Warchildren Scene 14

   

Magnus heard Mialee scream and hammered Arn on the shoulder with the bottom of his hammer's handle as he ran past him towards the sound. He barreled through the undergrowth and ran headlong into another of the creatures who turned just in time to catch a shield in the face. Magnus heard it fall into the leaves of the forest floor behind him followed quickly by a crunching sound as Arn shed in it's skull with his hammer.
     He plowed through bushes and knocked saplings out of the way in his headlong search for Mialee.
     “Mialee!” Magnus shouted.
     “Over here Magnus.” He could hear Ugadda's gravely voice shout from behind some briar bushes. That isn't good if Mialee isn't responding herself, he thought.
     His heart dropped when he skidded around the bushes and found Ugadda pressing down on Mialee's thigh. There was a lot of blood. He knelt down next to her and cradled her head in his hands.
     “It's going to be alright, Mia.” He said gently.
     She lay still as stone and was hardly breathing.
     “Where is Cogwyn?” Arn asked. “Cogwyn!!!” he roared.
     “I'm here Arn.” she said as she stepped carefully through the woods getting white as a sheet when she saw the bodies. When she saw Mialee she rushed over and fell to her knees. She moved her hands over Mialee and closed her eyes.
     “Well Wynnie? Are you going to help or not?” Magnus pleaded. “Do something!”
Arn grabbed Magnus by the back of the armor and hauled him back. “Easy there boyo. Let 'er work.” he said grunted in his ear.
     “Calm Magnus.” Cogwyn said and laid a hand on his thigh sending a spark of lightning between her hand and his leg. He felt suddenly calm and at ease, though he could not figure why.
     Cogwyn's hand began to glow softly as if lit by candlelight and when she placed her other hand on the wound it too began to glow. The would began to glow with the same soft candlelight within the damaged flesh. Mialee stirred as if in a  troubled sleep but Cogwyn kept chanting softly underneath her breath. The wound stopped bleeding and Ugadda removed her hands in amazement. The wound was not only not bleeding anymore but actually closing before their eyes.
     “Mialee, honey, can you hear me? Cogwyn said softly.
     “Yes.” she said weakly.
     “You will be fine, dear, you just need to rest.”
     “Whatever you say mom...” she said and giggled softly.

Warchildren Scene 13

   

     They crossed the bridge over the Vandir river just north of the falls that gave the town its name. The river was swollen with spring rain and churned beneath the wooden planks of the bridge. The wood creaked as Mialee walked across the bridge but she could not hear it today over the roar of the nearby falls. The guard tower that protected the opposite bank loomed ahead. The portcullis and heavy wooden doors of the gatehouse stood open to let laborers and farmers who live outside the protection of the town walls into town to conduct their daily business. Thirty feet above the bridge she could see one of the watchman
standing at the battlements and surveying the surrounding countryside of the vale. At least what little of the vale that wasn't obscured by the tall maples and oaks that grew all over this part of the vale.
     She could feel the cooler damp of the interior of the gatehouse as she passed through the darkness. Her leather armor creaked in the relative quiet of the gatehouse. It would take some time to break it in properly. The leather was good, tough hide but was still stiff and pinched uncomfortably in a few spots. She knew she would have raw spots tonight when they stopped to make camp. Her trusty staff thumped loudly on the stones of the gatehouse floor and the smooth, well worn wood felt good in her hands by comparison.
     The daylight came again swiftly and she felt the well trod path out of town beneath her feet. The usually hard packed earth of the road was soft and muddy after last night's downpour. The Vandir Inn stood to the left of the road and she could smell breakfast being cooked inside. Master Thorne tended to travelers who passed by on the old road and was usually a good place to pick up news of happenings within the vale. Merchants from Stormhaven and Hammerfall Hall passed by and would gladly share what they knew over an ale. Few merchants from either city had been through lately and the townsfolk were starving for news and the merchant's wares. She turned right at the fork in the road next to the Inn. She looked right over her shoulder back toward the town and could see the towers of the Temple looming over the town with the Lord Mayor's Keep perched atop its bluff behind the Temple. She paused for a few minutes just staring at the town as the others passed her by each lost in their own thoughts or conversations. She could see the smoke from the town's hearth fires creeping up lazily into the morning sky. As many times as she had left she had never really thought it might be her last. She had never really thought of the town as home. Till now.
     They walked through the outlying farms for hours before coming to the edge of the township and the open road. Nothing was really different but they had never had never traveled this far from home before.
She didn't think anyone was actually out there watching them but she suddenly felt like there were eyes in the woods all around them. The skin on the back of her neck stood on end and chills ran down her spine.
Magnus and Arn were walking at the head of the little column as usual.
     “Look, I'm not saying it actually is a dragon,” Magnus said as he walked, “just that dragon's do exist.”
     “If they do exist, and I'm not conceding that they do, wouldn't we have seen them 'afore?” Arn countered, “I mean, wouldn't there be records of ye great honkin' flyin' lizards meandering about?”
     “There are, ya stupid dwarf, it says it right there in the third book of the Trials of Fire.” Magnus said exasperated after hours of the seemingly endless debate.
     “The Trials of Fire? Of course it says so in the holy book of the bloody Dragon Ascendant!” Arn roared,      “Show me a real book written by someone who isn't a fever-brained acolyte of a bloody made up dragon god.”
     “That's blasphemy Arn,” Magnus turned serious when confronted with Arn's unbelief. “You are going straight to the Underworld when you die my little friend.”
     “Little friend? I'm not some thieving little halfer, ye fever brained zealot,” Arn stopped in the middle of the road and jabbed his sausage of a finger into Magnus's chain shirt. “The Smith has a place set aside for me in the Great Forge. Ye, however, will spend all eternity carryin' coke for the furnace.”
     “You don't even believe in the gods, you heretic,” Magnus said smiling, “so how is the Smith going to do anything for you.”
     “I don't believe they exist but tha' doesn't stop them from believing tha' I exist.” Arn said with complete resolve.
     “What? That makes no sense whatsoever, Arn. You are still going straight to the Drea.....” Magnus trailed off as he saw movement in the treeline.
     Something flew from within the treeline and headed straight for Arn who had his back to the forest and was still intently arguing with Magnus. Magnus grabbed the dwarf by his beard and yanked the dwarf past his as he raised his shield with his left arm. A javelin clanked off of the shield and many more flew from the forest.
     “AMBUSH!!!” Magnus yelled and charged the unseen foes in the treeline. “For the Dragon!”
     He rushed off the road and plowed through the bushes at the edge of the treeline. He saw a small humanoid form haul back to toss another javelin and charged straight for it. His heavy traveling pack slowed him down and the little bugger let fly the javelin right over his shoulder. Magnus hauled back to cave in its
little skull with his hammer but the thing had ducked under his arm and hit him hard with the shaft of its last javelin. Pain flared across his back and he spun, hammer in hand, catching the little creature in the shoulder. It stabbed at his with it's javelin but he caught the head of the javelin on his shield and swung again with
his hammer. Iron hammer head caught the creature in the skull and caved it in.
     He had no time to enjoy his victory before he felt a sharp pain in his side. Another creature stood there with a bloody javelin and hauled back to stab him again. He managed to block the flashing javelin's head with his shield but before he could swing his hammer and cave in it's skull, Arn was there roaring and caught the surprised creature under the chin with a mighty upstroke of his own hammer. The creature's head snapped back and it's body flopped down limp.
     Magnus turned and could see the skirmish in the trees in between hammer strokes and protecting his face with his shield from javelin thrusts. Ugadda was surrounded by the little creatures and was fighting in a blur of punches and kicks. One of the sneaky little creatures had managed to get behind Ugadda and was hauling its javelin back to thrust it into Ugadda's back when Mialee caved in it's skull with her staff. Magnus could not see Cogwyn or Wyndreth but had no time to worry about them. One of the creatures knocked Arn in
the head with the handle of it's javelin while a second creature prepared to deliver the fatal blow while Arn was reeling. Magnus stepped in and caught the thrust on his shield and swung with his hammer. The quick little creature ducked his blow and stabbed with it's javelin which glanced off his chain armor.
     “Is tha' the best ye have, ye little shits!” Arn roared as he regained his senses.
     “Not sure if they speak the common tongue Arn,” Magnus said over his shoulder between hammer swings, “but ask for directions to their lair if you get the chance.”
     “Maybe, champ, let me ask one.” Arn laughed. He bashed one in the face with his shield and caved in it's skull with a hammer stroke. “Oi! Friend! can ye point us in the direction of yer lair so we can kill the rest of ye?” Arn asked the limp corpse whose brains covered his hammer.
     “I pretty sure you should ask them before you hit them with your hammer.”
     “You ask your way and I will ask mine.” He laughed as he and Magnus stomped through the bushes looking for more of the little buggers to kill.
     Ugadda punched one of the little creatures in the head hard enough she could hear bones crunch over the shouts and din of the fight. The little thing was about the size of a short human. It had a reptilian head with needle sharp fangs and wore a loincloth and leather jerkin. They made little yapping noises to each other
and were sneaky as a halfer. Individually they were no match for her but they fought in packs and one always would try to sneak around behind her. She bore a number of small cuts from their javelins.
     She spun and a javelin head flashed past her. She grabbed it and yanked as hard as she could throwing the little reptile to the ground where she stomped down hard on it's little head. She felt the bones and flesh give way beneath her considerable weight through her boot soles. She turned and saw Mialee surrounded
but three of the creatures. She dropped the javelin she had taken away from the dead creature on the ground and ran towards Mialee. She jumped into the air, kicked off a nearby tree and landed with a spinning kick that nearly took the head off of one of the creatures working in behind Mialee.
     Mialee spun her staff and caught one of the creatures full in the face knocking it out cold. The third creature thrust its javelin and caught Mialee in the leg. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground kicking at the creature with her good leg.
     Ugadda grabbed the little creature by its neck and loin cloth. She lifted it above her head with a growl. The creature sensing it's impending doom yelped and yapped for all it was worth while it flailed around in Ugadda's iron grip. She brought the struggling creature down swiftly as she dropped to one knee, breaking it across her knee like it was a merely a piece of kindling for the fire. She tossed the body aside and crawled over to Mialee to see how bad the wound was.

Warchildren Scene 12

   

The being posing as Wyndreth walked apart from the other Warchildren as seemed appropriate for the family dynamic. Wyndreth had been a brooding, solitary sort which is why she had picked him as her target. It allowed her to insinuate herself into the family with a minimum of interaction with the others. They were a fairly tight-knit family which made her wonder why this Wyndreth had been so isolated from his adoptive family. At this point the others did not even try to include him in anything.
     He just tagged along on his own. Or not.
     Magnus and Arn are clowns but heavily armed and armored. They could pose a threat if they found out she wasn't who she said she was. Barring significant injury, they would never know.
     Mialee and Cogwyn were astute and observant and she would have to keep an eye on those two if they should start sniffing around. Both of them were tasty pieces of cunny and she would enjoy doing them both when the time came.
Ugadda presented a problem. The Dread were notoriously tough and resilient. She would have to devise a way to deal with the Bone Crusher when the time came. Ugadda's strength was also her greatest weakness.        The gray woman would have to find a way to exploit it and turn her strength against her fellows. Failing that, some dart-frog poison in her water skin should do the trick.
     The key would be to do them alone. Splitting them up could prove difficult. Luckily, the situation has not come to a head yet. The old man simply said to find out their strengths and weaknesses and whether they could pose a threat to his plan.
     Whatever that is.

Warchildren Scene 11

   

Magnus woke early, dawn barely peeking out from behind the Pillar of the Mother. The town was quietly waking and laborers roused and headed off to farms and the riverside. Magnus rubbed his eyes and stood upon the cool flagstone floor. He moved over to the armor stand that until last night had only held his practice armor. The chain mail hauberk glistened and swayed in the cold, drafty room. He pulled on his linen trousers
and then his linen tunic. He grabbed the quilted gambeson that hung next to the chain on the stand. The gambeson was thick and padded to protect him from the chaffing of the mail hauberk. It was also warm, which on a cold morning such as this was a blessing. He pulled on thick woolen socks. His leather boots
were well worn in but polished and well cared for. They slid onto his feet and he tugged the laces tight, tying them so they wouldn't come undone even in the hardest combat. He pulled the chain mail hauberk over his head and the rough chain slid down his body. He could feel the weight of it settle heavily on his shoulders. He was strapping his leather bracers on his forearms when a knock came at his door.
     “Magnus? It's time to go.” The door creaked open and a smiling face peered around the open door.
     “Mialee.” Magnus smiled back and beckoned her into the room. He moved toward her and cupped her cheek in his left hand. She looked up at him smiled softly, her eyes glowed with a soft light like the morning sun. He gazed at her and leaned in, softly touching her lips with his.
     “Magnus, I wish we had time for more but the others are gathering in the courtyard.” she pulled away from him but gently.
     He left his hand against her cheek as she turned to leave, savoring the touch of her skin. They had grown up together but at some point had grown closer than the others. They loved each other more than simply familial bonds would allow. Magnus would steal out into the wilderness to train and meet with Mialee beneath the Pillars. They would find no time for sweet trysts now.
     “Mialee...I...” he began.
     “Magnus, with our share of the reward we could build our house and perhaps start a family of our own.” she smiled and moved toward the door. “Keep your mind on the task then or..."
     “We may not live to spend it,” he finished.
     “Come on,” she smiled. “Dark thoughts don't suit you. We will be calling you Wyndreth if you keep it up.”
     She left him alone in the cold morning air of his cell. His mind filled with thoughts of her. He could hear Arn pounding down the hall, his chain hauberk clinking and jingling down the hall, boot stomping on the flagstones.
     “Let's go Magnus! We've got us a big lizard to kill.” Arn laughed as he stomped by his door.
     “I'm coming. Are you in a hurry to get eaten!” he shouted through the crack in the door.
     Magnus reached for the coif and leather cap to wear underneath it. Placed both on his head and picked up his helmet. It was a good steel helmet with a nasal bar shaped like a dragons neck and head which attached to a golden dragon's body splayed across the brow of the helmet, wings swept back and gripping
the sides as if perched on Magnus' helmet.
     Magnus strapped on his belt and his trusty hammer. His shield stood in the corner. A kite shield made from stout oak. Magnus had had a fire breathing version of the Dragon Ascendant painted on his shield when he was old enough to carry one. Except for the times when he held Mialee in the forest, he only felt complete when he held hammer and shield in hand. He picked up his traveling pack, slung it over is right shoulder and headed for the door. He stopped at the threshold and gazed back at his room.
     So many years spent here, so many hours spent in prayer to the Dragon Ascendant for guidance and strength. Yet he had never heard the Dragon respond. Not with his ears at any rate. Now he must slay one of the Dragon's wayward children. Magnus turned and shut the door. He walked down the hallway
toward the open door. Light spilled through the doorway and it wasn't until he stepped out into the morning light that he realized he was the last to arrive.
     They were all wearing the armor that Father Matthias had given them the night before. They also carried traveling packs and wore good boots. Cogwyn looked strange decked out in leather and traveling gear. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Even in her traveling clothes she still looked gorgeous. Magnus shook his head and walked toward them.
     Arn caught sight of Magnus walking toward them and said loudly, “Finally, we can get on the road. Let's get going.” He then turned and strode off with purpose towards the upper bridge which led west towards the old king's road.
     The rest filed out and said their goodbyes to Father Matthias at the courtyard gate. He hugged each of them as they filed past and said a few words. When Magnus stepped up Father Matthias hugged him with the strong arms Magnus remembered from his youth. “Dragon be with you son. You've made me proud and grown into a fine young man.”
     “Thank you father,” Magnus said, voice choking with emotion.
     “Bring them all back Magnus.”
     “I will try father.” Magnus said as he turned and walked through the courtyard gate. Rainwater stood in pools on the street as he walked down towards the bridge. Not many townsfolk paid them much attention as they left. A few stopped to stare in confusion at the Warchildren as they walked by weighted down with armor and heavy traveling packs. Armed and armored warriors, no matter how well they knew them, made
the peaceful townsfolk nervous. They looked at them as a sheep would a sheepdog, unable to tell the difference between a protector and a wolf.
     Magnus caught up with Arn and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Oi! Are ye ready Magnus? I can't wait to kill this beastie.”
     “Well once it eats you and gets indigestion from your sorry carcass, I will be happy to kill the dragon for you. If indeed that is what it is.” Magnus said smiling. “Just don't die too quickly, OK? I would appreciate it if you tired it out a bit first.”
     “Ye be the one feedin' the beastie Magnus. I'll be bringin' home the head and rolling in the glory.” Arn slapped Magnus on the back. “ When I'm a famous beastie slayer, you can polish my armor for me. It's the least I could do once the thing bites yer skinny pale legs off.
     “Nah, Arn I'm sure this dragon like a bit more fat on his meals.” Magnus said as he patted Arn's belly.
     “Oi! That's all muscle! Hard as a foundation stone.” Arn said pounding his gut. “Go ahead punch me ye little girl, ye will probably break yer soft girly hands”
     “OK,” Magnus said and punched him right in the face. Arn stopped short and shook his bearded head and then stared right at Magnus. “Oi! What was that for?”
     “You said punch you. I was just aiming for the fattest part of your body.” Magnus smiled laughing uproariously.
     “Ye'll pay for that.” Arn said and moved toward Magnus, who took off running. Arn chased him past everyone else, knocking his friends and random people out of his way.
     “I thought dwarves were natural sprinters?” Magnus yelled back to Arn as he dodged his way through the morning crowds.
He was having trouble running as he laughed ever harder. They passed Mialee, Cogwyn and Ugadda who were walking and chatting among themselves. “Boys!” Cogwyn said and they giggling among themselves. Ugadda tried to giggle but came out as a rumble of gravelly stone instead. Her large jet black form and her smoldering red eyes cleared a path for the ladies as they strolled along the street. Cogwyn stopped to look
at a piece of red cloth at the dyer's stall along the side of the road through town.
     “How much for three paces of this cloth?” she asked the merchant.
     “Six pieces of silver, Mi'lady.” the merchant said businesslike.
    “Three,” Cogwyn countered absentmindedly, eyes cast down at the cloth with appreciation.
     “For you Mi'lady, I can go as low as five silver pieces.” the merchant responded. “Any lower and I will go hungry.”
     She smiled at him and turned the full force of her eyes on him. “I'm sorry all I have is three to spend, please sir, it is so beautiful. I have never seen it's equal. You must be a master of your craft.” she said sweetly.
     “Th-thank you Mi'lady, you are to kind. It is some of my best work and it will not fade like other more inferior work.”
     “It is so soft,” she said as she held some of the material to her cheek and closed her eyes . She moaned softly as she caressed her skin with the red cloth. “I would just love to make a dress from this cloth. It is so beautiful and feels so good against my skin. Doesn't this color look good on me?” she asked the merchant, holding his eyes in her smoldering gaze.
     “Mi'lady, my wife would kill me if I sold that cloth for so small a price.” He pleaded with her.
     “Does she take tea?” Cogwyn asked sliding her pack off her shoulder and reaching into a pocket.
     “Every night before bed. Why do you ask?”
     “Here are three silver pieces and give her this in her tea.”
     Cogwyn said as she placed a small stoppered vial in the merchant's hand. “The Goddess will turn her mind to other things and yours as well, honey.”
     The merchant nodded his head vigorously and took the coins and vial from Cogwyn's hand. He looked around and slid the small vial into the sash of soft cotton at his waist. He took up his measuring tool and measured out three paces of cloth. He then cut the cloth at three paces and rolled it before tying a small
loop of string around the cloth. He handed the red cloth over to Cogwyn who smiled her best heart-melting smile at him. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek when she took the cloth.
      “You won't be sorry honey, the Goddess will make sure of that.”
     Ugadda and Mialee stood and stared open mouthed at the short exchange. Cogwyn took the cloth and bundled it into her pack. She then shouldered her pack and began to walk after the boys.
     “How did you haggle that man down so fast?” Mialee asked confused.
     “She used the magic of her Goddess.” Ugadda said with derision in her voice.
     “I only used the magic the Goddess has blessed every woman with, Ugadda.” Cogwyn said cheerfully. “I have tried to teach you both how to use that womanly magic often enough.”
     “I have no idea what you are referring to Wynnie,” Mialee said with a forced frown.
     “Sure you do Mia,” Cogwyn said with a slight smile, “you use it on Magnus quite often of late.”
     “I do not!” Mialee said almost giggling.
     “I have noticed that he goes off to practice in the woods on occasion around the time you go for your nightly walks.”
Ugadda turned and said sternly, “we all know about you and Magnus.
     “What?!?” Mialee stopped and stared at her two “sisters” with apprehension and a little fear. Her and Magnus had been unsure how the others would take their deeper relationship. It almost seemed incestuous even though they were of no blood kinship. They had know each other their entire lives and something had formed over time that neither had expected but both had welcomed gladly.
     “And we approve,” Ugadda added, “so don't get your underclothes in a bunch.”
     “We know Mia and its alright. We are happy to see you two together and look forward to nieces and nephews in a few years.” Cogwyn said mischievously.
     “Well don't go putting the cart before the horse, girls. We still have a dragon to slay before you can start knitting baby clothes.”
     “I don't know how to knit,” Cogwyn said laughing, “and I pretty sure Bone Crusher here hasn't been apprenticed to a midwife recently.”
     Ugadda looked at the two smaller human women and actually smiled. “Motherhood doesn't really suit me, methinks.”
     “No, but you might make someone a good husband someday.” Mialee said laughing.
     “Perhaps,” Ugadda said in all seriousness before breaking out in a huge canine filled grin.

Voyage of the Wolf Scene 3

   

  Staff Sergeant Delacroix felt the engines of the ship rumble louder as the Wolf came up to speed on its exit vector from Earth orbit. He heard his tools rattle in the tool box while he tightened a nut on his suit's right knee actuator. It had been giving him trouble in the last few boarding exercises they had conducted in the previous weeks. The ship, like most Synod freighter layouts he had been given to study, was composed of three parts: the crew support section and bridge in the fore part fore the ship, the engines and engineering section in the aft part of the ship and the cargo or passenger area between the two. The Wolf has refitted the cargo pods in the middle with crew quarters for his Marines, combat suit storage and maintenance area, a small medbay and a virtual training area with VR goggles, training weapons and trackpads as well as three small cockpit simulators for the pilots of the shuttles.
     Sergeant Delacroix was pulling maintenance on his suit along with the rest of his marines. They would be conducting a training exercise against the marines of the Surprise in a few hours after their jump to Mars orbit. He had a full platoon of thirty-six marines divided into three squads of twelve, one squad for each of the shuttles. Each squad had three fireteams of four, two fireteams were standard rifle teams with a leader, grenadier, gunner and assistant gunner. The third fireteam was a command/support team with four suits of powered armor. Sergeant Delacroix ran the command team along with the toon leader Lieutenant McCloy who commanded the entire platoon.
     "How is it coming Staff Sergeant?" Lieutenant McCloy said as he sat down on the bench next to him.
     "Good sir, but you should try that shoulder joint. I fiddled with it to loosen it up but you should try it and make sure." Delacroix grunted as he struggled with the knee actuator and the wrench. "God dammit," he hissed, "I swear, engineers make this shit and don't bother to take into account people are gonna have to get their hands in here and fix it, because in their minds it is never going to break or need adjusting."
     "So situation normal." McCloy laughed and began to open up his armor.
     "Yes sir, and it is all fucked up as usual." he growled in frustration.
     "Well we need to get this stuff worked out before people start shooting at us. Because as much as I love a challenge going into battle against a technologically superior opponent with malfunctioning equipment made by the lowest bidder is not my ideal afternoon."
     "Oh, I'm right there with you sir, but you are now bucking tradition and the Corps loves its traditions." Delacroix said as he let out a rough laugh.
      McCloy climbed into his suit and Delacroix helped him button up. He left the face plate up and rotated his shoulder through its full range of motion. "Feels good, Staff, much better. One problem down a dozen more to go."
     "Murphy's Law sir, we are all subject to it and the Marine Corps seems to pray to Murphy like some ancient god. When everything goes smooth I start getting real nervous, sir."
     "Cause that means we are walking into an ambush."
     "Damn right, every freaking time.

Warchildren Scene 10

   

     The withered old man lay dozing in his chair dreaming of power. He snored loudly amid his dreams of conquest. His hands and feet jerked in response to comforting thoughts of bloodshed. He remained like this for a time in front of the ever present fire. He was always cold these days. His body was weakening but his mind expanded ever farther from the frontiers of mortality. Or so he hoped.
     A mighty snore roused him from his comforting slumber. He slowly rubbed at his eyes and blinked in brightness of the roaring fire. He grabbed a nearby blanket and stood on shaky legs. When he finally had his balance again he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders with the slowness of encroaching decrepitude. He searched the floor thoroughly and found his slippers lined with sheep's wool. Satisfied, he shuffled across the room toward a silver bowl on a stand. He picked up an ornate knife near the bowl and slid the blade across his wrinkled and well scarred palm. He squeezed the blood into another small golden bowl and put the bloody knife down next to it. He reached over with his unwounded hand and lifted a taper from the table and lit it from a red candle nearby. He then turned and shuffled over to the center of the round room were an intricate pattern had been crafted into the very stonework. The old man had rarely seen its equal and they
were always in places of great magic.
     He threw the taper into the center of the pattern and a great flame erupted from the floor. The old man flinched back from the expected heat but it never came. The flames were cold and lifeless. A figure formed within the flames and a shadowy darkness coalesced within them. The form took shape slowly. Arms and legs extruded from the mass of shadow. A head sprouted from newly formed shoulders. Horns began to extrude from the shadow's head and great beating wings were flung wide, darkly majestic, from the shadowy creature's back. Burning coals for eyes sprung to life and blazed with infernal energies.
     “Why do you want old man?” The shadow thundered.
     “Eternal life,” The old man wheezed, “and vengeance.”
     “You must spread the darkness.” the shadow replied, thunder rolling from his tongue.
     “What must I do, Mi'lord?” the old man dropped to his knees and pleaded.
     “You must kill a god.” The shadow said and began laughing till the thunderous bellowing shook the tower.
     “Which god? What must I do?” the old man pleaded once more on his knees.
     “The spire west of here in the center of the vale harbors such a god. It sleeps away the centuries at the      heart of the spire. Find it and slay it before it wakes. Do this and you will take his place among the gods.”
     “Mi'Lord, there is no way into the Spire, many have tried for centuries to gain entrance but there is no way inside.” the old man managed to croak, voice choked with fear.
     “There is a key,” The shadow hissed and his image was replaced with that of a sword. “This was hidden away long ago. It will open the Spire and it will slay the god within.” The shadow spoke with dark passion and disappeared. The flames died quickly and the old man was left alone, deep in thought.

Warchildren Scene 9

Wyndreth returned to his small room in the rectory and changed into a new set of clothes. He chose a pair of doeskin breeches. He tugged on a pair of good leather boots and hid a dagger in the boot top. He then put on his dagger harness complete with three throwing daggers and a pair of heavier fighting daggers. The harness fit snugly around his torso and left the handles of the daggers down just beneath the hem of the baggy cotton shirt he put on over it. The daggers would be within easy reach of both his hands but hidden from view.

        He put a set of thieves tools into the top of the other boot. He chose a leather thong with a cheap pewter dragon woven into the leather which concealed a small wire garrote. He put the thong on his wrist and closed the pewter clasp. He picked out a ring with a large bloodstone and slid it onto his finger. He pulled a red cotton sash off of the hook hanging near the small window opposite the door and wrapped it around his waist many times to conceal its twenty foot length then tucked the end up under, over and through the sash with a stylish twist. The sash was positioned high enough to leave the hidden blades below but still under the edge of his shirt. He strapped on leather bracers to protect his wrists during a knife fight and to hide the scars, the bracers themselves would be hidden beneath the baggy sleeves of his shirt. 

        He waited till the hallway was quiet and listened at the door for anyone moving around outside. When he was satisfied that he would not be seen he stepped into the hallway and made his way to the back door of the rectory leading to the garden. He crossed the large garden and quietly slipped through the gate in the garden wall. He waited in a shadow near the wall till he was sure he had slipped out unnoticed. He then stepped out of the alley hurried along the rain slicked cobble stone streets.

        The streets were quiet, except for the driving rain. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the darkened streets of the town. Cracks of thunder rolled up the valley and bounced through the stone walls and alleys of the town. No one dared leave their house on a night like this except fools and drunks.

        In case anyone saw him, the being posing as Wyndreth staggered a little as he made his way along the narrow streets. Wyndreth pulled the cloak over his head against the driving rain. No one would be able tell who had passed by with the hood hiding his face. The gray being changed again and took on the guise of a withered old whore she had killed last year in Stormhaven, just to be safe. One could never be too safe

        The cobble stone streets ran slick with rainwater making even a short walk dangerous to weak ankles. The rainwater washed the days accumulated animal dung down the street in a rough brown stream. Steam rose from the heat the stones had soaked up during the day. The lantern-lighters were not out on a night like tonight and the streets were dark as the pit.

        The gray old whore's eyes could pierce the night. She walked unafraid through the roughest part of the riverfront because in her eyes the shadows did not exist. A few times she saw men standing in the shadows, unseen to all but her. She was a spider among roaches.

        The old whore passed from shadow to shadow stopping occasionally to make sure she was not followed. Still, she took a circuitous route to the dive. She stumbled through narrow streets and even more narrow alleys. As she turned the corner out of one of the many alleys, she spotted the weather beaten old sign of the Rusty Nail. She hurried inside and shook the wetness off her cloak.

        The Rusty Nail was dark and smoke filled. The straw on the floor was moldy and smelled of sweat and stale beer. The long tables were full of porters and sailors and ran from the door to the bar at the far end of the room.  The patrons were broken men, porters mostly with a few river rats thrown in. The porters and sailors both wore short pants and cotton jerkins of various colors. They were hard men used to hard labor. They spent what few coins they earned on bad beer and cheap whores. The Rusty Nail had plenty of both.

        The old whore moved through them stumbling from one table to the next. She felt the occasional stray hand as she passed by but none of the sailors were too interested in her decrepit body. She made her way slowly along the common tables, stopping occasionally to attempt to insinuate herself into a conversation or game of dice. Not even the drunkest of sailors would take her up on her unspoken offers. She was shunned from the long tables, which is exactly what she wanted. She spotted her contact in the far corner and collapsed into a chair across the small round table from him.

        “The old man wants to know if you have succeeded in infiltrating the Temple,” said the porter sitting in the shadows.

        “Yes,” replied the old whore. “I have. They are leaving in the morning to slay a dragon. If you can believe that. They think whatever is hunting in the area must be a dragon.”

        “Do you know where they are heading?” the porter asked.

        “The old guard keep west of here along the king's road.”

        The porter reached inside his cloak. The old whore tensed and edged her hand closer to the dagger at her belt. She shifted her feet and prepared to fight or flee depending on what the porter did next. He smiled a lopsided grin and tossed a small bag of coin onto the table.

        “Do you not recognize me?” the porter said in a more familiar voice. His eyes changed from the nondescript brown a moment before to the smoldering ember the gray woman was more familiar with.

        “I do now deary...” she purred in the broken crackly voice of an old crone who was seen to many winters and too many customers. She smiled a toothless smile and said regretfully. “Another time perhaps but not tonight deary. I need to get back.”

        “Before you go you will also need these,” the porter tossed a few leather thongs across the table. “The old man wants you to get them to wear these.”

        “Did he say why?” the gray old whore asked with a perplexed look on her withered stolen face.

        “Does he ever?” the porter shrugged and began getting up from the table.

        They got up and left the table together holding each other up as if they had both had too much too drink. The old whore retrieved her soaked cloak from the battered wooden peg near the entrance. They left the waterfront tavern together. Shortly after they left they split up and the whore became Wyndreth once again.

        He moved through the darkened streets toward the temple. He could see the golden tower of the Temple of the Dragon Ascendant illuminated by occasional lightning flashes from the riverfront. He made his way back toward the temple by a different route than the one he used to walk to the Rusty Nail. He turned the corner and found three men assaulting a poor woman in the darkened alley.

        One of the men had the woman's arms held tightly down while they had her bent over a rain barrel laying on its side. Another man held a rag tightly over her mouth to muffle her cries of pain and panic. The third man, larger and fatter than the other two was having his turn with the poor woman. The three men did not notice Wyndreth approach, distracted as they were with the raping of the poor woman. As Wyndreth approached he slipped a hand underneath his shirt and slid two throwing daggers from their leather sheath. He tossed them both underhanded, as quick as a flash of lightning. Daggers suddenly sprouted from two of the men's throats. They fell back clutching their necks and choking on their own blood. Wyndreth slipped in behind the third man quickly and pulled the hidden garrote tight around the fat man's throat. The fat man struggled but it only tightened the wire that was slowly cutting into his skin as it strangled him. His hands flailed against his unseen attacker, grasping and clawing for purchase against the rain slicked cloak.  

        The woman fell over onto the ground weak and gasping for air as she yanked the makeshift gag from her mouth. She was sobbing and trying to pull herself together.

        Wyndreth strangled the fat man until he stopped moving and then laid his fat corpse in the dirty alley with his companions. He stood for a few moments still hidden in the dark and changed his features to one of the porters he saw in the Rusty Nail. He moved over to the obviously shaken woman and extended a hand to help her up. She shied away at first but gradually reached out and took the offered hand when he persisted.  Wyndreth helped the woman to her feet. She was indeed very pretty, even in this horrid state.

        “Thank you sir, for saving me from these creatures,” she said sobbed with gratitude, still shaken from the attack.

        She began to walk away but was stopped short when something slipped around her pretty little neck. Wyndreth yanked her back to him and whispered in her ear. “I was just saving you for me.”

        She struggled as he forced her back over to the barrel. She began to scream. He wrapped the dirty rag around her neck and gripped the ends in one hand. He bent her over the barrel and hiked up her dress with the other hand so he could see the shapely and very lovely figure underneath. He then undid his own pants letting them drop. She struggled and tried to push herself back, but the gray being now wearing a porter's face, was very strong for its slight frame. He slammed her back over the barrel and entered her. He ran his free hand along her wet skin as he had his way with her. The rag around her neck was slowly choking her and she began to struggle ever more frantically as the darkness closed in. The gray being climaxed when the pretty young maid gave one last shudder and became still.

        Tired and spent from the long day, he let her drop to the dark wet cobblestones of the alley. He pulled up his trousers and retied the knot holding them up. He calmly walked over and retrieved the throwing daggers from the throats of the dead men crumpled in the alley. “What an unexpected treat,” he said as he wiped off the daggers on the men's tunics and slid the daggers back into their sheathes and changed his features once again to those of Wyndreth.