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. 

Voyage of the Wolf Scene 2

     The Wolf slid away from the skeletal dockyard, pushed by small thrusters fed by the engines. A small white pilot-ship pulled along side of the large black raider and a comm laser whisked out to caress the Wolf's receiver. Within a few moments the Wolf was mimicking every move that the pilot ship made.The two ships glided silently through the large orbital dockyard. They passed numerous ships including the almost finished Enterprise. The ship was a large tube with numerous docking points along its sides and the dorsal part of its spine. Eventually it would carry forty-eight fighters, four full squadrons. It was to be the flagship of the Homefleet in a few months. It was surrounded by landing ships, a mobile dock and more than a few armed freighters used as Q-ships to protect our own convoys. The Q-ships were quick modifications of old freighters and didn't have the extensive re-design or upgraded armament that the Wolf had.
     Alfonso Yeager watched them all pass silently through the small view-port on the bridge. His thoughts were on the mission ahead. They needed to capture more ships and they needed to lock down the Synod trade through the sector. They also needed to reach out and find more allies if they were to survive as a species. No one at FleetCom knew what was coming their way so more than anything they needed intel on Synod intentions and capabilities which would be vitally important to the successful outcome of the mission.
     All of this was theoretical as no human had ever conducted a mission like this before in history. They needed training, practice and time. Time, unfortunately, was not in abundance. The Wolf cleared the area of the dockyard and the pilot-ship pulled away.
     "Move us away from Terra at full sub-light, Mr. Taban." Captain Yeager said.
     "Yes, sir, full sub-light," Taban repeated and tapped into the console in front of him. A few moments later he turned and said, "Engineering reports sub-light engines at full thrust Captain."
     "Navigation, plot a jump to Mars orbit when we are clear of Terra's gravity well." Jeager ordered.
     "Aye, sir. Mars jump in thirty minutes," said a young female ensign with blond hair and delicate features.
     The time flew by as Alfonso checked the ship's core systems from his command station at the back of the bridge. All systems were operating within normal parameters, though the power from engine three was fluctuating a hair it was well within safety guidelines for this vessel according to the information they had received.
     "One minute to jump sir," reported the ensign at navigation. Emily Rogers was top of her class at the US Air Force Academy with degrees in astrophysics and aeronautical engineering and advanced degrees from MIT in both. She was brilliant, young and her first deployment was an alien spaceship on a unprecedented mission. Lucky girl.
     Alfonso keyed the com and spoke into his headphone mic," Secure for jump. All hands man your jump stations."

Warchildren Scene 8

Mathias sent some of the local children out with a few coppers to find the Warchildren and deliver a message to each. One by one they straggled in from the storm raging outside the Temple and met around the dinner table in the kitchen of the rectory. Many of them were soaked from the storm despite the cloaks they were wearing when they came in and hung up beside the door. The rain lashed the shuttered windows and the wind howled against the stone walls, begging to be let in. The distant and not so distant crash of thunder could be heard occasionally, gradually getting closer and more intense. Flashes of lighting would creep in around the edges of the shutters.

        The warchildren each found places around the table or along the wall. They spoke softly among themselves, each wondering what could be so important that Father would summon them on an evening like this. Arn and Magnus joked with each other. Ugadda and Wyndreth brooded in their separate corners and Mialee and Cogwyn spoke softly with each other. Mathias entered the room and when he had their attention he began to speak.

        “The creature we spoke about this morning is most likely a dragon.” Mathias said simply.

        “You too Father?” Arn blurted out. “I thought Magnus was the only moon brain in the family.”

        “Dragon's do exist in the world, Arn. Magnus is right. They are very rare. When they are young they search for a lair and begin hunting the countryside.” Mathias told them. “They will eat any kind of meat, including people if they can catch them. This one seems to be a young one based on its diet and the tracks Mialee discovered last night.”

        Magnus nudged Arn while Father Mathias explained and gave him a big grin and an “I told you so dwarf” look on his face. “You should listen to me more often, shorty. You might learn a thing or two.”

        “Fat chance of that happening,” Arn muttered back.

        “Someone or something may be assisting this dragon as well. Trade along the old road to Stormhaven has pretty much stopped. This dragon could be attacking merchant wagons and caravans or it could just be a case of simple bandits and a coincidence. I don't think it is coincidence though. Merchants coming from Hammerfall to the east have also not been making it to us. Trade along the river has dropped off considerably and the towns of Granite Falls and Woodhaven to the south have not been heard from in some time. The Lord Mayor thinks this may be some strategy to isolate us for some reason.”

        “What does this have to do with us Father?” Cogwyn asked sweetly.

        “I spoke with the Lord Mayor this morning and he concurs with my assessment. He asked me to offer a bounty of five hundred golden suns for you to track down and slay this dragon for him. If it some other beast he has offered two hundred suns for its head.”

        “That is a lot of money certainly Father,” Wyndreth spoke up from the back of the small kitchen. “However, we can't spend it if we are dead.”

        “Why didn't he post a general bounty and let some real hero's come and slay this thing?” Mialee asked from the end of the table.

        “Hell's! Why doesn't he just take the watch out and kill it?” Arn said.

        “Trust me, the Watch is not trained or able to handle this, if it is indeed a dragon.” Father Mathias countered. “If anyone is assisting this dragon or raiding the old road he has also offered a bounty of five gold suns for each of their heads as well. The town needs the trade from the surrounding towns and they need our trade goods as well. We need metals like iron and steel from Hammerfall. We need salt and cotton from Stormhaven. We get our stone from Granite Falls and ironwood from Woodhaven. They get our wheat, beef and lumber. If we were to fall to an invader it would severely weaken the surrounding towns and leave them open for conquest as well.”

        “That could be a lot of heads Father.” Arn joked. “We might need a wagon!”

        “This is not a joking matter Arn. A dragon is a very dangerous creature.” Mathias frowned at them. “You could all very easily be killed.”

        “We will do this thing for you Father,” Ugadda finally spoke from across the wooden table. Her arms had been crossed and a fierce expression had settled on her face since the discussion began. “But not for the gold.”

        “Speak for yourself bone-crusher,” Wyndreth said with a sneer of disgust. “That's enough gold to finally get me out of this crap-hole of a town.”

        “That's a lot of ale, eh Magnus?” Arn slapped Magnus on the back and began laughing.

        “We owe Father for everything he has done for us these last eighteen years. Do we not owe him and the town that much?” Ugadda was standing now as she spoke.

        “Well you can count Magnus and I in.” Arn stood and dragged Magnus to his feet.

        “What? Since when do you speak for me dwarf? I'll go, but only to see the dragon choke on your scruffy beard.” Magnus reached over and yanked on the dwarf's short beard.

        “Hey, don't touch the beard pretty boy,” Arn pulled away and tossed Magnus's hand aside. “Unless you be meaning to get me good and drunk first.” The dwarf winked at Magnus who just rolled his eyes in disgust.

        “We are going to need a tracker if we are ever going to find this thing,” Magnus turned and looked at Mialee. “Are you in sister?”

        “Sure, someone needs to keep you four out of trouble.”

        The eyes of everyone turned to Cogwyn as she sat at the end of the table brushing her long golden hair. She had a far way look on her face. They had seen that look often enough when she was trying to sort out some thorny problem. No one expected her kind soul to jump at the chance to hunt down and kill some creature no matter how dangerous that creature was. She wouldn't even eat meat, when they could get such a luxury. As far as anyone knew she had never intentionally hurt another living creature.

        “I am the best healer in town,” she finally said, “and before this is done I fear some of you will need that skill.”

        “Where should we start looking?” Magnus asked. “This dragon obviously flies. It could be anywhere.”

        “Dragons will find somewhere secluded, a cave or ruins, to lair in. Somewhere defensible and hard to find. Dragons feed once a ten-day when they are young and must sleep while they digest their prey. When they are asleep is when they are most vulnerable.” Mathias instructed the group. “Dragons will sometimes entice lesser races like Wyrmlings to watch over them and guard them while they sleep off their latest meal. Wyrmlings worship dragons as gods.”

        “These Wyrmlings might be the ones raiding the old road for supplies then.” Ugadda offered.

        “They may also be offering up the captive merchants and guards as sacrifices to their new god.” Mathias told them. Skilled they may be but they were still young and naive about the way the world really works outside the walls of the town.

        “That is horrible!” Cogwyn cried out. “Would they really do that Father?”

        “Yes and worse,” he said with a flatness to his voice they had never heard there before. They all knew he had been a warrior once, long ago, but none of them had ever seen him angry or hurt another living soul. “You will need weapons and armor. Come with me.”

       

       

        The door was hidden behind a shelf of preserves in the cellar of the temple. Mathias slide the entire eight foot shelf out of the way with one hand. Hidden tracks within the stone let the tall shelf full of food glide to one side with hardly any effort. A heavy iron-bound oak door lay behind the shelf. Father Mathias retrieved a key from a pouch from around his neck. None of them had ever seen him wear that pouch before. He slide the iron key into the keyhole and twisted. Metal clicked and clanked within the door and ended with a significant thunk! He reached out and pushed the heavy door open with both hands. As it swung inward he reached back and grabbed a torch from beside the door and entered the room alone. The flame of his torch disappeared into the gloom. More light began to filter out of the room as he lit more torches within. When he returned to the door he placed the torch back within its sconce and beckoned them to come within.

        “We have an armory?” Arn said, confused.

        “Apparently,” Magnus shrugged, “who knew?”

        They both stepped into the hidden room and everyone else followed. Inside there were racks of weapons and armor. Swords, hammers, daggers, maces and pole-arms lay in neat orderly wooden racks down the center of the room. Bows, crossbows, spears, javelins and slings hung along the walls with arrows, bolts and sling bullets in wooden buckets. On the far wall there were pieces of armor made from leather and chain mail. There was another heavy wood and iron bound door at the other end of the armory.

        “What is in there?” Cogwyn pointed at the door.

        “Through there are the caverns where I have stored food and other supplies.” Mathias replied. “You may take whatever equipment you think you may need. Feel free to help yourselves.”

        “Father? Where did all of this stuff come from?” Mialee wondered softly.

        “I had this built shortly after taking over from the old priest who was here before me.” Mathias replied evasively.

        “Why?” Magnus asked confused, “What have you been expecting? The end of the world?”

        “I was thinking zombies.” Arn admitted and looked at Ugadda.

        “The Dread.” Ugadda said staring directly at Mathias.

        “Penny for my pretty girl,” Mathias said smiling at Ugadda and tossed her a copper.

        “After the Dread swept through the vale we secretly built these all over town. To hide in and save the people from certain death.” Mathias admitted, “We did not want to watch the townsfolk suffer as they did last time. Property can be remade, homes rebuilt but people cannot be replaced.”

        “Hell's yeah!!!” Arn shouted as he spotted a set of chain mail his size along the back wall. “Magnus come over here and help me get this on will ya?”

        Magnus turned toward him holding a large footman's hammer and grinning like a fool. “Look Arn it has a little dragon relief on the head.”

        Mialee, Cogwyn and Ugadda turned and looked at each other and said simultaneously “Boys! Ugh!” and began laughing.

        The small group moved through the racks of weapons and armor trying on different pieces and swinging different weapons testing their balance and size. They were down there for hours trying everything until they were satisfied they had all found what they needed and worked best for each of their needs. Arn and Magnus were both covered in chain mail with a  padded gambeson underneath and a tunic on the outside. They each had a hammer and shield and a good steel helmet on their thick heads.

        The ladies all wore leather leggings and jerkins. Mialee had chosen a staff and sling with a pouch of leaden sling bullets at her side. She also wore her woodland cloak over it all.

        Cogwyn wore simple leather leggings, jerkin and a white cotton tunic over it. She also carried a dagger and a sling but she was unsure if she could ever actually use them.

        Ugadda wore loose fitting leather leggings, jerkin and thick leather bracers over her forearms. She carried no weapon. She preferred her fists and never even so much as learned how to use a dagger.

        Wyndreth chose black leather leggings and jerkin and a dark cloak. He was festooned with daggers of all shapes and sizes. Boot daggers, throwing daggers, a large belt dagger that was almost a short sword and a small crossbow completed his weapon load out.

        “By the Nine Hells, Wyndreth! If you trip and fall you are more likely to stab yourself than land safely.” Arn laughed.

        “You might want to stay down here tonight Winn,” Magnus joined in, “What with all the lightning going on outside.”

        Wyndreth turned and made his way back upstairs without saying a word. A dark shape that disappeared into the shadows of the dark cellar.

        “What's wrong with him?” Magnus asked no one in particular.

        “What's always wrong with him...” Arn answered.

        “Alright everyone,” Mathias said, “you had better get to bed. You are going to need your strength tomorrow.”

        “Good night Father,” they all said as they filed past and out of the hidden armory. They spoke together joking and smiling as they made their way back upstairs to the rectory. Father Mathias lingered for a moment and extinguished each of the torches in the armory. He did not want them to see his tears and they rolled down his cheeks. His children had finally grown up and tomorrow he might be sending them to their deaths.

        He turned and walked to the back of the armory. He slowly removed a silver key from the pouch around his neck. He placed the key into the lock and spoke secret words under his breath. Thirteen symbols began to glow in a circle in the middle of the door. The golden runes spun slowly and and then stopped. The door opened inward on silent hinges. Father Mathias stepped inside and the door closed behind him. 

Warchildren Scene 7

Magnus awoke the next morning in his bed with a powerful headache and a foul taste in his mouth. He sat up and swung his legs off the straw mattress and over the side letting his bare feet settle onto the cold flagstone floor of the rectory. His head swam and he waited while the urge to empty the contents of his belly onto the floor passed. The taste of stale beer and vomit filled his mouth.

        I need to stop drinking with Arn, he moaned. Arn challenged him to a drinking contest at least once every ten-day. Magnus always regretted accepting such challenges but it had been a tradition since they were old enough to be drinking ale. Some nights he woke up with more coin in his purse than when he started with and some nights, like last night, he woke up with considerably less.

        His room was cool as someone had opened the window since he left. Thank the Dragon for small favors, he thought. A hot stuffy room would have only made his misery worse. He needed to bathe, he felt filthy. He always felt filthy after an evening drinking with Arn and Wyndreth. He felt dirty inside and out and the overwhelming need to cleanse himself washed over him. First things first, he thought as the bile rose up in his throat.

        He stood up and had to hold onto the wall to steady himself. He followed the wall down the hall towards the privy. The stench from the privy was overwhelming and he ran to the hole in the bench and emptied what was left of his gut into the darkness of the hole. The smell of piss and shit floated up to greet his face as he bent over the hole in the wooden bench. Beer flavored vomit flooded his mouth as he heaved again and again.

        I'm never gonna drink again, he had time to think before another wave of nausea overtook him.

        He spent a long time in the privy paying for the night before. His entire body convulsed with each wave of nausea. He felt retched.

        Finally it was over when he felt like the next thing to come out of his mouth would be a vital organ. He stayed there for awhile just to be sure. Last night he had punished his liver and this morning was its revenge. Weak and shaky he made his way down the hallway to the small kitchen of the temple for a light breakfast. A very light breakfast.

        He found his brothers and sisters already sitting at the long wooden table eating. They all looked his way and smiled. Some of them laughed softly and shook their heads. Of course they all knew about last night already. Arn sat there completely unphased by last night's debauchery. By the Dragon's Eyes that stupid dwarf can drink.

        “Good morning champ,” Arn shouted and chuckled. “All hail the Blue Bottle's new Champion of the Stout!”

        Everyone at the table began to clap and shout at the pained look on the young man's face. Smiling faces and laughter surrounded the long table filled with food. The war children  met for breakfast at the beginning of the day before heading off to work. An odd and jovial family. They were as different as any group of people could be, yet they made it work. Father Mathias stood at the hearth cooking while Cogwyn served the food and took away the dishes. 

        Magnus staggered under the verbal onslaught and leaned against the door frame leading into the kitchen. He grabbed his head and covered his eyes. “Stupid dwarf. This is all your fault. Again.” Magnus staggered from the door frame into the kitchen and placed some fruit and an egg onto his plate. “And could you keep your voice down? My head is killing me no thanks to you.”

        Arn laughed uproariously, nearly choking on a piece of bacon. He coughed and spluttered red faced from humor and lack of air. Ugadda reached around and “patted” Arn on the back nearly knocking him face first into his plate but clearing the culinary obstruction.

        Magnus sat down across from Ugadda and the still spluttering Arn. Cogwyn brought him a large mug of cold water. He sat at the end of the table nursing his headache and picking at his breakfast. He was feeling ill again but he would not give in to the nausea. He wouldn't give Arn the pleasure of seeing him stumble for the privy.

        He caught sight of a figure in the doorway of the kitchen. Wyndreth's bedraggled form stepped into the room and was immediately greeted with shouts of welcome. Magnus groaned as new waves of pain flooded his already throbbing skull. Wyndreth looked as if he did not get much sleep last night. The bedraggled porter had dark circles under his hooded eyes and looked a little pale this morning. He hardly said a word as he walked through the kitchen and into the hallway leading to the rectory. He smelled of vomit and booze.

        “Not gonna eat with us Winn?” Cogwyn asked as he moved past her. Her voice was a soft purr.

        “No” he mumbled barely making a sound and then he was into the hallway.

        “Is he still moping about that harlot he was seeing?” Arn asked no one in general. He had thought that poxy wench he spent the night with last night would have cheered him up. His latest woman had broken it off with him after he had confessed his feeling of deep affection to her. Wyndreth had always been a melancholy soul. No matter how much the family tried to include him he always slunk off by himself.

        “I found more cows slaughtered last night out in the old miller's field.” Mialee said to the assembled family, trying to change the subject. “There was hardly anything left but bones and blood soaked pasture. That is the sixth attack this month.”

        “Any idea what is doing it?” Cogwyn asked as she placed a plate full of hard boiled eggs in the center of the table.

        “I found tracks in the field but none leading to it.” Mialee confessed. “I don't recognize them. I have seen the sign of nearly every animal in the forest and I have never seen anything like them before.”

        “What did they look like? Maybe Father knows.” Arn offered around a mouth full of egg.

        “They had four clawed toes, three in front and one in back. They looked like a large bird's but whatever did this had four legs no two. It was also about as big and heavy as a draft horse.” Mialee said with a puzzled look on her face.

         Father stopped cooking and turned away from the hearth and toward the conversation at the table. “You say there were no tracks leading into the field?” Mathias asked, intrigued.

        “No tracks I could find Father. As big as this thing is, it would be very hard for it not to leaves tracks everywhere it goes.” She looked flustered and worried. She did not like the idea of something that big and dangerous moving around in the area. “I would have noticed something that big moving into the field. I searched around the field just about all night and didn't see a thing.”

        “And you say it only attacked old man Whisnant's cows?” Ugadda piped in.

        “I only found two dead cows. What was left of them anyways.” Mialee offered. “I thought I saw something fly across the sky last night while I was near the field. It passed right in front of the Hunter and then disappeared behind the tree line to the west.”

        “So it is big as a draft horse, it flies, and it eats two cows every five days or so.” Ugadda summed up the description of the beast they were talking about.

        “Tolduso the armorer was complaining that the merchant who was supposed to deliver a special piece of hide from Stormhaven was over a ten-day late. Maybe these are related somehow,” Arn offered. “He says he was supposed to receive a piece of dragon hide. I told him he was being cheated because dragons don't exist except in myth and legend. I mean who has ever seen one?”

        “The children of the Dragon Ascendant do exist you ignorant dwarf,” Magnus immediately spoke up from his gastrointestinal difficulties for the first time during the discussion. “Dragons are as rare as adamantium, so of course you haven't seen one. You might spend your entire life without ever seeing one in the flesh.”

        “Have you seen one before, paladin?” Arn challenged.

        “Yes I have.” Magnus countered.

        “Where? When?” Arn asked with a smile on his face.

        “Last summer at the spire. A dragon came to me in a vision.”

        “In a vision! Ha! I meant a real one Magnus, not the fevered imaginings of your starved brain while you had been fasting for what? A ten-day?” Arn laughed.

        “It was real! Brainless Dwarves! You don't believe in anything you can't smack with your hammer,” Magnus stood up from the table clutching at his pounding head and left the kitchen  for the gardens and some quiet meditation.            

        Father Mathias paced around the room deep in thought as the youngsters talked and offered theories about what could have done this.

        A dragon? Here?! A dragon meant the Legions. The Legions should have been a long way from here on the frontier or inside the capital, guarding the Undying Emperor. 

        He needed to speak with Lord Markkson and warn him.

        Father Mathias left the Temple after breakfast and made his way to the stone keep of the Lord Mayor. The sun had barely cleared the Hunter's Pillar and the town was already bustling. Various people stopped Father Mathias to chat or to ask his advice on many different matters. Mathias dutifully stopped and spoke with his parishioners and answered their questions or gave what advice he could. The normal short trip up the hill to the keep took well over an hour. The keep dominated the hill overlooking the town of Tumble Falls. A long narrow switchback road led up the hill to the gatehouse of the keep. A single guard of the town watch stood sentry at the gatehouse. As Mathias approached the guard offered him a smile.

        “Greetings Father Mathias. What brings you here so early in the day?” the guard asked. The guard's chain armor was clean and polished and his clothes were clean. He had taken a bath recently and Father Mathias was quietly impressed.

        “I need to speak with the Lord Mayor, Tomas, it is quite urgent.” Father Mathias responded with all seriousness.

        “Of course Father go on in. I have to warn you though, the Lord Mayor has a full day, he does.” the guard said jovially.

        “Thank you Tomas. I will see you next Dragon's Day for services?”

        “Yes Father. You know me. I never miss a sermon. Better safe than sorry is what I always say,” the guard added as he opened the heavy wooden door for Mathias.

        Father Mathias stepped into the darkness of the keep's hallway. He stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust from the bright morning daylight outside. The interior of the keep was lit occasionally by torches but compared to the morning sunlight it was very dark in the hallway. Once his eyes could see again he made his way down the very narrow hallway toward the guardroom at the end. The cold stone of the keep pressed in all around him. He passed narrow arrow slits in the walls and murder holes in the twenty foot tall ceiling. It was difficult to be in the keep without being constantly reminded that the structures entire reason to being was to slaughter intruders who breached the walls and sought to sack the keep itself. Even when the Dread had sacked the town they had not bothered to storm the keep. The defenders had been helpless to stop the sack of the town. Too few to sally and drive the invaders off but too many to make the keep easily taken.

        The guard at the end of the hall recognized Father Mathias and gestured him up the stairs to the Lord Mayor's hall. The interior of the small keep was cool and slightly damp and would stay that way even on the warmest summer day. The stairs spiraled up in a very narrow path toward the hall on the second floor where the Lord Mayor heard town business. The stairs were narrow to hinder any intruder who made it this far and spiraled up and to the right to interfere with an enemy soldier's shield or sword arm.

        When Father Mathias exited the stairs he had to duck through the low lintel, almost completely doubled over as he entered the room. A defender would have an easy time killing any enemy soldier who entered the room. Every aspect of a good keep was designed with the murder of an enemy in mind. The Lord Mayor's keep was a good, solid, no nonsense keep. Just like the Lord Mayor.

        When Mathias entered the audience hall the Lord Mayor was arbitrating a land dispute between two tenants. His tall frame loomed from behind his very functional desk. The close cropped hair on his head was chestnut brown and graying at his temples. He wore a fine cotton tunic of a rich indigo embroidered with silver griffons rampant on his chest. An almond sized sapphire hung from a silver chain around his neck. His hands were clasped together in front of him with his elbows resting on the desk as he listened intently to the arguing tenants.

        “I swear Mi'lord that he moves the boundary stones every ten-day.”

        “Liar, ye cannot count past ten, so how di' yea know stones are moved?” the other farmer countered angrily.

         “Silence!” the Lord Mayor barked from behind his desk and both of the farmers immediately fell quiet, their eyes dropped to the flagstones. His voice was strong and deep like underground river. “I will send out my steward to measure the parcels in question. Whoever is wrong will answer to me.” He waved them out and looked around the room at the other petitioners and let his gaze fall on Father Mathias. “Father. What brings you here today?”

        “I must speak with you Lord Mayor.” Mathias said with utmost seriousness. “In private, preferably.”

        “A recess until after mid sun.” The Lord Mayor intoned. The Lord Mayor asked, “How private?”

        “Very private Mi'lord,” Mathias replied.

        “Follow me then,” The Lord Mayor said as he walked across the hall and unbarred a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. He led Mathias up another set of winding stone stairs to the battlements. The stairway echoed with the sound of their feet on the flagstone stairs. He unbarred the wooden trap door in the ceiling of the keep and they climbed out onto the battlements of the tower. The air was fresh with a light breeze bringing the wood-smoke smell of a few farms' hearth fires from the east of the town. The sounds from the bustling little town drifted up the hill and the walls of the battlements. Distant and muted though they were the Father Mathias could still make out the singing of the dyer's as they dyed cloth near the square. The sound of hammers and saws could be heard as the carpenters built the new stable for Krys the farrier. The old barn had burned down last ten-day during a lightning storm and nearly taken the town with it. The entire town had turned out to form a bucket brigade from the river to contain the blaze. It had been a close run thing but they only lost the farrier's barn instead of the entire town.

        They both walked over to the crenelation's of the tower top and looked out over the vale. The land swept ever so gently  upwards in the distance where they could see distant continents and seas many months journey away. Shadows from the celestial pillars floated across the land in bands of pitch black night. The curve of the globe was eventually lost in the massive distance. The world completely surrounded the sun. As far as anyone knew, the World had never been traversed by any single person. It was just too enormous. Beyond comprehension.

        Mathias believed the gods created the world and the pillars to hold up the sky in a ten-day. He believed that the gods resided in the pillars but would walk the world from time to time as well, as strangers. Thirty different pillars for thirty different gods. Each of the gods held sway over a different part of the world and for different reasons. Some gods like the Dragon Ascendant were good gods and watched over and protected their people. Some gods like those who were patron to the Dread, were outright evil. All gods served their own ends and no mortal could ever fathom what those ends were.

        “What news Father that requires us to speak on the battlements?”

        Father Mathias turned and said, “We have a dragon in the area. A young one by the looks of it.”

        “What evidence do you have to back up your claim?” the Lord Mayor challenged.

        “There was another attack last night. Some of Old man Whisnant's cows were killed and devoured in his pasture. Mialee found some tracks in the field. None of them led into the field and the way she described them sounds like we are dealing with a young dragon. She also caught sight of it flying towards the west.” Father Mathias recounted the information Mialee had given him just that morning.

        “This is not good Mathias,” the Lord Mayor said as he braced his hands against the crenelations. “My men cannot take a Dragon, young or not.”

        “It has just eaten and will be lethargic,” Mathias offered. “If we could find it's lair and kill it while it slept it might be possible.”

        “That is an awfully big if, Mathias.”

        “Yes mi'lord, it is. What choice do we have. There have been no traders from Stormhaven in a few ten-days,” Mathias went on, “It is possible that this dragon has been raiding caravans and merchant wagons as they pass by its lair. It is also possible that other creatures might be working with this dragon. The truth is we just don't have enough information to go on. The town needs those supplies from Stormhaven and if more cattle are taken it will begin to affect our trade goods and food supplies.”

        “I have not mentioned this to anyone save my wife and the captain of the guard but bandits have also been raiding merchants to the east traveling from Hammerfall Hall. Since the Dread came through we have had neither news nor trade from the lake towns to the north. Scattered tribes of the Dread still infest the woods to the south interfering with trade from Granite Falls and Woodhaven. Little trade passes up and down the river these days. We are isolated here and I fear someone is trying to cut us off from the outside. I do not want to create a panic within the town. So an open bounty on this dragon of yours is out of the question.” Markkson though out loud, “We need to open up the trade roads once again or the town will never recover from the financial loss.”

        “Perhaps a call for volunteers for a dangerous mission. A small group, maybe five or six to find the dragon's lair and kill it before it rouses from its slumber once again.”

        “Perhaps, Father.”

        “If we don't kill it now,” Father Mathias went on. “We will not be able to stop it when it gets larger and it will get larger at this rate.”

        “Would the Warchildren volunteer for such a mission?” Markkson asked turning to gauge Mathias response.

        “Some of them will,” Mathias said with worry in his voice. “Arn and Magnus definitely will. The others may follow their lead.”

        “Ask them Father and offer them five hundred gold suns for the head of the beast if it is a dragon. Two hundred if it is some lesser beast. Do you think there are creatures that would risk getting eaten by a hungry dragon to assist it?”

        “Possibly Mi'lord, there are always those who would seek to use a dragon's strength to further their own goals. This dragon could also be a young mount for one of the Gray Watch. ”

        “What would the Gray Watch be doing here in the midlands? Could there be an operative her in Tumble Falls?”

        “There very well could be Mi'lord. If there is we may never know it. Have there been any reports of missing persons or unexplainable deaths lately?” Father Mathias looked over the battlements toward the west. “There is a chance it could be lairing in the caves beneath the old guard keep. It is close to the old road and hidden among the woods. The Gray Watch could be using it as a temporary base of operations in the area.”

        “They could be anywhere Mathias.”

        “Yes it could Mi'lord, but the old keep is the best place to start.” Mathias turned and walked over to the trap door and the sure to be busy walk back to the Temple.

        “You are the expert in this Mathias.”

        The walk back through the town was filled with the bustle of a small town going about its business. Townsfolk once again stopped Father Mathias on the street and asked for his blessing or advice. He smiled and listened to their problems or prayers. He blessed them and gave them what advice he could. His mind was far away though he did not show it. He had seen dragons before. In all their fury and all of their majesty. He had not always been a priest.

        The sky was darkening to the west of town. A tall thunderhead was forming over Stormhaven. There would be a storm for sure.

        The Storm god would have his fun tonight, Mathias thought.

        He made his way down the cliff side path leading to the riverside. He could see the shining golden dome of the Temple cresting over the rooftops. The temple dominated the riverside like Lord Markkson's keep dominated the hilltop side of town. There were other temples in town to other gods but none as influential as the Temple of the Dragon Ascendant.

        Father Mathias had been the High Priest (well the only priest) for the last twenty years. The only family he had ever known had been the Legion and his Warchildren. One he had left behind to seek penance and the other he was about to ask to go into danger without him. A danger he could no longer protect them from. He had trained the ones who showed an aptitude for the martial traditions as best he could. He had been a fierce warrior once upon a time but never a master of any particular weapon or style. He had a soldier's practicality in such matters. A soldier's preferred weapon was not always to hand and so one used what instruments they had. Arn, Magnus and Ugadda were his best students of war and death. They had taken to the warlike arts as a babe to the teat.

        Cogwyn and Mialee were more gentle souls and had learned much of the healing arts and diplomacy. They tended the sick whether person or animal and found it difficult to harm the gods' other creatures.

        Wyndreth possessed a dark soul and always snuck off into the back streets of the riverside. He had never worked so far as Mathias could tell but always had enough coin for women and ale. Mathias did not ask him where the coin came from as he knew he would not get an honest answer. Mathias would never give up on one of his “children” but sometimes Wyndreth tested that stance sorely.

        Mathias knew their strengths individually were excellent but was unsure if they could learn to work as a team. In order to overcome and slay even a young dragon would require enormous skill, courage, teamwork and the Dragon's own luck.