Friday, July 30, 2004

Chapter 2(d)

Convinced that the strange creature was indeed dead, Angus took stock of the battlefield. All of their immediate opponents were dead and he hear no sound of reinforcements. His boys appeared to have weathered this storm just fine. As he stroked the middle braid of his three beard braids, he chuckled thinking about Fenel's roar, unconventional but effective. Fenel was not the fighter that Boulder was, probably would never be. He did not share Angus's own love for battle, but he knew how to use his abilities well. Fenel's roar was as important a weapon for him as Thunderstrike was for Angus. Angus had watched some of the best fighters be unnerved by that roar, giving Fenel a split second advantage which he exploited to perfection. Angus's chuckle ended in a smile of deep pride.
From his vantage point, Angus could observe Fenel tending to a severely wounded Goom. He noted that Boulder was trying to release Ogroc from the harness he wore to pull their cart. Even from this distance, Angus could tell that Ogroc was dead. He wished that he had been quicker, that he had arrived sooner. This led him to consider the ambush. It had been a well-executed ambush that these dwarves, no, he would not call them that, that these creatues had almost succeeded in. Ogroc was securely harnessed to the cart when the ambush struck. They concentrated on him first, allowing him no time to free himself from the cart. If he had been unencumbered, the outcome of the ambush would have been far different. It would have taken most of their group to subdue him and with Goom present, they would not have succeeded. These creatures had known how Goom and her children traveled to Silvermark. This was not a random event. Their course had allowed them to use only two fighters to defeat Ogroc. Goom had been battling two ambushers when Angus ordered them to stop, which left one to deal with Goomi. It was then that it dawned on Angus that Goom's young daughter was nowhere to be found. He scanned the entire battlefield, looking either for her body or signs that she had escaped or hidden. Sadly. He could find neither. Just then loud, angry orcan grunts filled the air. "Ah, so that is what happened to Goomi," Angus mused. She must have fled to her father. Ever the battlefield commander, he looked at the scene before him again, this time through the eyes of a aggrieved father, Grok. "The All-Father help us. This is not going to be pretty,"Angus observed with a wince. Grok's daughter had come to him in terror with tales of dwarves savagely attacking her mother and brother. Grok would soon break into the open plain of the Rest and see two dwarves hovering over his family, doing the All-Father knows what. The rest even a child could figure out. "No, this is not good and how do I control this situation, " Angus wondered to himself. Grok was Angus's friend and an ally of the Keep dwarves, but Angus would not let him harm his family, even in misguided righteous anger. How he was going to stop Grok without seriously hurting him or making the situation worse was what Angus was trying to figure out. He would have no time to develop a proper stategy because just then Grok burst onto the plain at a full run. Grok was seven feet tall with an extremely muscular physique. Being shirtless, his muscles bulged and flexed under his mottled green skin as he raced to rescue his family. His face was the picture of sheer hatred and rage, made all the more menacing by the two two inch tusks that protruded from his lower jaw over his upper lip. As he shouted in Orcan, he waved the finely crafted battleaxe Angus had made him just a year ago.
He must have seen Fenel first or at least recognized his mate, because he made a bee-line for them. Fenel looked up to see Grok approaching. Fenel's eyes were bulging wide open as he tried to make sense out of what was happening. Boulder look first at Grok, and then at his father who motioned for him to remain still. Grok's immediate course of action became clear to Angus. He was going to leap the cart and kill the dwarf savaging his wife. Angus sprang into action. He ran as fast as he could to cut Grok off. Grok was oblivious to Angus's movement, but Angus could tell he would not be able to reach Grok before Fenel tasted his battleaxe. His only hope was to trip Grok with Thunderstrike and then pounce on top of him, hoping that with Fenel's and Boulder's help he could subdue the grief and anger driven orc long enough to reach him with the truth. He stopped to get a more accurate throw and let Thunderstrike fly. He hoped he had timed the throw right and that he had used the right amount of force in the throw, enough to get it to Grok, but not enough to severely damage his legs. Grok had reached the launching point for his leap over the cart when Thunderstrike arrived. He was in mid-air when the hammer sailed between his legs causing his left leg to get tangled with it, sending him sprawling into the cart. He landed with a loud thud, as his head hit the inside wall of the cart, knocking him unconscious. When Angus arrived at the cart intent on finishing his plan by pouncing on the orc, he saw that that would not be necessary.
"Fenel, " Angus barked, waking Fenel from his stupor. " Finish tending to Goom."
Fenel returned to complete his care of the female orc.
Angus was glad that his task had been made easier by Grok's unfortunate landing, but he still had much to do, and the three of them would not be enough to do everything he had in mind. He needed reinforcements, so he took the ram's horn that hung around his neck and blew in it three times, each time long and loudly. Now there was nothing to do, but wait for the answer.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Chapter 2(c)

     Fenel slipped silently behind the third rib at about the exact time Angus shouted  to the murderous dwarves.He was certain that they would not comply with his father because they were far too enraged for rational thought .  He watched as two of them raced toward his kinfolk.  He held his position inspite of an overwhelming urge to jump into the fray and an equally strong desire to get as far away as possible from the pervasive disgusting odor that filled the air.  He continued to wait, knowing his place in this battle plan.  His father and brother were the main attack, he was the reserve.  If, by some unthinkable happenstance , these villains were able to place either of his kin in jeopardy, he would rush out to their aid.  If any of the marauders attempted to flee, it was his job to see that they did not reach the end of the Rest.       As he surveyed the battleground, he observed that he was needed, not by his father or brother, but by Goom.  She had been fighting with one dwarf and being quite effective.  What she was unaware of was that one of the dwarves that had battered her son was now moving to position himself behind her for an easy kill.  Fenel allowed the sneaking creature to get  behind Goom, which placed the soon-to-be-unfortunate fellow directly in front of him.  As this attacker raised his crudely made battleaxe high above the unsuspecting orc's head, Fenel made his move.  He raced from behind the rib and let out an ear-shattering roar.  Everyone present that was not related to Fenel froze for a brief moment, unsure of what new danger they faced.  The backstabbing dwarf, being only a few feet from the source of the roar, started to turn toward the noise.  Expecting to be face-to-face with the gaping jaws of a grizzly bear or some other such creature, he was shocked to be eye level with the pick end of Fenel's pick hammer.  He never even had a chance to get a glancing block before it was lights out for him.  Goom had stopped fighting when she heard Fenel's roar.  Fortunately for her, her opponent had lost the fight with her right as Fenel announced himself.   She was able to see Fenel end the life of her erstwhile murderer, before collapsing to her knees and the falling against the side of the cart, exhausted and gravely wounded.  Fenel, after a brief check that the others had the threat well in hand, dropped down beside Goom and began tending to her wounds.     
     When Boulder and he had broke into their 'battle run,' Angus had almost laughed out loud.  He was elated.  He was going to have the honor and the pleasure of delivering the vengenence of the Keep dwarves to their enemy.  Just as he was about to run into the dwarf charging him, Angus dropped to a roll, tripping his opponent.  The dwarf hit the ground hard, jarring loose his thorn topped club and momentarily knocking the wind out of him.  Angus quickly sprang back to his feet and saw that the dwarf that Boulder had tripped up earlier had found his footing  and was advancing toward with urgency.  While the marauder was still five or six feet away, Angus pulled Thunderstrike from his belt and threw it directly at him.  The charging creature had not expected this move and trying to understand how to deal with it, hesitated too long, catching the war hammer with the left side of his face.  The force of the throw sent him flying backwards a good distance and that ended him, another name was added to the list of the vengenence of the Keep.
     Angus's original opponent had, by this time, regained his feet and was searching for his club when he saw Angus dispatch his friend.  Watching that and Fenel's roar gave him pause, but then he spied his club just a couple feet from him.  It was then that he realized that Angus had just thrown away his weapon.  A triumphant smile formed on his lips as he moved to pick up his own weapon.  Angus was faster.  As soon as the dwarf began to move, Angus charged him.  When he was just a few feet from the marauder, he launched himself at him like some kind of dwarf spear.  Angus's opponent was so intent on retrieving his club that he had no real defense against this unusual attack. Allowing Angus to crash into him, his armored right shoulder meeting roughly with the marauder's ribcage, breaking at least two ribs.  The hammered dwarf fell backwards, out of breath and his chest on fire with pain.  Angus used his forward momentum to tumble right over his enemy's head, landing soundly on his feet , just inches from the torn-topped club.  He reached down for it, just as his foe slowly rolled over and made to get up.  The dwarf was on one knee and weakly starting to rise when Angus's upswing with the club caused it and some bones to shatter and sent the dwarf sprawling back the other way.  This time the dwarf did not move.  Angus then went over to the other fighter, both to retrieve Thunderstrike and to make certain that this one was out of commission.  Looking at the dwarf's face left no doubt that he would no longer harry innocent travelers. 
    As Angus picked up Thunderstrike, he became aware of the sound of movement behind him.  He whirled around and the sight that greeted him made him momentarily wonder if he had hit his head during one of his tumbles.  The dwarf he had just laid out was on his hands and knees.  Well, that is not quite right.  The dwarf's head, hands, arms and upper body were still visible, but in the place where his lower torso and legs should have been, were the legs and backside of a large, leathery skinned animal and the transformation appeared to be continuing up his body.  In spite of the absolute impossible nature of what Angus was observing, he knew that this dwarf was changing into something else and it only took him a second to figure out what that something else was going to be.  This dwarf was becoming a very powerful animal called a Ronstaa.  A Ronstaa is a large, extremely strong, impossibly ill-tempered beast with a hide that is almost impenetrable and an eight inch horn capable of piercing solid granite.  Others in Angus's place might have been incapacitated by disbelief or fear, not Angus.  He was as quick-minded as he was skilled as a warrior.  He knew his only chance was to end this transformation.  He charged forward and with a mighty swing struck the only remaining dwarvish feature, his head.  This ended, not only the transformation, but the Keep's vengeance.  The last marauder was dead.  In death, started to revert back to dwarvin form, but stopped short just shy of his waist, leaving an abomination of nature, half-Ronstaa, half-dwarf.      




Saturday, July 17, 2004

Chapter 2(b)

The sound of a struggle caught Angus's ear first. He called to Boulder, who was in the lead, to stop. They were almost to Kairn's Rest when they stopped, one more turn of the road and they would be entering the Rest, where Angus could tell the fighting was. He and Fenel caught up to Boulder, who was looking around the last outcropping before the road straightened out.
"What do you see, Boulder?" Angus asked.
" It looks as if Goom and her children are under attack. It is strange Father because it seems to be dwarves harassing them."
That news shocked Angus, and he moved Boulder out of the way to get look for himself. Sure enough, five dwarves in black leather were viciously attacking Goom and hers. This was wrong. Goom, her husband, Grok, and their family were friends of the dwarves of Kairn's Keep. No dwarf under Jocknor's rule would ever attack them, so who were these dwarves? He had heard tales about dwarves from far off lands, but he had never met any. No matter, he did not have to understand who they were to stop them from harming those under the protection of his people.
"Boulder, walk with me in the center of the road as I try to speak to these dwarves. Fenel, work your way down the side here to the third rib. Don't let them know you are there. If they do not respond to talking, you will know when to act. The All-Father be with us."
Fenel was off in a flash. No one was as stealthy as Fenel. He could sneak up on a mother Snigworm guarding her nest and steal one of her eggs without her having a clue it was gone. Angus gave him a couple of minutes. Then he turned the corner and strode down the middle of the road toward the fight. It was then that the smell hit him. It was so pungent that it felt like he had bee punched.
"Son, these are the ones we have been looking for, vengence will be ours this day," Angus whispered. "I will issue one order to stop, which I am certain they will ignore. Then we charge. You concentrate on helping Ogroc, get him out of that harness."
They moved closer. they were now less than 100 feet away and still had not been noticed.
"In the name of the All-Father, stop your assult, brothers." Angus bellowed.
Only two of the dwarves took notice of Angus, the other three seemd to be in such a rage that they were oblivious to everything else. The two that noticed Angus, immmediately charged at him and Boulder. Angus and Boulder broke into an open run at them. When Boulder was right up on the dwarf closest to him, he spun away from the club the dwarf swung at him and landed a well-placed blow to the back of the dwarf's leg, sending him to his knees. Boulder continued on, rushing to the aid of Ogroc. By the time Boulder reached Ogroc, he was offering no resistance. It appeared to Boulder that he was dead or near to it, but the dwarf over him seemed not to notice. He was bludgeoning him repeatedly with a thorn topped club. Boulder's first strike hit the dwarf squarely between his shoulder blades, knocking him on top of Ogroc. As he tired to turn around and get his footing to get back up, Boulder hit him on his left knee, crushing the entire knee cap. The dwarf let loose with an awful scream, and if it were possible the smell coming from him exploded. The stench caused Boulder to take a step back, his eyes watering. He watched as the dwarf struggled to get up, sheer hatred raging in his eyes. As the dwarf took a swing at Boulder with his club, Boulder could have sworn that the dwarf's face changed, kind of melted from the face he had been looking at into some indescribable face. That unnerved Boulder, giving his opponent the slight opening he needed to land a glancing blow on his right leg. The dwarf did not have the strength to drive the thorns into Boulder's leg, but they cut it pretty good. The pain shook Boulder from his contemplation of the creepy face. He drove his hammer into the dwarf's chin, his follow through being strong enough to carry the dwarf's chin and his hammer into his brain. One down, four to go.

Friday, July 16, 2004

Chapter 2(a)

There was not a cloud to be seen anywhere. The sky was deep cerulean. It was the kind of sky that inspires poets, the kind of sky that children and lovers find perfect for frolicking A gentle breeze tamed the mid-day sun, making for a beautiful day. The splendor of this day; however, was lost on Angus, son of Jocknor. He could not understand what topsiders found so appealing. He felt that they did not know true beauty if a simple blue sky got them so excited. True beauty was found deep within Kairn's Keep. If one wanted to see an awesome sight, one had only to sit on the shores of Lake Hillock. The calm black water was a sight in and of itself, but when the forges were fired, the lake revealed its true beauty. The red and orange flames would reflect off the walls and towering roof, refracting the light in the crystals and gems embedded there and send a rainbow of light down to that ebony surface, which would then literally dance with color. As the flames rise and wane, the patterns and hues change, giving any person lucky enough to be resting on the banks a veritable kaleidoscope of beauty all day long. No simple blue sky could hope to hold a candle to that. Of course, Angus felt that topsiders were a deprived group anyway. They had not had the joys that come from living dep within the earth's crust. Dwarves were one of the All-Father's most blessed creatures, as far as Angus was concerned. There were many othere creatures that lived within Kairn's Keep, but none compared to dwarves. They had the pleasure of molding the very earth into creations of beauty and purpose. Angus did not relish his time on the surface. He attmepted to stay below as often as possible. He was under this alleged beautiful sky today because there had been some trouble of late with his people's trading missions. The last two had been attacked with everyone killed, save one poor individual who would have been beter off dead. Buoun had been found wandering aimlessly two days after his caravan had been due to return to the Keep. He was mad, beside himself with grief and fear. When the clan leader, Jocknor, son of the All-Father, tried to question him, the only coherent things he said were that the smell was almost lethal, and the creatures, ruthless. Whenever he was pressed for details, he bagan screaming and balling himself up on the ground. Since that day, daily armed partols traveled the road from the Keep's main entrance, through Kairn's Rest to the Silvermark Road. They would meet up with the patrol from Silvermark there. Today was Angus's turn. With Angus were his two oldest sons, Boulder, twenty-nine and Fenel, twenty-three. The three of them made up this patrol. Usually the patrols were larger, as many as ten soldiers, but this was Angus. When Angus had announced that he and his boys would be all the party he needed, no one questioned him. Angus was revered as a fighter. He was fearless and ferocious. He actually enjoyed fighting. some said he should have a second name, Battlemore. They said that he was always looking for a way to extend a fight. all agreed that Angus relished teh fight and those who fought him wished they had chosen a different opponent. While his son's were still consideredyoung ones, they were considered formidable warrioirs in their own right. There were many a veteren soldier that would value the addition of these two pups to any war party.
Like the glove to Angus's martial hand, his skill as a smith made him an even more challenging foe. He produced the finest armor in the Keep. There were others who forged armor, but only he outfitted the Elevated Ones, the leaders of the clan. Only the Elevated Ones could be outfitted with full armor, but in appreciation of his skill, they allowed him to fashion and wear his own full armor, truly an honor since he had many years to live before he could challenge for a place among the Elevated Ones.
Only Forgekin made weapons that rivaled Angus's. Between the two of them, the Elevated Ones were well armed. Angus's father, Jocknor was partial to the battleaxe. He had made his own battleaxe many years ago, but he gladly replaced it with the pne Angus gave him, when Jocknor became clan leader. Angus, on the other hand, relished the war hammer. He often said that there was no better sound than the crushing of your enemy's bones. His own hammer, Thunderstrike, was a magnificient piece of craftmanship. It was uniquely balamced, so that even though it was a heavy weapon, it could be thrown with ease and accuracy. Angus had yet to find a foe that could stand up for any length under the blows he delivered with Thunderstrike.

Races(story background)


There are eight major races created by the All-Father. They are listed here with a brief description of their traits:

1). Elves- the aristocrats of the world. They value gracefulness, beauty, order, tradition, style

2). Orcs-the "common man" of the world. They value practicalness, usefulness, effectiveness.

3). Dwarves-the craftsmen of the world. They value family, and work.

4). Giants-the "loners" of the world. They value independance, self-sufficiency and ease

5). Gnomes-the playful guardians of knowledge for the world. They value knowledge, magic, fun, people. They are outgoing and seek knowledge to better others

6). Herminks-the serious guardians of knowledge for the world. They value knowledge, magic, reflection and study. They are introverted and seek knowledge for knowledge sake.

7). Halflings-the peacemakers of the world. They value harmony, peace,conformity.

8). Quees-the questioners of the world. They value non-conformity, questioning the status quo, individualism.

There are many minor races created by the All-Father. Two have seats at the Council, listed as "others." They are animalkins, and humans. Animalkins is actually a large category comprised of many sub-races, like Muck-rakers and Drakonfluers. Humans were a single race at the creation, but over history, they too develop sub-races, although not as diverse as the animalkins.

There is one other group that can't accurately be classified as a race. They are the group created by the All-Father to be His personal servants, the Alenge. They do not reproduce. The All-Father created a large number of the Alenge at the time of creation, and often creates new members as He sees fit.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Chapter 1(c)

"How could anyone do this?" He asked himself. "What manner of being causes so much needless devastation and pain?"
Delmarf glanced back toward the barrel, hoping that he hadn't spooked the child. He could see that she was still there, understandably frightened. His logical self was yelling at him to get out of this place, that this child was none of his concern. Delmarf usually listened to this practical advisor. He was thirty-five years old, which is old for a human, and he credited his longevity to listening to reason. He had survived many awkward and potentially unhealthy situations simply because he had always followed his inner counselor's number one rule: "It is none of your business, so stay out of it!" While he debated within himself about what he should do, he caught another glimpse of the child. She was straining to look at her mother. The look on the child's face was a mix of utter sadness and intense longing. It was clear to Delmarf that the child wished more than anything in the world to be with her mother right now. That look did him in.
"Caution be cursed! I will help this child, even if it is the death of me," he uttered.
Having finally committed himself to the rescue of this traumatized girl, he moved quickly. He did not want to give his practical side time to talk him out of helping her. He methodically retrieved a torch from Arto and lit it. He wanted to show the child who he was and to let her see that he was no threat to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watch of her, marking her mood.
"Now for the tricky part," he thought. "I need to remember the prayer Ban'helai used at my mother's burial."
He thought that if the young one saw him showing respect for her mother, that she might begin to trust him. He knew, however; that he had to be extremely careful. If he treated the woman's body in any way that the child could mistake for harming it, not only would he lose any chance at trust, he might also wind up with a rock hitting him in the head. He removed two candles from his pack. Then he grabbed a vial of oil and a small pouch containing some Likial petals. He lit both candles and placed one at the woman's head and one at her feet. Using his limited halfling vocabulary, he began praying for the woman's soul. He knelt and raised his hands toward the sky. As he commended her to the All-Father's eternal care, he noticed that the girl was watching him intently. He could tell by her expression that she was trying to figure out what he was doing. Delmarf had her undivided attention. Now for the crucial part, he had to turn her over so he could anoint her with the oil and the Likial petals. His eyes filled with tears as he gently turned her over. He truly grieved for this poor woman. As Delmarf got her on her back, he watched the little girl walk slowly toward them. She seemed oblivious to his presence. She was fixed solely on her mother. She knelt down and, with tear stained lips, kissed her face. She began to sob again, but this time it wasn't the anguished sobs of guilt or loss. She seemed to be kissing her mother good-bye. The sadness in her was profound, but it seemed to him that she understood that her mother was gone. He let some of the Likial petals fall into her open hand as he finished the ritual. She let them spill from her hand onto her mother. While she completed this painful ceremony, he took stock of her. He noticed that she had blood on her right shoulder. Every time she moved that arm, he could see her wince. Delmarf finished the prayer and stood up. He stepped back a few paces and waited in silence as the girl embraced her mother. She stood up and faced him. Grief clearly oozed from her expression, but along with it he saw fear and confusion. She looked at him long and hard. To Delmarf, she seemed to be trying to decide how she was supposed to feel about this stranger standing in front of her.
He spoke then, "Little one, I am Delmarf. I want to help you." A look of confusion clouded her face momentarily and he feared that she did not understand the only dialect of halfling that he knew. Then the look was gone and she replied, "What are you, and how come you talk like me?"
At first, he didn't understand what she wanted to know when she asked what he was. Then it dawned on him. She had probably never seen a human before. Humans are not very populous and they don't usually travel far from their homes.
"I am a human. I learned to talk like you from some friends."
"Why are you here? Are you friends with those bad people that hurt my mother?" She asked with a quiver in her voice.
"Not at all, dear. I don't know who did this to you, but I am no friend of anyone that could cause so much pain and sadness. I am here because I travel around selling things to folks, like herbs and grasses and tools."
The little girl did not say anything for awhile. She just stared back and forth between Delmarf and her mother. The sun had fully set now, and Delmarf was anxious to leave.
"What is your name?" he inquired.
"My name is Wemael."
"Wemael, now that is a pretty name. Would you let me tend to that?" Delmarf asked, pointing to her shoulder.
" I guess so, " she agreed with a tremor in her voice.
Delmarf could tell that the pain was growing, as was her uncertainty. He made sure that he moved slowly and talked to her as he worked.
"Wemael, I am going to clean the blood off your shoulder. I have a leaf from a special plant that will make the pain go away that I am going to lie on your cut. I have to cut your sleeve away so I can do that, ok?" He asked her even as he cut it off with his stone dagger.
"O.K." She managed to squeak out in response.
"Good, Wemael, Now I am going to wrap this strip of cloth around your shoulder to keep the leaf in place, ok?" Again he asked while he continued to work and again she said ok. It only took about ten minutes for him to finish dressing her wound. The Ectash leaf began working immediately. He could see in her expression that the pain was diminishing.
"Wemael, I think we should leave your village. I do not think that this a good place for a young girl like you to be alone. Do you have any family that..." Delmarf's voice trailed off, not wanting to finish his question. He could not bring himself to ask her if any of her family had survived this slaughter. "Have you heard anyone else since earlier today?"
Wemael began to cry, "No one is here, except us."
"It will be alright," Delmarf assured her, as he placed his arm around her shoulder. While he tried to comfort her, he considered how they were going to get away from Awktowon. He know his earlier plan of taking that side path would not work. It was pitch dark and leading his mule and a traumatized little girl into that unknown dark forest would be insane. He could not set up camp and build a fire anywhere near this abomination. The stench was growing stronger and the fire might attract unwanted visitors. Any of the depraved creatures that had destroyed this village wanting to re-examine their handiwork would be traveling on the road he had used earlier, so that was out. He was at his wit's end when he remembered that these halflings took their baskets and fish to other settlements by the river. They traveled sown the Mirator all the way to Boknor on flat skiffs. He was certain that these skiffs were big enough to carry Arto, Wemael and himself.
"Wemael, can you show me the way to the docks? There must be some boats still there, right?"
"I don't know if the boats are there or not. I don't know what happened anywhere else in town, only here." She replied with a tear coming to her eye as she glanced at her mother.
"We need to leave here. It is not safe for us to be here any longer. I have a friend in Boknor. He will let us stay with him until we can figure what else to do, but we need to leave right now. I want you to take me to the docks, so I can find us a boat. Can you do that?"
Crying softly, Wemael replied, " I don't want to leave my mother. There is no one to look after her if I leave."
"Child, I know this is hard, but your mother has moved on. I think all she would want for you right now is for you to be safe. We have already committed her to the All-Father and He will take care of her. We must take care of us, so we must go." With that he took her hand and stood her up.
"Wait, I want to cover her up with her blanket, " she exclaimed and wriggled free of Delmarf's hand. She darted back to the hovel. He could only watch and hold back his tears. She re-emerged moments later form the ruined structure with an elaborately embroidered blanket. She laid it over her mother, head to toe. Before covering her face, she kissed it once more. "Now, we can go."
Without asking, she slipped her hand into Delmarf's and moved off toward the docks. Even in the pale light that his torch provided, Delmarf was able to see how much destruction had been done to this formerly peaceful village. It sickened him. He noticed that Wemael tightened her grip on his hand, almost as a way to make the tears stay away. She did not give into the grief that must have been washing over her. She was witnessing the end of the world as she had known it. They left the main road and traveled on a smaller path that quickly left the village proper behind. They traveled just a short distance on this path through the marsh. They were accompanied in this trip by the sounds of the area, frogs, cranes,and howtars. Apparently, these animals had survived the marauders and decided that life should resume. When they reached the dock area, Delmarf's last hope crashed to the ground. The entire dock area had been destroyed. Not a single boat was intact; even the dock itself was full of holes or broken up, or burned. Wemael allowed herself a single whimper at the sight. Then she just stood there looking at him.
"Wemael, I don't know what to do now. There doesn't seem to be any boats left." Delmarf remarked dejectedly.
"You said you wanted the docks. I took you to the docks..." She began, but Delmarf interrupted her,
"No, child, I am not mad at you."
"I know that," she replied before he could go on. " I just meant that I did not know that all you wanted was a boat. My father's is hidden just a little ways from here. I will go get it."
Delmarf's hopes rose when she spoke of the boat, but he could not let here go off by herself. "Wemael, you can not go out there alone. I will come with you."
" You can not take your animal where I am going. I will be right back." Before he could object again, she was off, splashing right into the marsh. He lost sight of her after about ten feet. He waited worriedly for her return. He walked around the dock, craning his neck trying to get a glimpse of where Wemael had gone. Time seemed to slow down. He was on the verge of panic, fearing the worse, when he heard sounds coming toward him in the water. He didn't see Wemael until she was almost at the dock. Watching her bring the skiff to the dock, he could tell she was a marsh halfling. She might have been struggling with the pole used to move the skiff because she was small, but it was obvious that she knew what she was doing.
"See, here it is!" She announced triumphantly as she pulled up along one of the few parts of the dock still intact. She was beaming, as if to say, 'See, I can help.'
"You are something else, Wemael," Delmarf told her with a pleased chuckle. "Thank you. Let me get Arto onboard and we will be off.'
Most donkeys would fight tooth and hoof being taken onto a skiff and Arto would have been no exception. This time, though; he moved onto that skiff like he was going into the most beautiful patch of grass. He seemed to sense the urgency to leave this place and this looked like the only option. After everyone was safely aboard, Delmarf took over the poling duties. Wemael guided them through the marsh and into Mirator. Fortunately for this group of travelers, the Mirator is a wide, calm river at the marshes, so they had no problem getting on track for Boknor. The moon finally broke through the clouds lighting up the river. Delmarf watched Wemael as they pulled free of the marshes. He could tell she was struggling with her feelings. He moved over to her and hugged her, telling her that it was alright to cry. She snuggled close to him and softly sobbed herself to sleep

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Chapter 1(b)

Delmarf approached Awktowon warily. He had spied smoke billowing from many of the structures as he crested the hill east of the village. Deciding that caution was in order, he took his time examining Awktowon from the hill. He was scared. He did not like what he saw. He would have turned back and returned the way he had just come, but he knew that whatever had been in Awktowon was behind him .
Earlier that afternoon, he had turned off the main road to search for some herbs. Taking his mule, Arto with him, he had gone a good ways off the path when he heard the sounds of an unruly group of travelers. He made Arto be still, and waited with growing concern for the group to pass. He was scared and didn't know why. He had been around many rowdy people, in fact, prided himself on being able to handle any kind of person and was never spooked. He hadn't even seen these people, but the hair on his arm was standing on end, and he listened to his hair. The sounds coming from the group were difficult to comprehend. The languages he heard were varied and it appeared that individual speakers would speak in a number of different languages in each sentence. It was disconcerting. He was unable to make out anything they were saying, but their mood seemed to be angry and happy at the same time. The group sounded large. He could not tell exactly how many were passing by, but it had to be a lot, because it took several minutes for them all to pass by him. He waited another fifteen minutes or so after they had left to emerge from his herb spot. When he was still a few feet from the path, he was almost knocked over by an awful stench. Delmarf had smelled some nasty things in his life, but nothing could compare to this odor. As he stepped onto the path, the stench had an almost physical presence. He was horrified by what he saw as he re-entered the path. Everything around it had been destroyed. The foliage on both sides had been uprooted or burned. There were dead animals all around, squirrels, robins, lamets, and the likes. He had to struggle with Arto, who refused to leave the relative safety of the forest. It took a mountain of effort on Delmarf's part to drag the donkey out. When he finally succeeded in getting Arto onto the path, the donkey almost left him behind. He had to run after Arto, something that was not only an annoyance, but a shock as well. Arto never moved faster than a frustratingly slow walk, one that snails referred to as slow. This time it appeared Arto shared his owner's desire to move quickly. The path remained devastated and disgusting until it left the forest. As the path broke free into a small meadow at the base of a rolling hill, the stench died down considerably; leaving only the vaguest hint of decay. He crested the hill overlooking
Awktowon and was shocked by what was left of the small village. Awktowon had been a thriving little community of about fifty halflings. Now, all that appeared to be left were burning husks that used to be homes. He could make out the bodies of what little livestock the halflings had possessed strewn about the village. He thought he could see some of the unfortunate residents, but none appeared to be moving, a fact that filled him with profound sadness. Delmarf had not known these people, but his heart was broken, none the less. Surveying this travesty, he tried to figure out his next move. Back tracking did not appear a healthy choice, but traveling through this devastation was not something he relished considering either. He looked around for a way to by-pass the village. He saw immediately that there was no way he would be able to move pass the village on the right side. Awktowon had been built on the marshy banks of the Mirator
River. These halflings had made a living by fishing, and weaving marsh grass baskets, so they built their village right into the edge of the marsh. There was no way to get Arto through the marsh. On the left side, the village butted close to the forest. Delmarf could make out a small path that led off the main road and entered the forest at the village's edge. He thought he might be able to take that path, although it would be a tight fit with Arto. Having decided on that course, he got Arto moving. The small path leading into the forest took him right up to the village's entrance, something Delmarf regretted. He did not like the thought of being so close to all that carnage, but there did not seem to be any other choice. It only took a few minutes for him to reach the path. Just as he made the turn off the main road, he was startled by a noise from inside the village. He froze. He listened harder, and realized that what he was hearing was crying. "Get out of here, Delmarf,"his rational self told him. "Whoever is crying is sure to be beyond help and you don't know what else might still be in this place." He took a few more steps down the side path, planning to listen to this most logical advice. Then he heard the crying again and jumbled in with the sound of the tears were a few words. He knew a little halfling tongue, and right now his rational self was wishing he had never learned any. The words Delmarf could catch spilling out with the tears were, "Mama, oh, Mama, wake up! I am sorry." They were the saddest words he had ever heard, words without hope. They tore at his heart. His rational side was screaming at him to ignore the cry, to stay away from the village, but it pleaded in vain. Delmarf could not turn away from a cry like that. His heart and sense of duty would override any logical objection. He immediately moved back to the road and entered the village. As he passed the first ruined building, he heard something moving. His ears perked up and he raised the club he had made the week before while he had been camped outside Gorc. He could tell that the sound was moving away from him. The sun was almost completely gone from the sky, so he was struggling to see things clearly. He stopped and gave himself time to focus his vision in the direction of the sound. When his eyes adjusted to the gathering darkness, Delmarf caught sight of a small creature scurrying toward the front of another empty shell of a home. He saw the creature dart behind a barrel located at the entrance of the house. As he stared at the barrel intently, he noticed a small head poke out and look in his direction. He could tell immediately that it was a halfling child sizing him up. Not wanting to frighten the little one anymore, he glanced away. Delmarf immediately wished that he had looked up or in another direction. He had instead chosen to look at the ground at his feet. What greeted his eyes made him nauseous. Directly below him lay the body of a female halfling, obviously this child's mother. The entire back of her head was caved in. He stumbled back a step or two, and then regained his composure.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Chapter 1(a)

The uneasy quiet that had settled over the village of Awktowon was suddenly pierced by a blood-curdling scream. A young halfling girl came stumbling out of the shambles of what had just a few hours ago been her home. She filled the late afternoon air with that awful noise when she saw the body laying a few feet from the lane that served as the main thoroughfare through this little village. She started to run toward the body and fell down hard into the mud, but she made no attempt to get back up, choosing instead to crawl the rest of the way to her lifeless mother. The girl was bleeding from a wound on her right shoulder, but the screams that escaped her lips had less to do with the pain and more to do with the shattering of her little world. At only eight years old, she knew little of the outside world and had never seen death before. She had no way of being prepared for the horror that she faced this day. She finally made her way to the body of her mother. Seeing the back of her head smashed in, the young halfling lost what little control she had been maintaining and began to wail uncontrollably. She was crying, not only because her mother was dead, brutally murdered, but she was also crying out of guilt.
When the bad creatures had been destroying their village only a few hours ago, her mother had hidden her and her siblings in a special cubby hole in their hovel. Wemael did not want to be separated from her mother and had begun to cry. Her mother begged her to be quiet, just as one of the marauders crashed his way into their home. He yelled a lot, but Wemael could not understand what he was saying. When she looked out from her hiding place, she saw the creature dragging her mother out of the door and she could not stand that, and cried out to her. The creature stopped, looking back into the hovel trying to locate the source of that cry. Her mother begged the creature for mercy, asking that he spare her children, but that was the wrong thing to say. When the creature heard the word "children", an ugly smile formed on his face. He dragged Wemael's mother back inside, demanding that she reveal where the tasty morsels were hiding. She refused, which infuriated him. He responded with a powerful blow to the side of her head, but in doing so, he let her slip from his hand. She darted straight for the door, hoping to get this evil creature outside and away from her babies. She thought that if he had to chase her down, he might forget about the children. She did not get far. Wemael saw his face twist in rage and watched him draw a large hammer from his side, and lunge after her. Her mother made it about halfway to the lane, when that hammer connected with the back of her head. The force of the blow crushed her skull and sent her flying into the gutter beside the lane. Wemael had seen all this because she had slipped out of the cubby hole again, hoping stil to be with her mother. She watched with sheer terror, as her mother landed with a thud at the feet of another of these wicked creatures. When she landed, she splashed mud onto this other marauder's boots causing him to laugh an ungodly laugh. He was soon joined in this hateful amusement by the hammer wielding creature. After what seemed like forever to Wemael, the first creature remembered the children and headed back to the ruined hovel. Wemael scooted quickly back to the cubby, believing that she was safe, but the marauder had seen her slip inside and so found the children. He did what came natural to him, and soon, all but Wemael lay dead at his feet. He had grazed her shoulder with a crudely made axe, sending her crashing to the floor. She did not move, mostly out of fear, but also because somewhere inside her she heard a voice telling her to stay down. This time, she listened. The marauder might have continued his slaughter, in spite of Wemael's lifeless pose, but his laughing companion called to him that they were leaving. He left the hovel wearing the ugliest satisfied look on his face. Wemael remained almost perfectly still for hours, fearing that the evil creature might return and finish his ghastly work. When she finally did decide to move, she did it with almost complete silence. She had to stifle the tears that were threatening to burst forth as she crawled over the bodies of her brothers and sister. She wanted to weep for them, but feared that the family's attacker might still be around. She was successful in not making a sound until she reached the door and saw her mother.
Now she lay weeping on her mother's back, sobbing softly, but deeply. Other than the heaving of her body caused by her mourning, she lay still for some time. It wasn't until the sun had slunk away, ashamed to have been witness to the day's horror that Wemael stirred. She heard noises coming form the entrance of the village, and she scrambled away from her mother's body reluctantly. She got as far as the water barrel just outside her front door, when the source of the noise appeared in front of her mother. She was able to scoot behind the barrel; certain that who or whatever was there had not seen her. After a few minutes, Wemael stuck her head out just enough to catch a glimpse of this new intruder.