Bored!

“Gods! I am bored!”

 Plopping down in a huff, the Elven woman scowls as she raises a cupcake shaped shield to block the blows of an attacking rock guardian.  Picking up a dented teapot, she lobs it at the construct, striking it in the head.  It’s eyes go wide, and then the beast crumbles into a pile of stone and rubble. She shifts her shield and scoots over to sift through the debris, absentmindedly tossing the teapot over her shoulder. It bounces off the face of a charging stoney menace, angering it more than stunning it.  She rolls away just before the guardian pummels the ground where she had seated herself,  fragments of stone flying off its fists and lodging in her leg. 

 Glaring at the monster, she leaps to her feet and turns to face it, drawing a greatsword from the baldric on her back.  She charges, slicing the blade through the air, severing the guardian’s left arm and sending it staggering backwards.  Steadying herself, she circles around her foe quickly,  a half step back and then WHOOSH, the blade sweeps through the air, cleaving the guardian in half!  The force binding the stone together dissipating, leaving a dusty pile of rubble in it’s wake.

 Rutilant sparks of light surround the woman, and the stone fragments imbedded in her leg fall to the ground as the wound closes, the scar forming and fading in the blink of an eye.  She sheathes her sword and grabs the teapot from the ground, before poking the toe of her bright green galoshes through the rubble. 

 “Seriously,” she mutters as she pushes the stone aside to reveal a ratskin cloak.  “How many rats have to die to get a guardian sized cloak?”  She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, opening her mind to sense nearby life forces, the tranquil look quickly replaced with a petulant scowl.

 “Stupid hunters, stupid guardians,” she mumbles under her breath. As the rumble of stone heralds the arrival of another rock guardian, she rummages through her baldric trying to decide which weapon to use.  With a half hearted chuckle, she wields a battered spoon and turns to face her newest challenger, whapping it on the nose as it charges past her. The beast roars and grabs a nearby stone, attempting to wedge it into the hole where it’s nose once was.  

 “I really should be laughing at you,” the woman says to guardian with a wry smile. “But, I am bored to death and you are boring, and weapons are boring, and rocks are boring…”  Her voice trails off as the guardian, oblivious to it’s own dullness charges toward her.  She plants her feet and meets his charge with a fearsome shove, sending it back onto it’s rump. 

 “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “Done here.”  Backing out of combat she waves at the bewildered beast and sprints off towards the Northern Trade Route, her steps getting lighter the further away from grind of hunting she gets. 

 Pressing through the brush, she emerges onto the road, barely avoiding a passing caravan. She stretches her arms and shakes the rubble out of the folds of her fabulous silveress tutu. Pushing the mass of untamed curls of hair from her eyes, she looks to the south, pondering the possibilities.  Her eyes darken at the thought of herbs and alchemy, and talking at people that forget to have personalities, her shoulders slump once more as she turns to begin the trek to town.  She should go further south and harass her family, but there is so little to hunt there, it makes for quick visits and long treks back to stupid hunting. But, if she hunted more she could just stay.  Making the firm decision to pout and grind up stupid herbs, she drags her feet as she trudges along the road. 

 “Morning, Miss!” A caravan driver calls out as he approaches, heading north.  His friendly smile causes his eyes to crinkle and he tips his hat as he passes.  

 “Oh, hey,” she calls out, grinning in spite of herself. “Where are you off to?”

 “Just taking a load of foot cream to Theren,” the driver responds, motioning to the overflowing wagon of jars and bottles.  “This is their weekly delivery.”  

 “Does it help,” she asks, eyeing the cargo. 

 “It sure seems to smell better,” the driver responds with a nod.  “I hear they need more folks in the Guard, seems like everyone that joins ends up needing this stuff, so I am hoping they get some people and double my deliveries.  I could just do this route and skip some of the short ones.  The missus would enjoy having me home a little more often.” 

 The Elven woman gazes at the man, a slow smile spreading across her face as a plan to help him hatches in her mind. “I think I know how to help,” she says, bounding up to the driver and planting a kiss on the side of his face.  “You, sir, are brilliant!” 

 The startled driver stares at the woman as she turns to run toward town. “Something bad is going to happen, isn’t it,” he asks, unable to restrain a laugh. 

 “Horse needs a hobby and the guard needs people,” she yells over her shoulder.  “He has to count for at least two!”  She stops and turns toward the driver, flashing a brilliant smile his way. 

 “Um, hey!  How far south do you go,” she asks, the question laced with a tinge of hope.

 “I go everywhere, if the price is right,” he responds with a nod. 

 “Could you deliver something for me, your next trip that way?”  Not even waiting for his answer, she grabs a piece of paper from her bag and scribbles a note, folding it in half. She draws a haphazard map across the front, adding a stick figure dwarf with a long grey beard.  

 “This is for Uthgaar, the map will get you there, Please bring a plate of waffles and leave it at the door,” she says hopping up on the side of the wagon and  pressing the paper into his hand.  She drops bulging pouch of gems on the seat next to him before jumping down from the wagon. He glances at the pouch, guessing that the contents are worth more than any trek to anywhere would garner.  He stares at the woman in disbelief.

 “Is it enough,” she asks, her brow creasing with concern. 

 “More than, Miss,” he replies with a nod. “But, are you sure he will find it?  I would hate to not get your message delivered.”

 “That is what the waffles are for, silly,” she replies with a grin. “Okay, I am going to make Horse, the Guard and your wife happy!  Thank you!”  Her grin turns into a bright smile as she turns to run toward town, giving the man one last wave. 

  He shakes his head, pretty sure that whatever is coming next is going to make his trips more interesting, at the very least. 

 Gazing at the paper in his hand, he is unable to resist reading a message so hastily written, but worth so much to deliver.  He shakes his head and chuckles at a note that only the recipient could understand. 

 “Stop sleeping in your dirty boots and please share a cookie with New Old Steve, a snake can’t live on mice alone. I haven’t broken anything too badly… yet. I love you.” 

Misdirection

"Do you remember that time in the infirmary..?"

"That halfling, what was his name?"

"So annoying, and then I gave him that box that was WAY out of his range..."

"I didn't know such a little person could make such a big mess!"

"He deserved it."

"Goodness, and then Lady Annael came in to see what the fuss was and I panicked. You blamed it right on his friend with such a straight face, and she believed you!"

“She always did, it is my open and honest nature.”

The women dissolve into laughter, linking arms as they stroll down the street.  The Elven woman slows her pace, gazing at her companion appraisingly as the Empath wipes a tear from her eye. "We really need to do this more often, Sonjaa. We do not see nearly enough of you."

The Human flushes slightly, still charmingly easy to fluster after all this time.  "I know, m’Lady.  ‘Tis like we say this every time we get together, and then something always..."

A sudden clamor rises to break the early morning quiet, warning bells and shouting coming from the general direction of the western gate.

"Right on cue," the Elf mutters.

Pebbles and Splinters, continued

“Hurry Brother, I need your help.”

The thought, brought through the albredine ring network, carries its own weight in pain and focused anger, spurring the Ranger’s stride.  A startled guard barely manages to remove himself from the oncoming Ranger’s path as Maltris runs swiftly through the city gates towards his brother.  Onlookers and passersby flinch away as the armed woodsman dashes by, his fully grown wolf hot on his heels.

Running to the end of the block where Mazrian and Kaelie’s home still shows the damage of recent battle, he pauses briefly, taking in the war preparations of his family.  Trotting up to Samsaren they clasp forearms firmly before the Paladin hands over a waterskin.  Taking a deep draught the Ranger nods, muttering “Thanks.”  Glancing around briefly he turns his gaze back to the older Paladin. “So, what did I miss?”

Sighing briefly, Samsaren nods to his Squire who is paired with Khaelyn preparing their equipment. “They took another shot at the folks here. Khaelyn and Eckan handled it, though the house took the worst of it.  More to point however, I suspect Mazrian decided to try to bring this to a rapid close and went off alone.  His location cannot be found magicly, so I’m leaning towards something a bit more...predictable.”  The Paladin nods respectfully towards the wolf seated at Maltris’ side.  “Kaelie has a few items of his clothing, recently worn. Up for a hunt?”

Maltris nods. “Certainly, though trying to lead all of you will slow things down a great deal, especially if we’re trying to track at the same time.”  The Elf squints a moment, thinking. “Though, there’s no reason why I need to limit myself to my own resources.”  Closing his eyes briefly in thought, he then takes the shirt from Kaelie, tearing it in half.  “Meet me at the Northern Gate,” the Ranger says, taking off without waiting for a response.

* * * * * *

Wedding!

Portrait by Thayet! Support arts and get one for yourself!

[Cloudspire Keep, Chapel]
Moonlight shines through a stained glass dome, sending soft pastel shadows dancing about the chapel of the Keep.  A white silk carpet runs along the central aisle, between rows of polished oak pews, to a small dais at the northern end of the room.  Atop the dais, an elegant willow altar has been draped with a scarlet cloth embroidered with a wheeling silver dragon, and adorned with softly glowing candles and vases of white roses.

Pebbles and Splinters

****************************************************************************
Authors Note:

The following is a bit of a labor of love.  It follows the Sticks and Stones stories, so please be sure to read those first.

Secondly, I owe a huge thank you to the players behind Sendithu and Eckan.  Between (major) editing, working as sounding boards, and generally putting up with my nonsense to get this to paper, from the heart - Thank you.
****************************************************************************

As the evening sun splashes against the battlements of the wall around Shard, a powerfully built Human and a stunning Elven beauty walk slowly down the road.  Speaking softly to each other, they arrive at the Rose.  Stepping forward the Paladin opens the door carefully, giving his companion a gentle smile.  Trailing her fingers affectionately along his arm, the raven-haired Elf whispers a kind word before stepping inside the building.

As the pair enter, the Paladin nods to another Human standing just inside.  Greeting him simply with a nod and a bass rumble of “Squire” the pair cross the oddly empty and quiet common room, heading towards the proprietor standing behind the bar.

Approaching the Publican, Samsaren gives the man a friendly nod before hefting an overfull gem pouch onto the counter.  The Publican pauses before objecting, “Milord, that is far too much.”

Samsaren smiles softly before gently wrapping the man’s hand around the pouch.  “Nonsense.  You closed the entire bar for my friends and I to have a quiet gathering.  Besides, I believe I heard mention of a child or grandchild, a wedding, and whatnot.”  Gently patting the man’s hand on the pouch he continues, “Now I believe it’s a catered wedding, with an open bar.”  Astounded, the man stammers another protest before being overwhelmed by a warm smile from Sendithu.

Violet eyes filled with amusement, Sendithu murmurs gently to the fellow, “He is stubborn and he has made up his mind.  Now would be the time to just say ‘thank you’.”  Giving the Publican a nod, Sendithu heads to the back room where the muffled sounds of merriment resound.  Samsaren watches her go, before giving the man’s hand a final pat, “Oh...I also arranged with my partner, Zaherli, she will be in town for a short while and will make sure you get the best value for those.  Take advantage.”  Stepping away, the Paladin heads towards his Squire who is standing guard at the Inn’s door.

Stepping forward, Eckan clasps Samsaren in a solid forearm grip, turning slightly, Samsaren nods to the far door, “Who’s already arrived?”

Eckan glances at the door briefly, “Your..erm, our brother arrived just a few ago, with our guildmate, Kattena.  Mistanna, Khaelyn and I arrived first by moongate from the Crossing. Sure beats walking, boss.” Samsaren chuckles, nodding, as Eckan continues, “Our dearest sister came through another gate a bit after us, but I haven’t heard from or seen Etherian.”

A Warrior's Hands

She slips into the smoky room, pausing a moment to lean on the doorway and admire for perhaps the thousandth time the strange beauty of the scene before her. Amidst the soot-stained tools and crackling flames, a tall Human toils tirelessly at a well-used anvil. Despite the heat and strenuous work, his silver-streaked hair is neatly tied back in an impeccable ponytail which brushes his muscular shoulders as he works, moving back and forth between anvil and forge fires with well-rehearsed movements. As he finishes the piece he is currently mending, she can resist temptation no longer and quickly crosses the room, slipping her arms around his waist and planting a series of soft kisses along the side of his neck.

He shivers slightly, almost dropping the freshly repaired tool. "I need to put a bell on you. Hello, beloved." Samsaren reaches for Sendithu, drawing her close for an embrace and then releases her with a wince, eyeing his clothes critically. "I should get cleaned up before I ruin that dress."

The Elven woman laughs softly and gives his ponytail an affectionate tug. "Ruin it, arn sanbabest, I do not care. I will buy another, it is just a dress." With complete disregard for the scattered bits of metal littering the area, she seats herself atop the anvil, crossing her legs and arranging the plum-tinted firesilk neatly around her. "So, just getting started or wrapping things up for the day?"

He grins at her, taking a moment to appreciate the view. "I could be persuaded either way. What's on your agenda today?"

"I had not decided yet." She shifts slightly, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on her dress.

Samsaren smiles at her, taking her hand in his and brushing his lips across her knuckles just to make her blush. It always works, and they share an amused grin.  He stretches, rolling his shoulders, before methodically taking out his forging tools one by one and carefully inspecting each for any sign of damage. Sendithu pulls a small ball of yarn out of her cloak pocket and casually begins knitting,  humming quietly to herself. They work in comfortable silence for a time, her knitting needles clicking in time to his wire brush as he repairs his tools, until he glances over and notices that her work has gone awry and she doesn't seem to be paying attention to it. "Something on your mind?"

Sticks and Stones, Continued

Moving swiftly, longbow held close to his body, Maltris continued to backtrack the incoming forces.  Staying to the shadows and cover of the wilderness, the Elf keeps a wary eye on the slowly tapering advance.  After some time, and a few close calls the Ranger finally arrives at the source.

Well away from the city, hidden deep in the woods a large ritual circle glows with a sullen inner light.  Moving carefully around the clearing, Maltris examines the runes from afar, sticking to the cover lest the caster or casters return.  As a careful, but distant examination yields little result, the Elf carefully notches an arrow, preparing to move closer.

Before he can move closer, a feminine voice behind him asks in Ilithic “Runes are dull, any thoughts?”  Leaping in the air in surprise, Maltris lands with an oath on his lips, arrow half drawn in his bow.  Casually pushing the arrow aside with the her blade, Sendithu looks past Maltris to another unnoticed Elven figure.  “Jumpy, isn’t he?”.

Clad in nightmare black leathers, and hidden in a shadowsilk cloak, longbow in hand, the second Ranger glances at the pair “To be fair, I imagine we managed to slip up on him.”  Eyes shifting to the clearing he points a gloved hand before shifting deeper into cover. “We’ve company.”