarith looked over my small pile of books, commenting casually. "You seem to enjoy the printed word as much as they say." I blushed and shrugged, and the words came without actually thinking. "Velga heb sett, bedla heb matel." They both stared at me, Filly in utter confusion, Vilmarith in surprise and what looked like a touch of admiration as she translated. "Muscle builds towers, knowledge builds kingdoms." She smiled softly. "Your elven is very good, though, your accent is a bit thick." They sat down and we chatted for hours until it felt like I'd told them everything about my life up to that moment. They were excellent company, good listeners, witty, and sympathetic. Several times Filly cast cold glances over her shoulder at the rest of the tavern's patrons, and I believe I saw Vilmarith wipe at her eyes as I told her about Angela's banishment from her family. Finally the night grew late and the bar keep called out closing. Everyone gathered their things, I thanked the pair of them for a lovely chat and they did the same, exchanging a rather odd glance before heading to the bar, where the male elf and the hooded figure were talking to a quite drunk Dirk. Angela looked, a bit distant, as I approached her table, but rose and walked out into the night with me. I told her all about my talk with the pair, yet she was quiet, completely unlike her normal self. We were almost to our houses when I found out why. "Jack...........tomorrow those, that group, that came in tonight, they're leaving."
"Oh dear, that's too bad. I rather wanted to have a chat with the rest of them, perhaps get a few stories out of them, like the one Filly told me about the wagon and the butter! Oh you have to hear this one, see...."
"I'm going with them, Jack."

That stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned to stare at her, mouth slightly open. "What?"
"They, they invited me to go along with them, on their journey. I, can't tell you what they're doing, for your own safety, but, they need me along with them...."
"Oh." I said quietly, staring at the ground. It felt as though the warm joy of the evening had been sucked from my soul and replaced with lead. "Well, I, guess you, can't argue then, eh?"

She just shook her head, and a tear fell from her eye. I hugged her tight. "Just, write me, when you get the chance, and be sure you come back safe or, or I'll have to, kick you behind."

She laughed softly and we just stood there in the lightly falling snow, hugging and crying softly. I finally let go and wiped my eyes. "Well, goodnight Angela, and, wake me before you leave, I don’t' want to miss my little sister's big trip!" She nodded, biting her lip, and we went into our houses. I have cried for two hours straight, with O'Toole and Rose doing their best to comfort me. I shall miss her terribly while she's gone, but, but she's a big girl.....no, woman. She's a woman now, and she can make her own decisions. Gah, my eyes burn, I am off for bed.

Marches Day 7, Year of the Second Son.

            My life has taken what is perhaps the oddest turn that fate could probably throw at me.

            I'd fallen asleep a bit late last night, owing to the fact that I'd tossed and turned, already missing Angela, wondering what I was going to do with her off seeing the world. I thought I was to be a lone misfit. My dreams had been no better, with me running after her, the very ground reaching up to grasp at my legs and pull me down. So it should come as no surprise that when Angela crept into my house to rouse me, I wasn't very responsive. I vaguely remember her trying to shake me awake, and rolling over onto my stomach. Then I remember a "Humph!", a swish, and stinging pain in my, er, backside. I shot out of bed, falling the floor in a heap of comforter and pillows, flopping like a freshly caught trout.

"Oh good, you're awake! Come on, up we go, got to get you ready!" Angela was beaming and holding a small, whippy willow twig in one hand. I blinked blearily up at her and managed something like "Wuzzah, who, budda?" Angela poked me with the twig. "Come on, up up up, lets go!" I slowly gained my power of reasoning, standing and untangling myself as she prodded me to the kitchen, where a bowl of water was awaiting with soap and towel. "Wash up and I'll get your clothes ready, already packed your books and got the Stevens to watch over your pets while we're gone." She slipped back into the bedroom as I accepted the cold, refreshing water on my face. It took a moment for what she'd said to sink in. When it did I was bolt upright, grasping for my specs and blinking through them at the oddly, well, clean, table. "What in the world?" I whispered, rushing out into the main archives. My jaw dropped and I felt my breath clench in my chest. My books. My scrolls, my etchings and, just, everything, were gone! All that was left were bare shelves! I barely registered Angela's presence until she tapped me on the shoulder with her stick, handing me a set of my clothes. "There we go, the rest are in this bag..."
'WHERE?! WHAT?! MY BOOKS! WHERE ARE, WHAT DID?!" I stopped and stared at her, still grinning at me. "I told you, I packed them all already."
"Packed......what?"
"Get dressed and I'll show you, time's a wasting silly!"

"But," My argument was cut short as she poked me in the forehead with her stick. I dressed quickly and then rushed up to her, holding her at arm's length. "All right, let us start over. Where, are, my, books?"
"In the bags, loaded onto the cart for a moment, though you're going to have to haul them yourself once we start walking." Angela beamed again and I stared for a moment. "What?" Thwap! The stick caught me on the knee and I let go, Angela looking a little annoyed, fists on her hips. "Are you going to come on, or do I have to explain it all again?" She gave the willow stick a swish. "You know," I grumbled, rubbing the stinging spot on my leg, "For a Wicca, you sure don't seem to be following the "harm none" rule."
"Oh bro," She said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm not harming. I'm just, motivating. With a stick." She grabbed my hand and dragged me outside.

I'm used to alot of things being on my doorstep. The ill, the old, the young, sick animals, lost travelers, etc. A cart and horse, with a band of adventurers sitting in it, is not one of them. I stared and Filly grinned, waving. "Morinin' sunshine! You know you snore? Pretty loud too." I blinked at her, mouth agape, then stared at Angela again as she tossed a bag up to Filly. "Angela, what's going on?"
She grinned at me slyly. "Wellllll, you remember how I said I was going with them?" She nodded at the wagon and I nodded slowly. "Well, Filly and Vil think you should come with us!" If my jaw was open before, it hit the ground at this statement. "What? But, we, you, I, they, but,"

"Not quite as articulate as you claimed, dear." Came a voice from the front of the cart. The male elf was sitting on the buckboard, while Vilmarith was checking the two gray mares hitched to the cart. She looked up and smiled. "Well, my love, this is a bit of a shock, I should think."
"True enough, but if we're going to go, we really should head out now before it gets too late." He glanced back at us and motioned us on with a wave of his hand. Vilmarith leapt fluidly onto the seat next to him, and she too motioned us aboard. I was about to protest when a sharp sting in my hindquarters snapped me forward, and before I could complain, Angela was aboard, she and Filly dragging me fully inside as the male elf snapped the reins and called out to the horses. We were off and bouncing down the road, Filly and Angela chatting away like old friends while Vilmarith and the male elf. I could only stare, first from the lot of them, then back at my slowly receding home, then back at them, not sure quite what to do. I was hardly going to throw myself off a moving cart, but, I was all but being kidnapped! And by my own adopted sister no less! I wasn't sure whether to complain or call for help! Filly looked over at me and grinned slightly. "You look a bit spooked."
"Spooked!" I cried, finding a target for my ire. "Spooked?! You, brainwash Angela into joining you,"

"Hey!" Angela protested, but I was too intent on venting my spleen. "Drag me from my own home, throw me in a cart, and heaven only knows what you've done with my books, so yes, I am a tad..."
"In the bags." The male elf called back over his shoulder. I blinked up at him, my line of thought snapped. "What?"
"Your books are in those bags back there." He glanced over his shoulder and pointed at a pair of large leather sacks, buckled at the mouth. I crawled over and threw open the nearest one, not sure what to expect. What I found was, a bit confusing. Oh, they were books, all right, scrolls too, but the books were about the size of my thumb, the scrolls about the size of my pinky finger at best. I turned my horrified gaze on Angela, who sighed in exasperation. "Bro, pick a book. Any book. Just, say its name." I blinked again and, not really sure what she was leading two, said "A History of Boar Tamers." The sack in my hand shook suddenly, the miniature books within rustling slightly. With a pop and a flash, a full sized book appeared in front of me, the head of a massive boar inked on its cover. I touched it tentatively, afraid of some illusion or trap, then began to flip through the pages. It was the real thing, the genuine article. I turned my stare back to Angela, who looked a bit smug. "Don't ask, even I don't know how they work, but they do!" She stuck out her tongue at me, then giggled and lunged forward to hug me. The male elf glanced back and chuckled. "Your sister insisted we pack it all before she woke you. You have quite a collection, Jack. Never had to use two Catcha bags for one haul." I looked up at him and cleared my throat. "Um, well, thank you, Angela, uh, Filly, Vilmarith, um......"
"Myna," Vilmarith supplied with a smile. "My Lifebond." She smiled and leaned over, kissing him on the cheek. In the life of the elves, a Lifebond is, essentially, marriage, only a touch more serious. Filly chuckled. "Yeah, and I don't think the honeymoon's over yet, if ya catch my drift. If ya don't, wait till we camp out, and whooooboy, will you ever." Angela giggled and, after I caught her "drift", I blushed deeply. Vilmarith grinned and flicked Filly on the ear, and then did the same to Myna, who was trying extremely hard not to laugh.

I leaned back, trying to think of what to say next, when something sliced my palm. I leapt back with a yelp and blinked down at the gleaming blade, a spot of red where my hand had been. Everyone looked at me, but Myna was the first to speak. “Ah, yes, thank you Jack, forgot we left those back there. Could you hand that back up to me? The bow and quiver are Vilmarith’s.” I picked up the fine sword gingerly, amazed at its weight, or more to the point, lack there of. It was almost like picking up a feather, if a feather could tear a gash in your skin. The blade curved slightly, ending in a beautifully carved hand guard and grip, a sapphire like blue pommel stone at the end. I passed forward and in a move I barely registered, he took it from my hands, sheathed it over his back, and took hold of the reins again before I could even blink. Vilmarith’s bow was a different story. It was solid, carved from some sturdy yet flexible dark wood, a bit heavy and from the small test pull I gave the string, requiring some force to pull back. The arrows in the quiver were a similar story, seeming too large for any bowman to use. Vilmarith smiled at my look. “I have a lot of upper body strength.” Was all the explanation she offered as I handed them up to her, watching her loop them around her shoulders. Filly snatched a bandolier of daggers and a sheathed dirk up before I could even lay hands on them. “Gotta be careful, big fella, these things tend to be a bit persnickety about who picks them up.” She winked and then looked between Angela and myself. “Hmmmm, reminds me, we’re gonna have to find some weapons for you two. Can’t have ya runnin’ around without somethin’ to defend yourselves with.” I blinked and stared at them. “What? Wait a minute, defend myself? I was never told I’d have to defend myself, as a matter of fact I wasn’t even told I was coming on this little trip!” They stared at me and I sighed. “Sorry, I’m, just, I’d really appreciate it if someone would please inform me of what exactly is going on here.” Angela looked at the other three, and they looked at each other, pensive expressions evident. Filly shrugged. “Better tell him now before we gotta put up with Dirk’s, ah, creative editing.” Myna and Vilmarith snorted and nodded. Filly turned back to me and sighed. “Alrighty, where ta start? Beginning I guess. See, a while back, I was in a tavern up in Demla, samplin’ some of the local brew when this old guy comes in and starts talking to me. Now, I figured he was just some dirty old perv, looking to get some jollies with an innocent little lady.” There was a snort of contained laughter from both elves and she shot them a withering glance. “What?”

“A thief calling herself innocent.” They said in unison, grinning at her. Filly stuck out her tongue at the pair of them, then looked back at Angela and I, shrugging and looking a touch embarrassed. “Ok, so, I’m a thief. Not a bad thief, you know, like a mugger or a second story girl, I just, pick a pocket or two, and maybe a few locks. That’s all.”
Vilmarith shook her head. “Oh stop being so modest. Trael would not have come to you if you were not the best thief he could find with a conscience.” She emphasized the last part and Filly shrugged. “Fine, fine, whatever. Annnyway, the old guy, Trael, says he’s gathering heroes to help save the world, somethin’ like that. So I figure, yeah, whatever, I ain’t no hero, and he says,”
”Filly? The point would be nice.” Vilmarith called back and Filly stuck her tongue out again. “Oh fine. The old guy introduced me to V and M over here, an’ we started travelin’ picked up Dirk an’ T, an’ now you two, the end. Fast enough?” Vilmarith sighed. “Now you’re just being a brat.” Filly answered with a raspberry before the elf took over the narrative. “At this moment, a dark power is seeking a weapon of unimaginable power. We need to find it before it does.” I blinked at all of them. “And, I’m here, because…..” I prompted, thoroughly confused. This was all well and good, but why, oh why was I there?! Filly pointed at Angela. “Well, for the first, cause she asked you to be. Second, Vilmarith an’ I agreed you’d be a valuable asset, and third, hell, you’re fun to talk to.” She, Vilmarith, and Angela all beamed at me and I just, blinked. Myna looked back and shrugged. “If my love says you should come with us, I’m hardly going to argue. Though I think our “might hero” might have something to say about it.” The two elves and Filly rolled their eyes. Angela looked at me and shrugged, apparently as in the dark as I was at that comment.

            The dawn came rather quickly, so to speak. We came to a fork in the road to find the armored Dirk astride a pure white stallion. He huffed moodily as we drew near. “Well, about damn time, you know I’ve been here for well over two hours? I’m hot, I’m bored, I’m….”
”Supposed to be scouting the road ahead.” Myna said sharply. Dirk scowled back at him. “Why? You think we’re gonna get attacked by cows out here? I mean honestly, its not like we’ll meet anything out here I can’t handle.”
”You mean like that dwarf back in Pelben?” Filly asked quickly. Dirk sniffed haughtily and muttered something about “caught off guard”, then he seemed to notice Angela and myself and his frown deepened. “Wait a minute, what’s all this? You said you’d found a Wicca chick, what’s with the squirt and the nerd?” Filly growled softly, but Myna answered first. “The girl is Angela, a practitioner of the Wicca arts. The man is Jack, a healer and scholar.”
”Scholar?” Dirk smirked. “What, we gonna throw books at the next goblins we find? Read a bed time story to trolls?”
”Dirk,” Filly grated through her teeth. “Remember that, talk, we had back when you kept asking that merchant woman in Pelben if she’d like to see your “long sword”?”

“Hey, all I’m saying is, its fine that you guys want someone to magically take care of your booboos, I just don’t see why we need some bookworm out here.”

I’d known the man all of two minutes, and I was already developing a distinct dislike for him. Vilmarith snorted. “Well, Dirk, you see, we really don’t care what you do not see. We see a need for him to be here, so he’s here. Now kindly stop your pouting and tell us where Talia is.”

Dirk motioned airily down the right fork. “Oh, she went off on your silly scouting order. I tried to tell her if worse came to worse I’d protect her, but she insisted. So cute how she acts like she doesn’t want me.” He smirked and sat a little taller in his saddle. Filly pulled a face and the two elves looked about ready to smack him. Angela seemed, well, shocked. A state which intensified as he rode over to the side of the cart and winked at her. “Well, hello there! Are all Wicca girls so smokin’, or did I just hit the lucky town?”

“Oh please Dirk, could you keep it in your flippin’ pants for ten minutes?” Filly snarled, her fingers clenching as though she meant to punch him. Dirk’s grin just widened. “Oh, don’t be jealous Filly, you know I’ll be your stallion any time.” He turned his horse and headed back toward the front of the cart, missing Filly mutter of “I’d rather sleep with a dead rat.” Angela and I blinked at her and she gave us a “Sorry, should have mentioned him” shrug.

            The sound of hooves coming closer heralded the arrival of the missing member of the party. The horse snorted softly as the still hooded figure drew near, waving to the rest of them. “No signs of any danger ahead.” Came a distinctly female voice. “Saw a few boar tracks, not to large, shouldn’t give us any trouble. Hello, what’s this? New faces?” Filly smiled and pulled Angela and I to her, clapping her hands on our shoulders. “Yes indeedy, our little venture was not without reward! Talia, meet Angela and Jack, our new healers. Angie, Jacko, I’d like ya to Talia Stonebreaker!” The figure reached up and pulled back her hood…..and I will confess, without hesitation, that I was shocked at what was beneath. Fiery red hair cascaded down around her face, framing the tanned skin and bright, shimmering eyes, the smile on her face warm and friendly. “How do you do.” She said, bowing in her seat. Angela returned the greeting instantly, then nudged me slightly to remind me to do the same. Alright, so I was staring a little. And, maybe my mouth was a little open, but I was certainly not “gawking”, as Angela put it. I was merely surprised, that’s all. Myna nodded and we were off again, heading down the right fork of the path, to heaven only knows where, Talia in the lead, Angela asking all manner of questions, Filly answering every one of them, Vilmarith leaning slightly on Myna as they he kept a steady pace, while Dirk kept up a running mix of complaints, boasts, and continued annoyance that they hadn’t consulted him before bringing me along.  I sat in the back of the cart, staring back at the signpost behind us, the word Bebla slowly getting harder to read, until at last the road swallowed it, leaving a growing knot of dread in my belly.

We’re camped, at the moment, by a stream a fair distance west of Bebla, in an area Angela and I actually used to go fishing in. As I pen this, I can’t help but wonder what in heaven’s name I’ve gotten myself into. Honestly, I’m actually in agreement with this Dirk fellow, what good am I for a band of adventurers? I’ve never been in a fight in my life, and I don’t have one skill that could even conceivably come in handy for what they seem to be planning. Oh bother it, perhaps in the morning the rest will see some sense and drop be off back at the fork in the road. Ah me, I’d best get to sleep. Myna said something about rising with the dawn. Until tomorrow and hopefully in my own armchair……

TTFN

Marches Day 8, Year of the Second Son.

            Oh my aching….everything. Today I received an introduction to the oh so joyful world of traveling on foot. With two packs on my back. Two, heavy, packs. Why, you may ask, was I traveling on foot, when there was a perfectly good cart to ride upon? I’ll give you the answer Myna gave me: Too risky. How could it be too risky, you ask? Simple. It seems that “dark power” that my new friends are so set upon stopping, knows who they are, and is not too keen upon being hindered in the search of its weapon. This also explains why I now feel as though I’ve been tied in a sack and tossed down a well.

            Angela awoke me at what can only be described as the crack of dawn, with the same stick she’d been carrying since yesterday. She’s come to call it her “wand of motivation”, and treats it like her baby, so much so she’s woven a carrying case for it. I’m starting to consider how well it would burn in a campfire, but I digress. “Wakey wakey big bro!” She poked me again, her voice faaaaar too cheerful for that early hour. “We’re breaking camp, and Myna says unless you want us to drag you, you’d better get up and grab your bags.” I remember mumbling something and then that bloody stick being poked into my ribs again. “Do we need another love tap?” She asked sweetly. That got me moving. “Love tap” is her name for what she used to wake me up yesterday, something I still have a welt from. With a resigned sigh I drug myself into a standing position and managed to stumble to the stream, splashing icy water on my face and rinse the taste of roast squirrel out of my mouth from last night’s dinner. I was fully dressed and half asleep as the Catcha bags were draped over my shoulders and almost automatically started following Angela. It took me a good hour of walking to realize we didn’t camp that bloody far from the wagon. Ok, an hour, and getting a tree branch in the face. I’m not a morning person. I blinked and spat out a mouthful of leaves, staring around at the unfamiliar forest around me, then rushed to catch up, tapping Angela on the shoulder. “Um, Angela, sweetie, where in the world are we?”
”Wolfswood Forest.”

“Where’s the cart?”
”About, oh, an hour’s walk back thataway.” She pointed back over my shoulder.

“And we are not in the cart, because……..”
”Myna said it was too dangerous. Something about “watchers” and spies.”
”Oh….” I mulled over that for a moment. “What?”
”Don’t ask me bro, all I know is Myna and Vilmarith said we have to walk, so, we’re walking.” She shrugged sympathetically.

            Perhaps this all would have been a tad more bearable if not for one fact of nature. The falling snow of two days ago was the slush of yesterday, and the mud of today. After another hour of walking, every leg was covered in at least three inches of muck, much to my annoyance. Oh it wasn’t the mud, you understand. It was Dirk’s whining. “I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and there is mud all over my armor! Do you know how long it takes to get this suit all shiny again?”
”Probably about as much time as you spend every fuggin’ night on it, Dirk.” Filly sighed, giving Angela and I a pained look that both apologized for Dirk, and told us this was not going to be the last time we’d have to listen to him. “This is not funny, Filly, I take great pride in this armor! You realized how great a warrior you have to be not to get a single dent in a suit of armor like this?”
”Whatever Dirk, please, just, shut up.” However, Dirk’s whining continued with us for another good half hour, cut off only when a branch snapped back and hit him in the chin. Vilmarith swore up and down that it had been a terrible accident, that she’d thought he was further behind her, but somehow, I doubt she could have mistaken his voice for anything else. Not, as Angela pointed out, that we were complaining, mind. It gave us a small respite while Dirk picked leaves from his teeth.

            We took a break at midday on a set of rocks and boulders known as “Belago’s Perch”, legendary as a resting place of the angel Belago when he delivered the message of the savior’s birth unto the people. Angela had heard this before, but she was too in awe of the aura of the place to tell me so (I could see no such thing, but then, that’s why I’m not a Wicca I suppose), while Filly and Talia seemed rather impressed with the place as well. Dirk was too busy polishing mud and debris from his leg armor, arguing with Myna as to why in the world he was bothering, as we’d just be walking through more mud after we ate. Vilmarith had set out with her bow and returned with a few fat pheasants, which we roasted over a small, smokeless fire. I noticed Vilmarith whisper something to Myna, who glanced casually behind him and nodded slightly, his face cool, eyes seeming to track every falling leaf. That was when I began to get nervous.

            It was another two hours of walking before I realized what it was about the situation that was bothering me, and then only when Angela tapped me on the shoulder and whispered. “Jack, listen.”

“I don’t hear anything.” I said in confusion.

“That’s what she means.” Filly put in from in front of me, and now I noticed her hand was on the belt of daggers across her chest. “Nothin’. No small critters in the underbrush, no birds singin’. Stay alert you two.” My stomach did a double back flip and I gulped, seeing a similar fear in Angela’s eyes. The whole group was silent. Even Dirk had stopped complaining, his hand resting on the hilt of an oversized broadsword strapped across his back. Myna whispered something to Vilmarith, who whispered back to Dirk, who whispered back to Talia, who whispered back to Filly, and so it came back to Angela and myself. “We’re being followed. Have been since we stopped for lunch. Myna says there’s about ten of them,” I blanched, she didn’t see but seemed to sense, “Don’t fret yerselves too much. If the dung hits the wind, you two stay close to me an’ V an’ keep your heads down.”

            It was just after that that I began to see signs of our “shadows”, flitting glimpses of movement, the odd flash of eyes looking out at us, the gentle smush of a soft boot on mud. The fear was like a ball of pure ice in my stomach, and it was all I could do to keep from passing out. But our pursuers did not show themselves until a good hour later, apparently waiting for us to tire. We came to a clearing and found ourselves faced by ten men, dressed in all concealing black, save for a mask of bright red with a black mark between the eyes. Most were armed with short, curving swords, thought a few were armed with two large hand axes each, and the leader, a head taller than the rest and wearing blood red patches on either arm, bore a spear that looked like it would have easily skewered a charging boar. They all stood stock still, as the steady rise and fall of their chests the only indication they were alive. As we drew to a halt, the leader took two paces forward and hefted the spear, pointing it at Dirk, who he apparently took to be the leader of our little group. “You will all surrender at once, or be destroyed.” Dirk, to my amazement, went to color of parchment and made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a squeak. Myna stepped forward before he could say anything and addressed the leader. “Is there a problem?”
The leader looked at him and shifted the spear point to aim at the elf’s face. “Surrender now, and you will not be harmed.”

“I seriously doubt that. Your master has shown he cares very little for such promises.”

“Then you will fight us? We who outnumber you two for every one of your pathetic lot?”

To my further amazement, Myna chuckled. “If you think you can halt our quest, you are free to try.” I noticed then that Vilmarith had moved back to stand by Filly, an arrow knocked to her bow while Filly twirled daggers in her hands, their eyes fixed on the masked men, all of whom had dropped into what could only be attack postures, their weapons held in front of them, feet planted to sprint forward and cut us down. My heart felt as though someone were hammering it against my ribcage as the leader dropped his spear point. “So be it.” The men charged, yelling wild cries of death that froze my blood in my veins. The war cries quickly turned into yells of pain, as arrows and daggers suddenly thrummed through the air, followed by the singing of Myna’s sword and the rather unnerving crunch of Talia’s war hammer (How on earth a woman her size can wield such a clumsy weapon with such grace is still beyond me). It was, was…..words fail me to describe it all, Myna’s sword seemed to be no more than a blur of flashing lights, dancing around blocking blades and slicing flesh and bone as easily as cloth, Talia’s war hammer moving like a living beast, each bone shattering hit accompanied by what can only be described as a roar from the lightly armored woman, and the very air seemed to be alive with daggers and arrows, slaying or wounding any that were unfortunate enough to be in front of them. In the space of what felt like hours but was probably only minutes at best, the masked numbers had been cut by a third. The wild, headlong charge had degraded into a careful approach, men lunging forward, swiping at the nearest warrior before dropping back to avoid a return swipe, sometimes dodging, sometimes not being so fortunate. The leader stayed well in the rear, and even from a distance, his eyes burned with disgust and anger. Those same eyes fell upon Angela and I, and suddenly he charged. But for a man his size, he moved with the grace and speed of a gazelle, dodging under  a hammer blow from Talia and springing into the air, bearing down on us with the point of his weapon. We scattered in four directions, the man seeming to pull the spear free even as it hit the soft earth, twirling it deftly to deflect one of Vilmarith’s arrows and counter a swing from Filly’s dirk. His gaze turned to Angela, who, like myself, was frozen, staring in absolute horror at this, impossibility, and he sprang. I still don’t know what came over me. All I know is one moment he was standing over her, spear poised to skewer, the next I was cracking him across the back of the head with one of my packs. He turned to stare at me, a movement under the mask showing an eyebrow rising. For a moment, I wondered if I was about to become a Jack-kabob, when he whipped the shaft of the weapon around and batted me like a child’s ball across the clearing, landing me face first in the mud. I sat up and wiped as much of the stuff from my spectacles as I could, flipping over to stare in horror as he pulled back his arm, intent on nailing me to the tree behind me. I screwed my eyes shut and cried out, wondering if death would be excruciating, or a quick slipping of the mortal coil.

WHACKTHUCKCRACK!

I pried open one eye and blinked. The man was still standing, but he had a few new features. For one, Angela was standing behind him, holding her “motivation wand” like a sword. More important were the arrow sticking out of his chest, and the war hammer embedded in his skull. His eyes blinked twice, then rolled back, exposing the whites as he soundlessly dropped, falling heavily in the mud. In the blink of an instant, the fighting ceased, and what was left of our masked assailants fled in all directions, some hurling dire threats behind them. For a moment, I just stared at the fallen corpse, the arrowhead protruding out of his back, then looked up at Talia and Angela. The former looked grimly down at the body, the latter looked as though she was about to be sick. I levered myself onto my elbows and started to stand up. The motion caught Angela’s eye and she hurried over. And snapped me on the head with her stick. “What, were you thinking!?” She scolded, “You could have been killed! Don’t even think about standing up until I’ve made sure nothing’s broken, brother dear, or so help me I will drag you to the next camp!” Behind her, Talia smiled and Filly cackled. “That’s tellin’ ‘im girl! Show that heroic idiot who’s boss!” She winked at me as though saying “No offense.” None was taken, as I was too busy wondering how many ribs I still had left.

            Angela declared, after a through check of my vital signs and my aura, that I was fine, but I was going to be some kind of sore until at least tomorrow. The others held a quick whispered discussion, holding the mask from one of the fallen enemies and a note Filly had found on the leader’s body. Dirk, after rolling his eyes and going on about how bookworms shouldn’t try to be fighters, was apparently in the opinion this was just some random bandit encounter, and the ensuing argument took a good ten minutes, concluding with three things: One, these men had been sent by the dark power. Two, this meant the dark power knows where we are, generally if not exactly. And three, that we needed to push on until dark. And if I thought walking through mud with two heavy packs was bad, it is ten times worse when you’re whole body feels like you’ve been stepped on by a bull. Well, Angela gave me some kind of tonic to help me get some sleep, rather tasty actually, though I don’t know for sure when it will kic………..

Shhhh, my bro’s asleep!

Angela ;)

Marches Day 9, Year of the Second Son

            Today has been uneventful. No, that doesn’t sound proper for my feelings, its been miraculously uneventful, astoundingly uneventful, thank the gods for the uneventfulness of this day! MAY THE RECORDS SHOW THAT I PRAISE ALL OF LIFE FOR TODAY’S UNEVENTFUL NATURE!!!

            Alright, now I’m getting odd looks from the rest of the group. I’m calm, I’m ok, deep breathes, deeeeeeep breaths.

            In any event, I got a chance to get better acquainted with my fellow, ah, travelers today. Angela calls it my “Naturally Nosey Nature” and while her alliteration is superb, I still take offense. Well, maybe not so much since its true, but, where was I? Oh bother, we’ll just start with morning.

            I awoke to a body that felt as though I was stuffed clean full of wood splinters, and a head that felt full of wool. Angela’s sleeping drafts tend to have that effect upon a person, and she’s damned proud of them. Don’t tell her I said so, but so am I, she’s getting quite marvelous in her studies. Oh dear, I’m wandering again, still haven’t quite shaken off that draft. We broke camp at a little past dawn, apparently because I wasn’t the only one having trouble getting around. There were many sore bodies and more than a bit of bad tempered grumbling as we packed up our gear and started off. In fact, about the only person not complaining for a change was Dirk. Though, now that I look back on yesterday’s event, I don’t believe he was even in the battle. He insists he was hewing his way through their rear ranks, but, there really weren’t enough of them to have rear ranks. This makes the first news a bit startling. Apparently, in his land, Dirk is some big time hero, a warrior of great renown for his part in the Talagon Wars and, most notably, the final battle of Seardafleash. If his own words are to be believed (And none of the others are exactly giving Angela and myself reason to), he led the assault that drew out the dragon Mortho from its lair, and even had a hand in slaying the beast. Apparently, this bit of history is the reason the old man Filly mentioned chose him for this journey, though, they say in the old one’s final days, he seemed to have changed his mind, often muttering about “false prophets” and “find another.” And on his final day, seemed distant and saddened, saying only something about a dream, then smiling and assuring them he would “see them through, somehow.” These words became a dark foreshadowing, as that very night their camp came under attack by wargs. The old man died during the fighting, taking a large number of the beasts with him. His last words came with a small smile. “Yes, that will do nicely.” All agree it was a damned odd thing for him to say, and also agree that perhaps he was speaking to someone within his own personal heaven. In any event, ever since that fateful day, Vilmarith and Talia both claim they felt a “pull” toward our little village. Dirk threw something about some time of the month and got clobbered by no less than four dirt clods. Honestly not sure what that was all about, but if I had to guess, I’d keep my mouth shut (I find dirt up my nose most uncomfortable.)

            I decided if I had to be along on this madness, I should at least find out what kind of people I was traveling with. And since I know next to nothing about actual elves, I spent a good part of the day chatting with Vilmarith and Myna. Their tale begins in the forests of  Mascheu, one of the lands long claimed “untamed” by most human royalty. This is probably because, where the elves live in harmony with nature, our human leaders tend to be a bit, ah, combative, about the whole thing. Off story again, sorry. They were both training to become elven hunters under opposing teachers. To explain that last sentence fully would require a complete history of elven traditions, but suffice to say its one big contest of “My pupil’s better than your pupil.” From the moment they met, Myna and Vilmarith were in competition. Everything from what they say, everything from eating to running to climbing to “shortest relief break”, which I don’t really want to consider too deeply. The biggest argument of both teacher and student was weaponry, with Myna and his teacher insisting that the bow was only for those too heavy footed to truly hunt, while Vilmarith and her instructor argued that blade were for soldiers and crude fiends who preferred to feel warm blood on their hands to the elegant simplicity of the bow. This particular bit of cultural bickering got so bad it involved to different elven political factions declaring a financial war on each other. For those not sure what I just said, they placed heavy bets on which one would win in a single hunt. This should have been no problem. Of course, the elf in charge of making sure the local carnivores were not present during the hunt shouldn’t have been sampling the wine maker’s stock the night before, covering both fields of should, and leading to the pair fighting for their lives against a rather large, rather unpleasant boar. While the couple were quite happy to give me a play by play, I shall spare you, as the use of the term “excessive evisceration” is involved and makes me all gumbly in my stomach just thinking about it. Suffice to say, it ended in a dead boar, a lot of arguing over who owes who money, and a pair of blood spattered elves seeing each other in a whole new light. They began meeting in secret (competing students are not allowed to fraternize by elven law), and were soon madly in love with each other. Imagine their shock when they confronted their teachers, readying themselves for, at best, loss of their apprenticeship, and a worst, banishment from their home, and met two grinning teachers, their families, and a lifebonder from the local church of the forest gods.  Angela made a small squeal sound here, the same one she used to make every time O’Toole would play with a ball of yarn, and went on and on with Vilmarith about how cute and romantic the whole thing was, and Myna and myself came to the agreement that it was a girl thing when Talia and Filly joined in, filling the rest of the walk with anecdotes, sob stories, and “bad date” tales. For some reason, Angela felt stories about my few failed attempts with women required telling. Especially the one about the rose and the beehive. Ugh. Bad memory best left buried, that one.

            Well, I suppose I should wrap this up and get some sleep. My legs feel as though they plan to pull themselves free and sneak off in the night, and Filly says we have at least another half-day’s march to the next town. Heavens help me.

TTFN

Marches Day 10, Year of the Second Son

            Civilization at last! Oh warm crackling fire, oh soft, downy mattress, and oh wondrous pillows!  I write to you know in the warm embrace of a room in the “Gulping Grouse Inn” in the town of Notsomerry. Its not home, but for the moment, it will do. Of course, getting here was no piece of crumble, I can assure you. Between the walk and the “welcoming committee”, I’m amazed we’re not sleepin’ in the stables.

            When we awoke the day was overcast, and a little drizzle was falling, bringing the temperature down to about hindquarter freeze off. The ground, barely dry from the slush of the previous snowstorm, happily accepted the opportunity to return to its most viscous and tiring state, which made starting out a nightmare in itself. Dirk, who’d insisted on sleeping in his armor, had to be levered up by all of us, and between his whining and the chill that was creeping into our bones, good humor was not in good quantity. Filly was the first to smack Dirk in the back of his helmet in an attempt to quiet him, but no matter how hard he was walloped (Angela actually picked up a large stick and hit him so hard the sound was like a bell toll), he kept whining about mud and cold and lack of liquor and women. I was beginning to wonder who would slip a blade under his helmet first, Filly or Talia, when it stopped drizzling and started raining. No, that’s not a powerful enough picture of it, imagine if a million buckets were upended at the same time, refilled, dumped, and refilled again, over and over. You now have a fair idea of how much water was drenching through our cloaks. Myna finally found us a spot under a spreading elm, and Angela said a small prayer to guard us against lightning strikes. After a lot of cajoling from Filly, Angela, and myself, Vilmarith finally consented to a small fire. Toasted traveling bread and a bit of mulled wine raised our spirits a bit, but it was a good two or three hours before the rain let up enough to see past our little shelter. When it became clear it wasn’t going to be less than a drizzle, we set off again, still grumbling and sighing.

            The first site of the town was little more than a blurred haze in the rain and ground mist, a formless blob that looked as much a slumbering dragon as it did buildings, and only the distant toll of a church bell assured us we weren’t hallucinating. Myna and Vilmarith seemed unnerved, but the rest of us were too happy to find something other than drenched forest to really take notice. As we drew closer,  though, even I have to admit that something felt, odd. Perhaps it was just the heavy ground mist clinging to everything, or the way the wind seemed to moan around the buildings. Or it could have just been the people.

            The first people we found were farmers, dutifully tending their fields. Though why, of all days, they’d choose this one to be out planting I’ll never know. Angela suggested perhaps they are just that dedicated, but it seemed like they didn’t even notice the rain. When I mentioned this, Angela reminded me of the time that I was so wrapped up in “The Art of Bellemire Mecas” that I failed to notice a squirrel sitting on top of my head, chewing noisily upon an acorn. A few of the farmers looked up and waved as we passed, though they seemed, I can’t quite place the thought, perhaps, stiff, like actors just getting the hang of the play.

            The town square was rife with activity, people moving to and fro, merchants haggling with shoppers, children dashing through the milling crowd, dogs yapping everywhere. “Not enough sense to get outta the rain.” Filly muttered, shaking water from her hair. Dirk seemed to perk, standing a little taller. “Chicks in rain means clinging tunics.” You could almost hear his lecherous smirk. There was a collective sigh as we headed for the nearest general store. This rain had taught us at least one thing: We were a touch unprepared for the elements.

            The chill of the rain outside seemed to persist within the store, though you couldn’t tell by the shop keep or her customers. The woman behind the counter looked about 60 years old, with a fine topping of silver hair, a few wrinkles, and a kindly smile that made you think of a grandmother. Vilmarith and Myna approached her to discuss goods, Dirk wandered out the door in search of a tavern (sadly, he found one), and the rest of us had a look around. It was the kind of fare you’d expect in a small town, farm tools, seeds, animal feed, cloth, etc. What caught my eye was a rather nice amount of books (mostly five copper adventuring tales, but you take what you can get), with the predicable result of Angela rolling her eyes and wandering off to find something else to do. I suppose its just the fact that I’m too used to sitting alone reading that it took me a moment to realize someone else was standing next to me and flipping through pages. Talia was perusing the stories, snorting softly and shaking her head. I guess she sensed I was staring at her because she looked up and smiled, kind of sheepishly. “I love these things. Half of them are out right ego fueled lies, and the rest are worse.” I couldn’t help grinning at that. I’d always kind of suspected that little truth, but when one doesn’t know how to do something, one tends to believe whatever the Hades the ones who do know how tell them. She suddenly frowned and glanced around, like someone had just said her name or something. “Are you alright?”
”I’m fine………….do you feel it?”
I blinked at her. “I’m, sorry?”
”I just….there’s this weird feeling, in the air, you know? Like, something’s hiding in plain sight.”

I shouldn’t have stared at her, but I did. I didn’t “feel” anything, except a bit chilled. She sighed and gave the book a toss back onto the shelf. “Nevermind.” She muttered, then walked off, a bit of a slump in her shoulders. I felt like I should follow, apologize, something, but honestly, I had no idea why. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d said anything that would upset her, right? Ok, so I stared but…oh bother it, I’ll just apologize later. Anyway, I bought a few of the little novels and was heading out the door when I brushed past a man coming in. The cold that stung through my body felt like a thousand freezing ant bites and I jumped back with a gasp. The fellow looked at me, smiled, nodded, and kept walking, leaving me rubbing my arm to try and get some warmth back into it. I glanced up to find the man looking at Vilmarith and Myna, with, a rather unpleasant smile on his lips. He caught my eye and the look faded into a friendly grin. I don’t know why, but I half ran from the store, slap bang into Filly. The result was us sitting in the middle of the muddy street, trying to find our breath. “No offense, big fella, but we really gotta work on your clumsy streak. ‘S bit annoyin’.”

“Sorry, sorry, wasn’t lookin’, sorry……” I babbled, helping her to her feet. Filly grinned. “Sakes, its no big deal, just a few bumps and bru……..you ok? You’re all pale and sweaty lookin.”

“I’m….” I thought about telling her about the man in the store, but then felt extraordinarily silly. I was probably imagining things, too much excitement and being in a strange place and all. “Fine. Just shouldn’t be running in the rain I guess.”
”You sure?”
”Yes. I’m fine.” I lied, still feeling rather ill.”

Filly shrugged. “Alrighty, come on, I found us a place to crash fer the night, Gulpin’ Grouse Inn. Funny name, but its cozy enough. We’ll be drawin’ lots to see who bunks with Dirk by the way.”

And so it brings us back to here Angela and I in one room, Filly and Talia in another, and Vilmarith and Myna in a third. Dirk was passed out in the bar last we saw, which we figure just saves us the trouble of drawing lots. I’ve thought a lot about what Talia said about “feelin’” this place, and lookin’ back on my brush with that strange man, I’m starting to wonder if something truly is wrong with this town. Ah well, it will keep until morning.

TTFN.

Marches, Day 11, Year of the Second Son

            I am still unsure of what has transpired today, though I am fully sure that I shall not have a pleasant dream for quite some time after. When I drifted to sleep, I was wrapped in a comforter, in a down filled bed, near a roaring fire, all inside a room at the Gulping Grouse. But come the morn……

            It was the cold I first noticed. Not a chill, mind you, but a full-blown iciness that seemed to cling to my skin. I thought perhaps Angela was up and had opened the window, but then I realized I was wet. My eyes opened slowly, and, well…….I’m not entirely sure how to describe this. We were in, a shell of a room, one that had apparently been in a rather nasty fire quite a long time ago. Black and charcoal gray surrounded us, and I suddenly realized two more things: Angela was still sleeping, and we were both resting on the remains of beds, as charred as the remaining walls around us. How had this happened? I wondered if there had been a fire in the night, but I know I’m not that sound a sleeper, and neither Angela nor I had a single burn I could see. I eased out of the charcoaled frame and shook her softly. She came awake with a snort and a grumble, blinking blearily up at me. “Close window an’ stop flickin’ water on me, Jack, I’m tired…”
”Angela, wake up!”

She sat up and glared at me for a second before the same realizations I’d had struck her. She stared about, open mouthed and looked at me in complete confusion. My only reply was a shrug. “I suggest we get dressed and see if the others are awake yet.”
”Not a bad plan bro.” She whispered back, and we both scrambled to get our things, shivering from the cold. The broken door creaked as we lipped through it, and large holes dotted the walls, ceiling, and floor, and generally the whole area smelled of burnt wood. The other rooms were empty. Every one of them. I will not lie, I was scared.  “Maybe they went out to investigate?” Angela whispered, the silence around us oppressing. I nodded softly, though I knew neither of us believed it. Why wouldn’t they wake us? If nothing else, walking down the creaking, groaning timber in the hall would have gotten our attention. Which begged the second question: No matter how they left, by choice or, not, how did it happen so silently? For that matter, what the Hades had happened to the Inn? We barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before they collapsed into a heap of splinters and ash, and everything around us showed fire and smoke damage. But none of it was fresh, everything weathered and rotting away.

            And outside was even worse. Some of the buildings were burnt, much like the Inn, but others were rubble, a few nothing more than outlined foundations. “Jack,” Angela muttered, sounding about as confused as I felt. “Now, tell me if I’m wrong, but, wasn’t there, you know, a town here, yesterday?”

“I, thought, so…” Was the best I could manage, my mouth dry. It didn’t make sense, not even in the least, and just as I was about to start calling for the rest, Angela dove on top of me and clamped a hand to my mouth. “Shhhhhhhh!” I looked up at her, about to ask what in the name of bloody screaming Meemee’s she was doing, when a large white shape shot over us with the flap of leathery wings. I sat up slowly, peering over a broken wall to watch the creature’s progress. I don’t know if there is truly a name for it, but it appeared to be the bat winged upper torso of a human skeleton, with the skull of a horse upon its neck. The arms supported it as it landed upon a signpost, a harsh, rasping sound drifting to us as the head turned, eyeless sockets scanning the ruins. It was hunting something. Don’t ask me how I know this, but it was. We stayed low, and after a moment it flapped its leather bound wings and took flight in a very certain direction. Angela stood and half dragged me to my feet. “What are you doing?” I hissed, glancing around lest more, skeleton, things, were lurking. “We’ve got to follow it.”

“I’m sorry?” My tone was as incredulous as my look. Angela shot me an annoyed look. “The town goes from crowded to destroyed in the blink of a night, and now we see an obviously necromantic creature. We follow it, we’ll probably find the others.”
”Ok, how do you figure that one?”
”Do you have a better explanation?”

            The, thing, was not easy to follow. It left the ruins at full speed and began weaving through the surrounding trees with nearly careless ease. We more earthbound beings had a touch more trouble with roots and underbrush, but after a while, the creature wasn’t necessary. Angela felt the sign first. She stopped dead with a shudder, her eyes going wide. “Oh my goddess…..” She whispered. I stared at her, lacking the breath to even ask why the sudden pause. She swallowed hard and put a finger to her lips. “We have to be very, very careful.” I shrugged and nodded, and, much more slowly, we continued in the general direction of the thing. I’d just caught enough breath to ask questions when the smell hit me. The stench of decay, of something long dead and rotting from the bones. And even as I gagged, I felt a cold, frightening chill creep over me. Angela nodded and whispered one word. “Necromancer.”

I made a small sound in my throat and my legs trembled. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I’m a scholar and sometimes doctor, not a bloody warrior! My knowledge of “dealing” with necromancers and their minions is “Avoid at all costs”! Angela saw the look in my eyes and patted my arm softly. “Don’t worry bro. I’ll protect you.” She smiled softly and winked and I think I managed a very weak smile in reply.

            The deeper we went, the worse the feeling in my gut and the stench in my nostrils became. At the point where I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick or flee screaming, we spotted the firelight. A little closer and we heard a deep, flowing voice. “Very good my pet. I thought there were two more, but perhaps they awoke and fled when they had the chance.” We peered through the leaves of a concealing bush and found ourselves staring at a man’s back, dressed in a cloak as red as a blood stained sunset, and his shaved scalp gleamed in the light of several braziers. In front of him, the horse headed thing perched on a log, apparently delivering a report. The sight past that froze my blood. Row upon row of bodies, most half rotted, stood in silent lines like soldiers. And in front of them, bound at their hands and feet, were the rest. Filly was unconscious, though at the moment I feared she was dead. Dirk was huddled in as small a ball as he could make himself, and I hardly blamed him. Talia, Myna, and Vilmarith looked as though they’d been severely beaten, and glared at their captor through dried blood and, in Myna’s case, a very swollen eye. The necromancer turned toward them, and I could see his sickening smile glint in the light. “Well, my employers only paid for you lot anyway, so I suppose I can allow two little mice to scamper away, eh?” Talia spit at him, and an unmistakable growl sounded from both the elves. The necro just smiled wider. “Still feisty. I bet you’d still attempt to attack me too, even with an entire town of reanimated corpses behind you and my, pets, between us. You just don’t see that kind of courage anymore. Pity.” I almost yelped as a finger tapped my shoulder and Angela’s voice whispered in my ear. “ There’s more, things, in the trees. I’m going to go make a distraction, you untie the others.”
”What?!” I hissed. “No way!”
”Jack, I know you’re scared, but,”
”But nothing, you are not going to play bait for a death casting sicko!”

“Oh please bro, I’m not going to fight the bastard, just go and make some noise while you slip in and help the rest.”

“No, no, and no!”
”Well, would you prefer I go untie while you distract?”
I was paused for a moment, then gulped. “I’m faster than you are, so yes.”
”No, because if one of those things caught up, I have ways to get rid of them. You don’t.”
We both jumped as a voice sounded in our ears. “I’m quite afraid it’s a moot point.”

            The necromancer smiled widely, almost pleasantly as he knelt in front of us, the bushes pulled aside by two of his creatures. “Well well, so the little mice have more backbone than I thought. I’m impressed. Truly. Any other person would have fled when they saw my pet.” I stared, open mouthed. The man from the store. The one who I brushed against leaving. I’d have known the cold eyes anywhere, the friendly smile, and that cold, stinging feeling in my soul. “I don’t suppose either of you cares to tell me your names? Your companions have been, quite rude about it. Especially the thief.” His hand shot out suddenly and clamped over Angela’s mouth. “Ah ah ah, little one!” He chided softly. “No magics now, its not polite.” Angela’s stick was suddenly snapping across his face, and a line of crimson formed where it struck, the smile fading. “You know, manners cost nothing. Insolence costs much.” I heard a muffled scream and saw black energy flowing down his robed arm, burning into Angela’s face. Gods above help me, I don’t know what snapped inside me, but something did, and I used the only weapon I had handy: My bags of books.

            Interesting fact: Magic bags allow one to carry a large amount of objects at up to a twentieth of their true weight. This is how one is able to carry not only many objects, but also many heavy objects. Another interesting fact is that there is a small magical loophole that even a nonmage can exploit if they know about it. With the utterance of a single word, the weight reduction spell can be lifted without lifting the space reduction spell. “Yephas!”

The screaming of this word put an entire library’s worth of weight behind a swing, condensing it into a hammer blow that sent the necromancer spinning away in to a tree, releasing Angela in the process. Unfortunately, this also meant that I had the momentum of an entire library in a circular motion behind me, which sent me rolling into a small table full of weapons. This made two miracles in one, the first was immediate, the other showed itself soon after. The first was the fact that I wasn’t sliced in half by Dirk’s sword, or skewered by Filly’s daggers. This would have been more of a relief if laying on my back hadn’t given me a wonderful view of a whole flock of the skeletal things descending upon me, jaws wide and fingers reaching. I actually felt the horrid, dry bony fingers on my face, when something large and green smashed through the lot of them, bone shards showering the surrounding bushes. I blinked at the branch that helped me to my feet, staring at Angela, her wand in hand and glowing with energy. She gave me a pained wink, her face sporting burn marks from the necro’s touch. “Even.”

“How, touching.”

We both turned to stare at the necromancer, our jaws dropping. The blow from the books would have killed a normal, human sized being, and I suppose, sometime in the past, it would have killed him too. But he seemed totally unconcerned with the fact that half his ribs were protruding from his chest, and the sneer on his face seemed all the more bizarre for the fact that his head was resting totally on his shoulder, the neck broken cleanly. I thought I was going to be sick again. And when the bones suddenly sucked back into his chest and his neck righted itself with a series of sucking, snapping sounds, I actually felt the bile rise. “Very touching indeed. Stick by your friends, no matter what, hmmm? Lovely. Stupid.” He cracked his knuckles and grinned very unpleasantly. “But lovely. Now, how would you prefer to die little mice? Shall I melt the eyes from your skulls? Tear your hearts out and force them down your throats? Or perhaps just a good old fashioned beheading or two?” His hands and eyes burned with black fire and I looked to Angela, never more sure that it would be the last time I’d see her.

            Sssssthump! Sssthump! Fwippacrack! Two arrows pierced the burning hands, and a thrown dagger buried itself in the necro’s chest. “I’d say none of the above, ya pasty freak…..” My head whipped around and I felt my heart speed up. Filly and Vilmarith stood, arrow drawn and daggers ready, glaring at the wounded death dealer. Behind them, Myna and Talia were beheading the last zombies, their crimson stained blades flashing. The necro snarled, flexing his hands and snapping the shafts in his palms, then ripping the dagger from his body. “I underestimated you. Well. Don’t do that very often. And its obvious I’m a bit, outnumbered. So, I believe I shall leave.”
”No,” Vilmarith snarled, eyes flashing. “I believe you shall remain here, and inform us as to who, precisely, hired you.”

“And then we’ll make sure you remain here permanently.” Filly added, looking a little groggy from her own apparent beating. The necromancer smiled, bowed once……and vanished in a flare of blue flames, the braziers toppling and a dark shape flashing overhead with a harsh caw. Vilmarith’s arrows and Filly’s daggers never touched the fleeing crow, but soon it was out of sight, and silence filled the clearing.

 Vilmarith sighed and slung her bow over her shoulder. “Bickanar.” She swore softly, limping over to where Angela and I stood. “I’d hoped to get some information for that one.” She paused in front of us, looking from one to the other, then pulled us into a hug so tight I thought I heard bones scrape. “By the gods we were so worried! I’d feared he’d simply killed you two!”

“Nice, to see, you too, Vil…” Angela wheezed. Myna came up behind her and chuckled slightly. “My love, they’re turning blue.”
Vilmarith blushed and released us and as we sucked in air, the rest told us what had occurred. They’d awoken to find themselves in the same burnt out inn, but with the added problem of the mysterious necromancer’s “pets” bearing down on them. They never even got the chance to draw blades, bony fists driving into their heads and solid grips dragging them into the sky. The necromancer had apparently been informed of our progress and had laid a trap in the burned out remains of the town, destroyed in orc raids many months ago. He’d resurrected the entire mass grave, casing an illusion to make the zombified corpses look human once more and carry out the actions of their lives. He’d apparently been a very chatty fellow, though most of his conversations were either bragging about his own cleverness, or promising brutal death at the hands of his “employer”.

“We attempted escape, but that didn’t do us much good.” Talia finished with a sigh. Filly gingerly touched a rising bump on her head. “We were pretty much screwed till you two came along. Looks like we owe ya.” Angela and I both blushed and protested, but the others wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that they would all be dead or worse if we hadn’t “rescued” them. There followed an uncomfortable silence, broken by Myna. “I suppose we should probably untie and ungag Dirk now.”
”Do we hafta?” Filly grinned.

            So, now we’re camped two hour’s walk from the necromancer’s clearing. We reburied the townsfolk, though we could not mark their graves with names. I have first watch, which is fine by me. I doubt I truly wish to sleep anyway, knowing what nightmares are waiting in the wings. I suppose I should wrap this up and wake Filly for her watch.

Marches day 13, Year of the Second Son.

            This has been a most, surprising day, to say the least. Sleeping was not the most comfortable activity last night. Between the decaying, shambling forms reaching for my flesh in slumber and the very real and waking pain every time I rolled over on my foot, I think I got about five minutes of uninterrupted sleep. So I was not a happy little bookworm when Angela, who had apparently slept like a honey drunk pixie, came bounding out of bed and began shaking me vigorously. “Wakey wake! Come on, up up up, breakfast! And we’re gonna see that magician, and Vilmarith says she knows this shop where they sell all kinds of herbs and fungi from all over the world! Do you know what that means?!”

“That you are far too energetic for this early in the morning, go, away.” I grumbled, rolling over to put my back to her. I heard the “Humph”, followed by a swishing sound and buried myself beneath the covers, which quite effectively softened the wand’s “motivational tap”. Angela made a small whining sound I hadn’t heard since we were kids. “Come oooooon, Jack! It’s the first real day in a real trading town! You should be excited, think of all the people you’ll see and the stories you could hear!”

“Angela, my foot hurts.”
”Oh, that’s just a bit of soreness, the spell worked perfectly, come ooooooon, up up up!”
”No, no, and no.” I replied, snuggling deeper into the mattress. I expected another “humph” or perhaps more whining and cajoling. What I got was a small, quiet spell and the kind of small tornado associated with the Olasa, the Dwarven Cave of Winds. I had a brief sensation of being lifted and spun around repeatedly, before being deposited on the floor in front of an innocently smiling Angela. I looked up at her somewhat mournfully. “Been practicing, have you?”
”Awwww, you noticed! Come on, I’ve set out some clothes for you and according to the big clock tower thingy in the town square, you’ve got about two hours to get your hind quarters in gear and have breakfast. So do be quick, bro. Ta!” She half skipped out of the room, leaving me to grouse and sluggishly dress, an act that involved figuring out my boots were on the wrong feet, my shirt was on backwards, and that I somehow managed to get both of my legs into one pants leg.

            I stumbled downstairs a few minutes later, feeling as bad as I probably looked. My foot throbbed with every step, and I hadn’t bothered to wash my face or comb my hair. Looking back, I probably looked a bit like some living dead creature myself, complete with strange gait and blank, devoid stare. I found the table the others were sitting at by using a bit of echolocation: I’d bump into a table and listen to the voices yelling at me until I found recognizable ones. My companions’ reactions to my appearance and entrance was, mixed. Vilmarith and Myna kept asking if I felt ok, Filly was trying very hard not to laugh, Dirk was too hung over to care (not to mention nursing a black eye. Dancing girls are a very, spirited, lot), Angela was tsking, and Talia seemed almost more concerned than the two elves, going so far as to suggest I go lay back down. I could have kissed her when she said it. Unfortunately, my darling, lovely, torture minded little sis quickly settled that hash by saying I’d feel MUCH better with some fresh air, sunshine, and shopping. She was quite adamant about that last one, and once it was there, so was every other woman. Ok, so, none of them were talking dresses and shoes, but they were still more exited than any of the men at the table. Ok, yes, only one of us was fully conscious but……..oh hang it, moving on.

            The sunlight on my poor eyes was blinding, and early as it was, the crowds were well on their way to massing, and my half walking, half dragged form was bumped, nudged, and shoved every which way as Filly and Angela tugged an arm each. They dragged me anywhere that had a shiny blade on display, followed by Talia for expert opinion, which consisted mostly of pointing out which were pieces of painted cow dung, and if any were as “magic” as advertised. None were, for reference. After about six such shops, the pair got distracted by a lady selling exotic pets and Talia, sighing with some relief, dragged me off to find “proper” weaponry. Today’s fair was slightly more interesting than yesterday’s, if that’s possible. We came to a rather run down looking old building that had the linger scent of a stable around it. The smithy within was an old dwarf with one eye and one hand, who handed me what looked like a fixed up farmer’s scythe and took me out to the test dummy out back.  I won’t go into the painfully embarrassing details, but somehow I started out taking swings at the straw filled figure, and ended up sitting behind it, with the dummy holding the weapon in one fingerless hand. Really not quite sure how I accomplished that, and neither was the dwarf. However, he told me that just meant I needed somethin’ different, so, back into the shop. Next came a mace and chain, solid steel with a spiked ball on one end and a sturdy oak handle. I like to think that I did pretty well with that, even if I did miss the dummy twelve swings out of fourteen. I even managed not to hit myself or anyone else with it! Of course, that kind of action wasn’t sufficient for a proper weapon, so, back to the shop. I couldn’t lift the halberd, I tripped over the pike handle twice just trying to get out to the dummy, and the less said about the bullwhip, the better. We were just getting started with a pitchfork when Angela and Filly showed up, scolding both of us for disappearing on them (judging by the number of parcels they were carrying, I don’t think they minded “searching” all that much). I probably would have protested if I’d had the time, but they grabbed my arms once more and took off so fast I thought my arms were going to be going without me.

            The reason for this enthusiasm? Quite simple, it was almost noon, and the growing crowd around the cart in the town square meant the show was about to start. Vilmarith and Myna waved us over, and pretty soon I found myself smashed between Angela and Filly, both of whom were bouncing and giggling like schoolgirls. “We’re gonna see a magic show, yeeeeeeee!” Angela squealed in my ear. I looked skyward for strength from the One Father. “Uh, yeah, whoopee.” I agreed, wishing I was back in bed right now. Honestly, I figured this was going to be some two copper parlor trickster, doing cheap card tricks and making small rubber balls “vanish” up his sleeves.

Then the stage exploded.

To be more accurate, the entire wooden platform that made up the stage was engulfed in bright blue flames in an instant, followed by a series of near blinding explosions which flashed every color you could imagine and filled the entire square with smoke that smelled, oddly like burning weasel hair (don’t ask. Let us simply say it was one of those nights that Angela and I were deathly bored and had excess hair of weasel lying around.)

There was a great whoosh of wind and suddenly the stage was visible again, the whole of the square surrounded by a thick wall of gray smoke. But my attention, like that of everyone else’s, was drawn to the small, bizarre creature now standing at center stage. The fairest description of the beast would be half duck, half monkey, though not entirely in those proportions. Hair and feathers seemed to mix and blend, a bill stuck out from the flat monkey face, and a dark furred tail brushed across a set of webbed feet.

And it spoke.

“Ladies and gentleman….” It called in a voice heavy with mystery and foreboding. “I am called Thraxx, a creature from a land so odd and astounding that no mere mortal can withstand setting foot across its boarders without slipping into madness! But my master has conquered the realm of insanity, and brought me back as proof, training me with his astounding skills so that I may better aide him in his mystifying magics.” We hung upon every word as though it were one of the gods themselves delivering holy scripture upon us. “Prepare, mortals! Prepare for the coming of the great, astounding, mystifying, marvelous…” He paused and did a quick count on his furry fingers, “UZAIR!”

Another flash of blinding light, and everyone gaped at the figure standing in perfect calm on center stage. But for the rest of the audience, the amazement was in the entrance and the appearance. For myself, and the others, it was recognition. The bright red hat, the starry night jacket, the flaring cape, and the easy, almost teasing smile. It was the same man from the mayor’s office, arms akimbo as though he was posing for a commemorative statue. Angela whacked me in the arm repeatedly as she pointed at him, like I wasn’t paying attention. While the rest just kept looking from each other, seeking confirmation that they weren’t hallucinating.

            Uzair took three steps forward and threw out his arms, releasing a flock of stark white doves. The audience gasped and oohed as he spoke. “Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, young and young at heart, welcome! I, am the mighty Uzair, and I welcome you to an afternoon of magic,” A bouquet of flowers appeared in his hand, “Mystery,” He released the bouquet and it seemed to hover in midair, “Danger,” the flowers vanished and a black serpent with flaming red eyes and needle like fangs lashed at the showman’s face, death inches from his nose, “And with any luck,” the serpent exploded in a shower of blue and yellow paper stars, and a small baby bunny sat upon the stage, scratching his ear. “A happy ending.” We were hooked. He could have thrown hot tar at us and not a soul in the audience would have moved. The bunny hopped off the stage and came up to Filly’s feet, nuzzling her softly and making little squeaky sounds. Filly looked down in surprise and Uzair’s eyes fell on us, eyebrows rising in recognition, and a warm smile crossing his face. “I see the bunny of luck has found himself a friend!” The entire audience turned to stare as Filly crouched down and lifted the ball of fur with ears. It gave a peep and hopped onto her shoulder, nuzzling her ear. “You are very fortunate madam! I’ve never seen him take a liking to someone so quickly!” The people around us looked disappointed, and Filly’s ears turned bright red as she tried to hide her pleasure. “Madam, I will require many volunteers this night, about…..” He took a moment to take a quick count of us, “About seven of them, to be exact. Would you and your friends do me the honor?” He bowed low, and I found myself being half pushed half carried onto the stage by Angela, while Filly did the same to Talia. Myna and Vilmarith moved with the same comfortable stride they always seemed to possess, while Dirk slouched onto the stage as though he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

To go into detail of the astonishing feats Uzair performed would never do it justice. From levitation, decapitation (non fatal, though seeing Angela’s head lifted off her body almost gave me a heart attack), amputation (Filly’s legs went for a walk while her upper body stayed in midair, gaping), and hypnosis (seeing two elves act like squirrels was fun, though they really were a bit peevish when they were brought back), to a demonstration of accuracy, sending daggers, swords, spears, axes, even a halberd flying through the air to stake themselves barely an inch from Dirk’s body. He juggled flaming torches and poisoned daggers, and demonstrated the amazing training of Thraxx by having him sword fight with Talia (a draw, by the way). Then came my turn, and the Mighty Uzair turned to the crowd. “Ladies and Gentleman! I have shown you things this day! But perhaps the most astonishing things can come from the mind, not the body! And so, good people, I shall endeavor to read the mind and, perhaps, the future, of this man, a scholar by trade!” There was muffled laughter from the crowd and he snagged my by the collar as I attempted a fast escape from the stage. “As you can see, he’s quite willing.” That was a lie. I wanted off that stage, mainly because I had no desire to see the future. I don’t even know my past, and barely understand the present! But the man’s grip was like beaten iron, and I finally stood still as he looked deep into my eyes.

            It almost felt like a liquid was seeping through my eyes, crawling through my skull to caress and slither across my brain. “Hmmmm, interesting. Strong willed. Don’t worry lad, I won’t hurt you at all, just try a memory, something no one else would know of but yourself.” I pondered for a moment and then remembered one particular day in Bebla…… “You were sitting by a stream, watching dragonflies hover over the water and dart about, like, piece of living jewels and jade. Very poetic my friend.” I felt like I couldn’t blink. “A boy, older than yourself, came and began, making fun of you. Arlon Viggs.” Sweet mother of the savior….. “You tried to ignore him and finally he picked you up and tossed you into the stream, then laughed at you…..you couldn’t swim………you almost drowned, but you never told anyone, he threatened you, but you were still going to tell the elders until he……he threatened your friend. Your “little sister”………..Angela…….You almost died from pneumonia from that, but you were too afraid to tell them……..” His eyes seemed to soften, and behind him Angela gave a small gasp. “You have a good heart, my friend. Now, let us see your……future………..” And that’s when the world vanished.

            I was thrown through a vortex of images, images of pain and death, of people screaming and dieing, dark beings tormenting the innocent, suddenly switching to scenes of peace, of forests and caves filled with sweet scented roses, more darkness, fire, a reptilian face, a horrid hiss and the flash of fangs, and then two figures appeared, cloaked in white and black, and they spoke. “Things that were and things that are, things that may not be. Seek us, child of the runes. Seek us……..” We were suddenly inside a cave full of glittering crystals, I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came free. They spoke again. “Awaken……” It felt like I was being pulled backwards by a giant hand, I flew from the cave, hurtling down a snow covered mountain, through a bubbling hissing swamp, through a patch of woodlands, and suddenly I was back through the gates of Balzar’s Meadow, and flying straight into the cart of the Great Uzair, back into my own body………

            “HE’S AWAKE!” The shrill scream of joy was accompanied by Angela’s arms wrapping around my chest, half lifting me out of the bed. “You’re awake you’re awake you’re awake!!!”

“Nice, to see, you too, sis….” I gasped, and she let go, falling back with a grin. I noticed her eyes were red and puffy, and she wiped at her nose with a bit of cloth. “Sorry, its just, we were all so worried……”
I managed a small smile. “I’m fine, really, just, kinda passed out I guess……”
”Kinda passed out? Hell big fella, you were jerkin’ like a landed trout!” Filly stood at the door, stroking the small grey bunny. Her eyes were like Angela’s, swollen from tears, but she did her best to sound more annoyed than relieved. “A fine thing too! Here we were, having a nice time, and you have to go and have a seizure on us!”

“Seizure?”
Angela and Filly looked at each other then back at me. “Yeah, seizure. After that whole, memory thing, you just sort of collapsed and started shaking. The audience was half ready to lynch Uzair as a demon, and we were at the head of that little mob. Talia picked you up and carried you in here, and, well, we’ve just been keeping watch on you.”
I massaged my temples. “Good father, how long was I out?”
”Six days.”

I gaped at Vilmarith and Myna as they slipped in beside Filly, looking like a pair of relieved parents. “And yes, we’re sure. We, didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

“Where are we?” The room looked, kinda small and was full of little do dads and baubles.

“The back of Uzair’s cart. He insisted we use it. Something about healing energies.” Filly shrugged. I opened my mouth to ask more, and maybe tell them about my dream, but Angela pushed me back onto the pillow. “Enough, you need rest, anything else can wait for morning!” I was going to argue, but I had three sets of female glowers aimed at me, and Myna was staying well out of the way. Always knew he was a smart guy. Even as I write this Angela is standing by the bed, tapping her foot, so I’d best wrap this up.

Marches day 14, Year of the Second Son

            Today was full of things both confusing and enlightening. I, well….. to tell you truly, my trusty journal, I’m scared. Very very scared. Oh bother, It all began this morning, a most rude awakening.

            The first thing that filtered into my conscious state was voices, raised in anger.

“And I’m tellin’ you, we should leave I‘m with that minister and get out of here before we share his fate!”
”You spineless, self-serving worm! Would you want us to leave you in those, those, mad men’s hands!?”
”No, but I ain’t po….”
”Don’t, you, dare, finish, that, sentence….”

It took me a moment to identify the voices. Dirk, Myna, and Angela. My eyelids flickered open and I took another moment to realize I was still in the back of Uzair’s cart, wrapped in a blanket, with Filly’s little bunny nestled softly on my chest. The room was otherwise empty and the angry voices filtered through the door. I lay still and listened, curious as to what, exactly, was the cause of all this noise.
”Look, all I’m sayin’ is he freaks out and goes into a trance like that, there’s somethin’ majorly wrong, and if that minister says……” Dirk was cut off by Angela's enraged voice. “That zealot wouldn’t know spirits if they came up and kissed him on the mouth!”

“Yeah? Then you tell me why he freaked out like that, eyes rolled back and floppin’ about like a landed trout!”

“Maybe he has a medical problem, Dirk, did you ever think of that?” Filly’s voice dripped scorn.

“Besides which, we all know what that, that, black hooded idiot and his lot will do if we surrender the poor boy to them.” Myna’s voice was hard, and the last statement sounded almost sickened.

A sound like a snort and Dirk spoke again. “Why should I care, I didn’t want the little…..” There was a sound like a smack and then a voice sounded in my ear. “Jeez kid, you got the whole town in an uproar.”

            I jumped, startling the bunny who raced up on top of my head and made little chirping sounds at the form sitting on a shelf near the bed. I blinked sleep from my eyes and half gaped at the strange beast, a……

“Duck-Monkey. Its what I’m called, or Thraxx if you don’t wanna bitin’.”
I mouthed soundlessly and finally found my voice. “O, ok, um, I’m….”
”Jack, yeah, I know, they been screamin’ it back and forth for about two hours now, hard to miss. “I blinked at him and he jerked a thumb at the door. I stared harder. “They’re, arguing about me?”
”Well, actually they’re arguing about the town minister and his angry mob outside.”
”The, the what?”

“Yeah, see, apparently the scripture thumper got it in his head your little collapse last night was the result of possession by evil spirits, or maybe even demons.”
I gaped at him. He nodded sadly.
”I’m pretty sure they plan to burn you at the stake, or hang ya, or somethin’ like that. For a tradin’ town, sure are narrow minded, eh?” I thought I was gonna pass out again and he smiled softly, reaching out a webbed hand to pat me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it kid. Most of your friends,” Meaning not Dirk, “Sound like they’re more likely to fight their way outta town with you on their backs, and the boss’d never let someone who’s obviously had a major experience go to the gallows.”
”Buh, buh, huh?” Was all I could manage. Thraxx smiled and nodded at the door again.

Another voice sounded, familiar but I couldn’t place the name. “Hey, hey, HEY! Look, we are not gonna throw the kid to the hounds, now if you’ll all be quiet, I’m gonna go check on WOAH!” The door was creaking open and suddenly burst forth, Angela, Filly, and Talia pushing past the still caped figure of Uzair. I blinked against the assault of light on my eyes and found myself being fussed over by the three of them, joined swiftly by Vilmarith while Dirk and Myna stood outside, glaring at each other. Uzair just stood aside, smiling softly as they fluffed my pillows, made me take sips of juice and bites of cold toast and eggs and generally treating me like I was on my death bed or some such. Uzair finally cleared his throat. “Ladies?” They blinked at him and stepped back reluctantly, and I thought I saw a small blush on Talia’s face. It gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, but before I could consider it, Uzair stepped forward and sat down. “How ya feelin’, friend Jack?”
”Better.” I said truthfully, slowly sitting up. My head still hurt a little, but I wasn’t dizzy anymore. He smiled again. “Good to hear. Now, Jack, I’d like you to tell me what, as precisely as you can, you saw when you, um, went out for a bit yesterday.” It took a moment for me to understand what he was asking for, and then it hit me all in a flash again, every mountain, cloud, tree, and the two figures in white and black. There was silence when I was finished, broken only by a snort from outside, followed by what sounded like a kick and some cursing. The girls were staring at me, somewhere between confused and scared, judging by their expressions. The scratch of a quill behind me found Thraxx finishing a scroll while Uzair scratched his chin, nodding slowly. “Yes, yes I see. Very interesting.” He suddenly smiled widely and clapped his hands. “Well, let’s get packing, I could use all your help packing up the cart and hitching up the animals, good thing I bought all my supplies yesterday…”
Vilmarith cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. Uzair.”
”No dear, just Uzair, if you please.” He replied with a smile.
”Right, of course, what are you talking about?”
”Isn’t it obvious? I’m traveling with you.” He said matter-of-factly and stood, heading back out the door with Thraxx close at his heels.

It took a little to get dressed, but only for the fact that I had to argue with every woman in the wagon that, yes, I was strong enough to be out of bed now, and yes, I could dress myself, and no, I didn’t think it would be a better idea to take a nap. Honestly, a nap even! I’d just been told a religiously outraged and violent mob is after my blood, and they wanted me to take a nap! It was flattering that they worried about me, naturally, but there is a fine line after all. In any event, once I was fully dressed, bespectacled, and clean shaven (I had the scraggly beginnings of a tramp beard, heaven forbid), I emerged from the rear of the tent to find Myna and Uzair in whispered conversation near a window. Dirk was situated in a corner, arms across his chest, eyeing me as though he was wondering how fast he could get from there to me and heave me out the door. I prayed he wouldn’t try.

“Right then, negotiation is out.” Uzair said aloud suddenly, and then heaved a heavy sigh. “Pity that. These kinds of situations always work out better when you can convince them to leave peaceful like.” I moved behind them and peered past their heads out the window. A sea of people stretched before the cart, what looked like every man, woman, child, and probably even pet in town seemed to have gathered. Standing on, something, in the middle of this sea was a black robed man with a white collar, a black hat, and the kind of face which made one think that calling him “sir” would be noted as “casual greeting.” He was shouting, waving his arms, and every eye seemed glued upon him, heads nodding and closed fists, some clutching weaponry, were raised. Yet I could hear no sound, even while I could see the veins sticking out of the clergyman’s neck as he bellowed. I posed the question to Uzair and he grinned. “Sound spell. Keeps unwanted noise out, helps me sleep a bit better. I can tweak it a bit an’ get an earful, but the gist of it was put rather clearly last night when he came to the door. We’re supposed to give you up to him an’ his order to “cleanse you of the demonic taint.” When we said no, he said a few rather nasty things about all of us, and stormed off. Apparently he must have decided sleep was a sin, woke the whole town up so they’re good and grumpy, and gave ‘em a target to take said grump out on. Namely, us.”

I felt the color drain from my face and my mouth dried in an instant. Uzair just smiled again. “Not to worry, not to worry, we’ll get this all fixed up. Now then, here’s what we do……..”

            I could tell you all of Uzair’s plan, but to be blunt, it didn’t survive contact with the “enemy”. So instead of saying what SHOULD have occurred, I will relate what actually happened. It started with Uzair striding from his front door, scowling, pushing his knuckles to his hips under the fluttering cape. The crowd, astonishingly, fell quiet. From my spot in the cart, I couldn’t see his face, but it must have been very impressing, for even the clergyman seemed to lose a bit of his wind at the sight. “What’s all this then?” Uzair called out in a booming voice. “What’re you all doin’ here, makin’ such a caterwaul and disturbin’ my studies?”

The clergyman scowled back, his voice strong, with only a hint of time’s aging break in it. “Wizard! We of Balzar’s Meadow, in the name of the Great Beings of Trade and Honesty, demand you turn the possessed one over to us! We ask this not in our name, oh no, but in the name of his soul, and yours!” He was getting ready to launch into a sermon, and Uzair knew it would be best to cut him off quickly. “Bother to you all! Feh I say! Bother and Feh and Away with the lot of you! That boy is no more possessed than any of you.”
”And how would you know this, wizard?” The clergyman cried, suddenly changing tact. “Mayhap you wish to infect our poor town with evil spirits or, even…” A dramatic whisper, “Demons.” This man was a born actor and trouble starter. The whole town seemed to tense and I could have sworn I could hear the grips tightening upon leather bound handles. Uzair scoffed. “Oh yes, because if I was going to take over a town through magic, I’d blatantly ride into town in a brightly painted cart and perform magic. Tell me, did you pastor smack you in the head with the Book of Grand much?”

The clergyman sputtered a bit at this. “How, dare you! Give us the demon, wizard, or face the righteous wrath of the good lords and ladies of the heavens!”

“I would, but it seems to me that he’s already making a get away.” He peered over their heads and as one, the whole village turned. A cloaked figure, about my height, was rushing away, a book clutched in his arms. The tide of villagers turned as one, crying out and waving weaponry as their holy leader cried for my capture.

            That was the signal. I felt Myna and Vilmarith lift me effortlessly and race towards the town gates. I say felt, as I was presently ensconced in a large traveling trunk, with a covert hole cut in the side for air at just the right place for me to peek through. I silently thanked those good lords and ladies that the old adage had proved true. Any being, as a single entity, can be a thoughtful, kind, thinking person. Beings as a group, man, goblin, dwarf, elf, felonian, etc, are crazed, stupid, and often violent. Hopefully, they were at least crazed and stupid enough not to notice two elves spiriting away a magician’s trunk.

“Fenra’s Teeth!” Myna hissed suddenly as the trunk came to a halt.
”What?” I whispered as loudly as I dared.
”That black robed zealot’s smarter than we gave him credit for. The gates are shut and barred.

This, naturally, was NOT part of Uzair’s plan.

Vilmarith whispered. “Back to the cart.” But I didn’t feel any movement. The elves stood stock still, and I heard the clergyman’s voice. “Put it down you two, slowly now.” There was a twang, and one of the elves hissed through their teeth in pain. “Don’t try that again, pointed ear, or I’ll make sure you never use that bow arm again. And the blade stays sheathed, pretty one, or I put a bolt through your pretty little neck. Now, down.” The trunk was eased onto the ground, and suddenly tumbled over as someone gave it a mighty kick. The lid popped open and I tumbled out onto the ground, choking on dust as a hand gripped my neck and dragged me to my feet. I found myself staring at the clergyman, the biggest hand bow I ever laid eyes on clutched in his far too young looking hand. “Thought ye could pull a fast one, eh?” That crack of age was gone, and before my eyes, the wrinkles blurred away, leaving a young, leering face. “Not a good plan. Not at all. Our employer doesn’t like it when you lot get clever.”

“Hello Barthis.” Came Vilmarith’s ice-cold voice from my left. I glanced in her direction, saw her kneeling by Myna who was clutching a crossbow bolt in his chest, and then took in the two large, tattooed orcs standing over them. I guessed, correctly, that I was being held by a third one. The man smiled coolly. “Hello pointed ears. I see you lot picked up a brand new stray on the road. That, or the old man finally went an’ got his ugly face straightened out.”
”Don’t you dare, speak of the Wise, like that……” Myna gasped, making the motions to stand. An orc hand pressed him back down as the stranger smiled. “Oh yes, I’m sorry, mustn’t speak ill of Vort the Wise as though he were a foolish old man, collecting the most useless bunch in the lands to undertake a suicidal quest.” Both elves looked close to lunging at him, and I did something, well, I call it stupid, they call it brave. I got his attention. “Excuse me, but, um, who are you, precisely?”

            The man blinked at me owlishly and then smiled and bowed, never letting the hand bow waver even an inch. “Forgive my manners, I forgot you are a new face. I am Barthis the Sleek, bounty hunter extraordinaire. I’ve been following your little friends for quite some time now, and I must say, its been a jolly good chase. However, my employer has become quite aggravated at their continued breathing, and more so that you and your little sister have joined their ranks.”
”And your employer is….”
”Sorry lad,” He said with a soft smile, almost a smirk. “I can’t tell that, under the oath of bounty hunters and assassins. Rule number, twenty-seven, I believe. But points for manners and a reasonable distraction attempt. I suppose I could even tell you at this point. I’ve whipped these money grubbing idiots into a religious fervor. I don’t even have to waste the bolts really, I could simply point you all out and let them rip you limb from limb. For surely, the great heroes” He smirked, “wouldn’t harm simple, misguided peasants. A fine distraction, by the way, didn’t think you lot would try that one again.”

“We didn’t think you were here.” Vilmarith said softly. Barthis just shrugged. “Fair enough. But now, I do believe the time for talking has passed. Do be so good as to die quietly. I hate screams.” He raised the hand bow and leveled it at Vilmarith’s face.

I’m still not quite sure why I did what I did, or to be more precise, I’m not at all sure HOW I did what I did. I was struggling against the orc’s steel grip, attempting feebly to punch and kick at him without the ability to turn around, and one hand closed around a hard, knobby object. Without thinking, I gripped at it and pulled. The orc roared in pain as the crude bone and steel dagger I’d caught slashed through his arm, sending me sprawling in the dust once more. I saw Barthis turning, but it all seemed in slow motion, and before I knew what was happening, the blade was flying from my hand and embedding itself in the back of his, pinning the hand bow to his flesh. He screamed the weapon jerked upwards, the bolt arching into the air. I turned at a snarl, the wounded orc looming over me, a hatchet made of more bone and crude steel raised high to part my hair, and skull. And then suddenly, the snarling face was gone, a smoking stump in its place.

A form bounded from the corpse’s still falling shoulders and launched itself at the other two, balls of flame burning at the ends of its arms. The orcs lit up as though they’d been soaked in lamp oil, throwing themselves on the ground in a feeble attempt to put out the blue flames searing their flesh. Uzair stood and scowled down at them, sneering. “Orcs. Bloody hate orcs. Always belching and snarling and telling horrid jokes, makin’ life hard on honest people. And I’ve love for bounty hunters either, Mr……” He stopped dead and I managed to tear my eyes away from the smoldering corpses to stare at empty air. Barthis the Sleek was gone, the blood stained knife upon the cobblestones the only proof he’d even been there.

The rest of the day is simple enough to sum up. The villagers caught up with the magically disguised Thraxx about the time Barthis was planning to put a few extra holes in our faces. They’d been just about to pounce when the knife broke his concentration, leaving a large group of thoroughly confused and armed people milling about in a haze. Apparently, fear wasn’t the only thing that had driven them to violence. Uzair said he’d “felt” the dropping of Barthis’s disguise, but had been unable to get near enough to us without revealing his presence. The distraction of my oh so brave/stupid action gave him the opening he’d needed. Needless to say, there was a bit of confusion and more than a few questions once we reached the cart again. The rest of our merry band wanted to know what in blazes all that roaring and magic had been about, while most of the townsfolk merely wished to know what in the blazes they were doing outside with no shops running? Uzair fielded every question, leaving Vilmarith, Myna, and myself to get patched up for our newest round of injuries. I can’t help but think, even now, of the strange looks they kept giving me, hard to place, calculating, intrigued, and, maybe, perhaps, even a little fear? Ah, a question for another day.

I’ll end this with a rather mixed blessing. Once the whole mess was sorted out and the villagers left to wander back to their lives, muttering about “foul times” and  “not bein’ able ta trust no one no how these days”, Uzair cooked us up a plain, though still rather nice, lunch of soup and bread. As I ate, he tapped me on the shoulder and slipped me a small package. On it was a note that read “To help with those tough times. Don’t worry, no charge for removal of darker magics and/or hexes.” That last line was what kept me from opening it until I was alone, and I stared at the orc’s bone weaponry, the bone shining slightly bleached, the steel cleaned and apparently reforged. I tried to ask Uzair why on earth he was giving me these foul things, and he merely smiled and shrugged. “Least you won’t have to go weapon shopping again.” I took that to mean he wasn’t really going to answer me, so I thanked him and stashed the weapons in my pack. As I write, I can’t help but feel as though Uzair knows something I don’t, and even worse, that Vil and Myna do as well. Something none of them want to, or can, tell me. Ah, but at least now we have a cart once more. As I write we’re pulling over for the night, Uzair is instructing Angela on the art of cloaking spells, and the rest of us are content to sit about the fire. Uzair claims that we shall reach these “Sages of Light and Dark” or whatever they are by the next evening, but only if we, once again, leave before dawn. As such,

TTFN

Marches Day 23, Year of the Second Son

            My head feels like a war drum, and the battle is not going in our favor. My stomach feels like a writhing pit of acid covered snakes, and I think I regurgitated part of my stomach not ten minutes ago. A note to myself: never, ever, ever accept liquor from Filly. Ever. I can still taste bile and this after I’ve rinsed six times and scraped my tongue with a rough stone. If I ever find the person who taught her that recipe I think I’ll have to kill them for the good of all living things. Must lie down, cart bouncing, will write more later………

            Hmmm, I don’t even remember writing in my journal today. Never do that again, I can assure you. The drinking, not the writing. As I now write, we are camped at the edge of what my elven friends have dubbed “The Abysmal Swamp”, and I can tell you honestly, my journal, that I can see why. The very air around here seems to seethe, and I’m having a rather difficult time discerning if that is water or some semi living slime beast oozing at the trunks of the trees. I can’t, in other words, remember a destination so dank, dire, and unnerving. To top things off, I swear something is watching us, even now, and I can just barely make out something from the corner of my eye. I won’t bother turning around to check, mind you, nothing will be there. Or at least, nothing will be seen.

            Today can be chalked up with yet another horrid, painful, humiliating attempt at finding me something to use when the next fight arises. The problem of weaponry, you may recall, was solved by our run in with the bounty hunter. The bone knife and hatchet Uzair had given me from one of the dead orcs looked horrible, but he assured me nothing could go wrong. “There were a few hexes on them, but I cleaned those off for you. Simple dulling spell makes them relatively harmless, or at least you’ll only bruise instead of amputate.” Somehow, this did not fill me with promise. The next hurdle was finding someone to teach me to use the stupid things. The elves backed out instantly, citing that they could still smell the orc on the blades. That was fair enough, I suppose, though I have to wonder if maybe they just didn’t feel like watching a cart wreck in action. Dirk, surprisingly, volunteered, but that look in his eye somehow made me think he was aiming to dissect me. Filly, bless her, stepped in before he got the chance, and so took up first attempt.

            Now, one might think that a thief would be the best teacher for knife fighting. Even a hatchet is small enough that a well-trained thief would consider using it. However, there’s an old saying from Bebla that goes “You can’t sharpen a hoe that doesn’t exist.” In other words, she could wield them with no problem. I managed to whack myself in the shin with the hatchet and sent the knife flying straight up into the air to clump myself on the back of the head. This on the first try, mind. On the second try I sent the hatchet bouncing off three trees, Dirk’s breastplate, and Thraxx’s bill to smack me in the forehead. I’m not sure how long I was out, but Filly says it was only a couple of minutes. Further attempts yielded about the same results, just on different areas of my body, which left me looking like I’d been assaulted by a mass of crazed sticks. Dirk, naturally, was laughing himself sick, and even the elves couldn’t hide soft chuckles. I suppose I don’t blame them, I looked like a jester’s act. After the second time the dagger smacked off my shin and I managed to sit on the hatchet, Filly called a halt to my “training”. She looked torn between frustration and humor, while Angela fussed over me like a mother hen, healing bruises and picking bits of turf and sticks form my hair and clothes.

            Uzair was looking at me oddly by that time. But it wasn’t the “what on earth is wrong with you?” kind of odd. More like, when your trying to find out why something you thought you knew did something strange. After our little break, Filly gratefully turned over my training to Talia. But, you know, I don’t think I need to inform you of every little detail on that bit. Suffice to say, I was starting to wonder if losing limbs would be comparatively less painful to having my body constantly battered by my own blades. Myna brought up the interesting point that, no matter which direction the blades shot, I was the only one receiving any damage. Oh the damned things ricocheted past faces and occasionally careened off weapons and armor, but I was the one slowly turning that lovely shade of bad plum purple. Uzair’s “intrigued” face grew more so, and he vanished into his cart for the rest of our training.

            About the point where both my blades slid from my hands, bounced off a rock at my feet, and cracked me in the crux of my legs was when we all decided to call it off. Well, everyone else decided, I just sort of lay there and whimpered softly. They weren’t hard blows, nor even directly to the groin, but, too close for comfort. And hard enough that I couldn’t walk for a while, which resulted in the first pleasant experience of the day, where Talia picked me up (yes, I mean she physically lifted me off the ground) and gently set me down on a stump to regain my breath and pray no permanent damage had been done. The rest (excluding Dirk, who couldn’t look at me without laughing his head off) all told me the usual, buck up, you’ll get better, first trainin’s always the hardest, etc. etc. I don’t believe a word of it, and I rather hope some desperate forest creature drags those wretched things away and chews them to bits.

            Uzair emerged from the cart near suppertime, looking very thoughtful. He sat between Angela and myself and looked to me. “Jack, could I ask you a few questions?”
I shrugged. “I don’t see why not, ask away.”
”Good.” He glanced around, as though making sure no one but Angela and myself were close enough to hear him. “Do you remember your parents at all?”
The question was enough to almost make me drop my spoon. I stared at the bowl of stew silently, swirling the contents. “No.” I wish I could say I stated it that simply, but my voice was so low I wasn’t sure he even heard. He nodded softly as Angela watched the pair of us. “I thought not, but I hoped perhaps…..”
”Well, sorry, I don’t.”

“Nothing at all?”
I could feel the color filling my face and an unfamiliar anger rising in my chest. “I told you, no, I don’t.”
”Even the slightest….”
”Mr. Uzair.” Angela stated suddenly, straightening up slightly with the “mother” look on her face again. I had to smile. The poor fool had no idea what wrath he had called down upon himself. “If you are going to insist on upsetting my big brother, I will have to ask you to go sit somewhere else!”
”Angela, dear, I’m merely trying to…….”
”I don’t want to hear it, Mr. Uzair. My brother has had a long, tiring day, and he needs to eat and rest.” She gave him the “I dare you to argue” look and he smiled too. “Alright, alright, I was merely curious.” He sipped at the stew, but kept casting looks at me like an insect in a jam jar.

            After supper I was reminded of the saying “it doesn’t really hurt until you stop”. My arms and legs (and just about everything else) ached and I can still barely move. Even moving the pen hurts, and I swear my bruises have bruises. I’m going to try to sleep now.

Marches Day 24, Year of the Second Son

            I am going to now list every complaint I have before I tell you of my day:

1. My legs are so stiff I can hardly move them
2. The smell of the swamp has gotten progressively worse since we entered.
3. There is so much mud on my pants I may very well have clay pots for feet..
4. I am cold.
5. Everything we’ve eaten today has a “swamp funk” taste to it.
6. Dirk has yet to fall into the quagmire and sink out of existence.

Alright, so perhaps that isn’t a long list of complaints, but it’s enough. I think I’m actually starting to get very homesick, now that my life isn’t in immediate danger. I miss my nice comfy bed, my books creaking softly in their shelves, O’Toole curling on my lap as I read, playing fetch with Rose. I suppose I could go so far as to say “You never realize what you have until its gone” but I think the worst part is I know my home is still back there, that my cat and dog are waiting for me to come home. I suppose this is, as Angela and Talia have both pointed out to me, a rather dour way to view this whole trip, but honestly, I’m having trouble seeing it any other way. It’s the swamp, really. All dark, foreboding, every cry in the trees carries sorrow and ever motion in the inky waters promises death. Everyone seems to be sagging now, and good humor is in short supply. Even Filly and Uzair can’t seem to hold a smile f or more than a moment or two. I swear, if I ever get out of here I will

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And that, my dear, abused journal, is a lovely example of one of the local insects after being slammed between the pages of a journal. Ick. Just, Ick. I swear, every second of this day has been filled with gloom, misery, and foul odors. I suppose I should be grateful that, between the skills of two elves, a warrioress, and a mage, we managed to smack together a good solid raft to float through this murk rather than wade through it, but that has done little to lighten the mood.

            As a matter of fact, when I examine that last thought, I am left to wonder: what IS it about this place that makes us all so gloomy? Surely it can’t just be the environment. Damp and disgusting it may be, but at least its warm and we aren’t wet. And thinking back, I can almost pinpoint the exact moment the first shoulders began to sag, right after we passed the first black barked tree with its sword shaped leaves. And the deeper we get, the more depressed……I think I may go suggest that we lock away all bladed weapons now, pardon me….

       It seems perhaps this was not such a bad idea. I went to Uzair during that pause, my journal, and told him of my concerns. He looked up and stared about, as though he were just noticing the swamp, and this, look, came over his face. It’s the look you get when you have something pointed out to you, and suddenly see everything differently. He agreed then, and we went about, collecting any blade, rope, or bludgeon we could find. Filly had been staring a bit TOO deeply into her dirk, and Myna and Vilmarith both stared into the murky depths as though willing something to come and take them. Eventually we just rounded everybody up so that we could keep an eye on each other, and Uzair explained the point I’d brought up. Everyone, even Dirk, seemed to jolt a little and glance about. It had that eerie feel of watching slee pwalkers come out of a dream, and not a particularly pleasant one. Angela was the first to speak up after that, and suggested we keep an eye on each other. If any of us looked glassy eyed or under a storm cloud, we gave each other free reign to snap the others out of it.

            So far, I’ve flicked Angela and Filly in the ear twice each, got snapped in the back of the neck with a bowstring, and gave Dirk a good swift kick in the rear. Funny how it seems that, whether he’s depressed or not, we all seem VERY keen on keeping his attention.. Anyway, my dear journal, I’m afraid I’ll have to end for now and devote my attentions to my friends. I think Talia is looking a bit too longingly at the place we stowed the weapons…….