NationStates Jolt Archive

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A cold, bitter wind swept through the Skywood forest, dagger-like rain drops waiting in their folds for those foolish enough to be out. Trees that had once proudly pierced the clouds and colored the woods with their merry leaves of green and yellow were now dead and gray, swaying and creaking ominously to the sounds of the coming storm. Animals that had once instinctively searched for cover as bad weather loomed were no where to be seen; there were none left to do any searching. A storm was brewing, but there was nobody left in Skywood to care. Disease had rotted the country side for weeks now. It ran the trade routes empty and it warded off those that would seek the comfort of Merchant's Crossing with threats of rabid wolves and giant spiders. Only a foolish few remained, and only out of sheer refusal to accept defeat.

Staring out a window of the Swap House, the seat of power in the city of Merchant's Crossing, High Chandler Abbus Stalmun shook his head in wary sadness, exhausted with the latest series of events that plagued his people. How had the predicament spiraled so out of control? What was the cause behind this fury of nature? Months ago Merchant's Crossing was thriving, as loaded caravans hustled and bustled through the wide and open streets, on their way to bigger and more exotic lands. Trade was through the roof! In exchange for safe passage through Skywood, traveling merchants would lower their prices dramatically for the Crossing's townsfolk. Goods were cheaper than ever, and it seemed like the city could befall no misfortune.

Now the settlement lie in shambles. Not by hand, nor wand, nor sword or man. But by massive, venomous spiders whose silky webs dotted the tree tops like shells on a shoreline. By packs of roving, rabid wolves who threw themselves at the city gates as if they knew fresh meat awaited them within. By hulking, tree-sized vines that overgrew the Crossing's wooden palisade and crept silently over the colorfully painted cobblestones, seeking those who could be caught unaware. The trees were dying, the streams had dried up, and where fresh water had once been churned bubbling, steaming pits of tar. Even the massive fountain in the center of the city, depicting the Gods of good fortune and plentiness, had no water to spare. Only dust, and memories of what had once been.

It was a foul affair, one that was no doubt perpetrated by some greater force of evil. But it was also a dire situation, for there was more at risk than the lives of those living in the city. Merchant's Crossing, though seemingly obscure hidden away in the bowels of the Skywood forest, was essential to the region's economy. It was the only human outpost in the woods, and without it Skywood would be ten times more perilous than it already was. There would be no woodsman or rangers to watch over the caravans; passage through the area would literally be cut off. Coastal cities, such as the massive port of Dyare, would be isolated from the rest of Braveria, and cities that lied on the eastern side of the forest, such as the Orange Empire, would no longer see the shipments of exotic goods that it was used to. Everyone would suffer; this Stalmun knew well, but what could be done?

After several minutes of deep contemplation and watching the storm pelt the Crossing's great buildings mercilessly, the High Chandler moved away from the window and out of his fancily furnished office. He ran a calloused hand through his long, thinning black hair, seeking out a deputy chandler as he did so. He was surprised to find one standing right outside his office in the common room, Deputy Chandler Rumar D'Aluette.

"My lord," came the deathly quiet voice of D'Aluette, followed by a nod of acknowledgement. Of all the deputies Stalmun had appointed, Rumar D'Aluette had certainly been the most interesting. Soft-spoken but highly intelligent and perpetually alert, Rumar was a little young for his rank as he was only just thirty, but he was definitely the most capable of his peers. He had neck-length brown hair, slicked back so as to make a sort of duck tail at the end. His skin was pale and white, his cheeks puffy and round, and he sported a very thick goat from his bottom lip to his chin. Although at first glance he seemed fairly harmless, his big brown eyes were always watching. They were his most dangerous asset, and they'd always made Stalmun nervous.

"Any word from Dyare?" asked Stalmun, his voice rich and regal. Since the collapse of Merchant's Crossing would have a devastating effect on the western coast, Stalmun saw it fit to send a runner to Dyare, hoping they would send some means of support. It had been a month since and there was no sign of a return. The High Chandler was growing anxious.

"Still no word, my lord, but perhaps we will hear from them soon. They cannot ignore our problems forever."

"I fear that they're still oblivious to them, Rumar. We're running out of time and guardsmen. The attacks grow worse every day."

There was a momentary pause as Rumar studied the face of his superior. Although well into his late-forties, Abbus Stalmun was in remarkable shape for his age. His long, stringy hair, although peppered with streaks of gray and thinning dangerously near the top, was still a very healthy black, and his heavy face bore very few lines despite its constant sternness. His body was broad and well-muscled, complimented by a heavy black beard, and his choice of clothes fit his positive personality to a tee. But a closer inspection revealed deep, purple bags of exhaustion under his eyes and a white hue to his skin. His movements were slow and heavy, and his voice, though unwavering, was etched with hopelessness.

"Pardon my curiosity, my lord, but have you been getting any sleep? You look...sickly."

Stalmun shook his head, closing his eyes briefly in frustration. "How can I sleep when we are constantly under siege? When the bodies of our guardsmen dangle over the city motionless, mummified by spider silk and waiting to be eaten? Their attacks are too coordinated, Rumar. They come in great numbers, uncharacteristic of simple-minded bugs, and they attack our weakest spots. Between them, the wolves, the vines, and the constant slaughter of our militia men, I can't keep my eyes closed half a second. There is a greater evil orchestrating this, and we cannot rest until we root it out and destroy it."

For a while neither man spoke again, choosing rather to stand near the common room balcony and stare down at the hustling merchant lords below. Than slowly but surely Rumar broke the silence. "A centaur came to town this morning."

Stalmun's eyes snapped open, as if his mind had come to life. He watched his deputy chandler intently, now listening to every word that tumbled out of his mouth.

"The guard found him sleeping outside the city gates. A bold move in these turbulent times we live in, but one that ended with no consequence. He sought an audience with you, my lord."

"And why hasn't he received it yet? Why wasn't I informed? A centaur hasn't been within these city gates for close to ten years now. It's out of their character to concern themselves in human affairs."

"Precisely what I said my lord. I don't trust him. From the time the spiders first began appearing to this very day, the centaur city of Thornhaven has been sealed tight from the outside world. We haven't heard a single word from them, a little strange considering Skywood is dying. Now all of a sudden, here one is, pounding on the city gates and demanding your presence. It smells funny, my lord. I wished to consult with you first before dealing out a course of action."

"Where is this centaur now? What was done with him?"

"He is safe, my lord. We rejected his demands, but allowed him entrance into the city. He now resides at "The Hive" tavern, probably seeking out a way into the Swap House as we speak. He was very desperate to see you, though why he would not say. It makes the predicament all the more curious in my eyes. I've posted several guards at the tavern doors to make sure he doesn't go anywhere without us knowing. I presume you would meet with him?"

"As soon as possible."

"Then I suggest we move with great caution. If you are to meet him here, in the Swap House, the seat of the Crossing's power, might I suggest we double the amount of guards here? Should anything happen to the leader of our city, we would be tossed into utter chaos. It is vital that you survive at all costs."

For a moment Abbus Stalmun stood in deep thought, trying to understand what would bring a single centaur to the Crossing's gates. Finally he made his decision.

"Double the guards, and send the captain to retrieve this horseman. I'll not take any chances, though I question your judgement in this matter. I would have you tell me sooner of these things. Remember...you are my deputy."

"As you wish, my lord."

A cold and unforgiving storm raged on, beating the Crossing's buildings with an iron fist. The men and women that had chosen to stay drew their cloaks about them tightly and searched for cover, some finding refuge in their own homes while others found it at "The Hive". But through it all the cogs and kinks began to click and turn, and a story started to unfold. The question was, would the ending be a merry one?

"The Hive" was named after its extraordinary architecture; it was, after all, shaped like a honeycomb. It was two-stories tall, the first floor holding the bar, kitchen, and tables while the second floor was chalk full of round, homely rooms. Under normal circumstances a great fire would be burning in the fireplace and shouts of laughter would be intermingled with the tools of hired musicians. These days, the fire still roared but the tavern was nearly empty, and the music was no more. Still, there were enough patrons to observe the presence of a centaur with a good degree of suspicion; as blades of rain pelted the sturdy wooden frame of the remarkable tavern, the few assorted rangers and adventurers that still chanced the city of Merchant's Crossing watched their centaur guest with shifty eyes, rumbling and mumbling to themselves as the great horseman paced back and forth.

If there had been windows in "The Hive", there'd be little question that the great centaur would be staring out of them, searching for answers. Instead he was confined to the oak walls and tables under the scrutiny of a very unfriendly human populace. If he had cared to listen, he would've heard the snide murmurs of the inn's guests, but he was too absorbed with his own situation to even bother to know. When asked his name, the horseman identified himself as Orafel. (http://img105.imageshack.us/img105/2803/oralelyy0.jpg) Few recognized the name, but those who did would realize he was an exile of Thornhaven, thrown out for disrupting the Great Balance his people so cherished. Standing at a monstrous 6'7, it was a wonder how the creature could trot about the tavern unhampered by low ceilings or doorways. Back in an age when centaurs had graced the Crossing's streets, "The Hive" had been modified heavily to accommodate them. The doorways were tall and wide, the tables appropriately spaced so as to make room for such large creatures.

There were even high tables and stuffed pillows on the floor so centaurs could sit on their haunches and drink at the table like the humans; though they'd stopped venturing out of Thornhaven, the innkeeper had never found the time to remove these items. Now he stared sneering from the bar, wishing he'd done so when he had the chance. His distrust of centaurs was largely fueled by their own doing. Ten years prior they had sealed their city off and proclaimed Merchant's Crossing an affliction to the Great Balance. Now no humans or elves went in and out of Thornhaven like they'd once done. They were barred from entrance.

Those who knew Orafel (which, admittedly were few) would know that he was different, and had always been different from the time of his birth. His horse body was a light black, uncommon amongst the ranks of the centaur people, and he had a conscience, a yearning to perform good deeds, a condition his people had always frowned upon. They chose neutrality above all else; he chose righteousness. In the end, he had been the ultimate reason he was banned from his home. Like his body, his long, flowing hair was black, as was the bushy mustache he kept under his nose. His upper body had human skin like any other, and was lean and muscular from years of hard labor in Thornhaven. His face was probably one of his more interesting features; it was heavily lined from constant stress, weathered from a decade of living in the wilderness. Great bags sagged under a pair of startling, light gray eyes, a perfect match for the constant look of solemnity on his face.

After what must've been an hour of walking back and forth, Orafel finally settled and sat near the door of the tavern, a sigh of contempt escaping his withered lips. He was frustrated with the Crossing's merchant lords. Rather than receive him they had rejected him, and further insulted him by posting four guards at "The Hive's" outside entrance. He was not totally taken aback, though he had expected better in these times of darkness. His people had, after all, isolated themselves from the rest of the region. Still, it was a discouraging business, and he couldn't help but feel slighted at the motion.

Across the tavern the innkeeper, a fat, balding giant of a man with a cherry red nose and a nasty sneer, turned to one of the patrons at the bar and spoke in his gravelly voice. He was the owner of "The Hive", a rough character who'd come to be known as "Muttonhead" for his brutish appearance and attitude. "Agh, I've got the mind to throw his kind out," he spat, shaking his head. "If'n the Chandler didn't have business wit 'im, believe you me, chum, I would."

As he stepped out of The Hive, the turned demon could only think that it had been a marvelous day. The guize he wore of a woodsman/trader had secured him from the ravagings of a racist local community and left him free to party. It had been years since he had managed to get his hands on a good flask of whiskey, and he had shared it with other patrons, making him fairly popular for the moment and doing something to beat back the air of melancholy that had gripped Skytown. Now, it was getting into the evening hours, and, to remain in character, he had left the bar and gone looking for trade. He did not expect to find any these days, but that would not prevent him from keeping a good face.

Raindrops, cold and hard as stones, pelted his surcoat as he stepped gingrily along the path that led to his lodgings. A thundercrack echoed in the distance, and it was at that precise moment that the demon came to the realization that, in the next few minutes, everything was going to change.

At the wall's edge, a woman screamed, and a guard loosed an arrow. Judging from the woman's reaction, whatever--more likely, whoever--was at the bottom of the wall had been granted a brief reprieve from whatever danger it was in. Making his way over to the edge of the wall, he spied a young girl at the base, and spiders--four of them, the size of small dogs--closing in on her for the kill.

There was no way that the humans could reach the girl in time. He could, but not without revealing what he truly was. So, faced with the unsavory choice between setting himself up for a long spell of discrimination and just letting a little girl die, he gritted his teeth and morphed right there and then.

His brown hair, mustache and goatee changed little, but tiny horns sprung up on his forehead. His skin changed from the pinkish-beige of a great many humans to the brick-red that gave the Red Gargoyle its name, and a spaded, venomous tail and bat-like wings sprouted from his back. In a moment, he had thrown caution to the howling wind and jumped over the side, gliding down to the ground with a supreme effort that sent the wind howlling even more furiously--or so it seemed.

The spiders were already on their guard by the time he got to them. His arrival had bought the girl precious time. Cold and alone, she was snared in a dead branch a few feet up the wall. She did not give him particular pause, however--it was the spiders that did that.

Having lived in the woods for some time, the demon knew his species. These were hole spiders. They dwelled in solitary, silk-lined burroughs and stalked prey on the ground. They did not hunt in packs and they never spun webs--yet, both of these traits were in evidence as the demon looked at what had recently been a gap between a pair of dead trees. Worse yet, there was a strange light in their primative little eyes. It reeked of magic, and this was not good.

The moment the first one got near enough, the demon slashed it with his tail. He didn't inject any venom--he wouldn't have to. He referred to it as "the irony of spiders" that, though they drank the insides of their victims, they used their blood pressure to keep their legs straight. A good scratch was all it took to make a spider bleed to death. The creature made a sickly hiss and backed away--a sign that his attack would soon have its intended affect.

With the other three spiders giving ground, Marvel strode carefully over to the girl. He looked at her gently, and tried to reassure her.

"What's your name, honey?" he asked.

"Kerra," she replied.

"Well, I'm going to try to get you out of here, Kerra. I need you not to be afraid or me. I need you to be brave. Do you think you can do that?"

She nodded.

"OK," he said, reaching his arms out to her. "I'm going to pick you up and we're going to fly back to the top of the--."

The arrow struck the ground at his feet.

"Keep your hands off of her, monster!" came the voice from above.

The demon was incensed.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," he called back up, "can't you see I'm trying to take her back to you?"

"Carry her off, you mean," came the retort.

"Oh, sure," he said, swiping at a spider to drive them back, "I've been living here for the past week just so that I could kidnap people. Look, I don't have anyplace to go even if I wanted to! You're going to have to trust me! I'm going to take the girl back to you now!"

He reached out and scooped the girl up. She clung tightly to his neck, and his wings spread around her, temporarily stopping the rain from pummeling her matted, blonde locks. After reassuring her of his intentions, he returned to the air, and, struggling against the wind, returned to the top of the wall.

He handed the little girl to her mother, who then ran back to her dwelling.

Then, he morphed back to his human form and let the guards take him into custody.

It wasn't going to be such a great day after all.

Out at sea a tiny boat moved along statley through the waters. The sails fillowed high in the wind, always being at the mercy of the weather. Bellow was a young lad and his true love. Both had already married of course and no one could tell them any diffrently. Just how things were in Kurona Of course Mako was an adventurer and his girl Himiko wasn't diffrent. They were exploring into mythical lands, and this place sounded appealing to them. Both sat bellow eating polished white rice and conversing happily. Mako was still pretty short being 14, jet black hair Himiko was elegant, redish brown hair that stretched to her shoulders and a little beyond. She wore a red-orange kimono to match. No one in Mako's eyes was more pretty than her. A voice like honey and a personality to match yet again. "How much further?"

"I'm not sure yet. I've been trying to run the calculations. I'm guessing a day or two, as long as the weather holds."

"

Baisriel drew a dagger from his belt and embedded it with a thud on the table, scowling at the innkeeper.

"I do not take kindly to racism, sir. The good centaur has merely decided to patronise your fine establishment. I suggest you improve your attitude, lest there be consequences." As the ranger finished speaking, Beeko spat at the surly innkeeper.

As a half-elf, Baisriel was himself the subject of much discrimination (At least in his younger days) and was quickly incensed by what he perceived as unfair judgement based on racial heritage. The ranger himself was of some repute, despite residing away from the small merchant commune, as a result of his deadeye marksmanship and his having interceded on merchants' behalves more than once on the increasingly dangerous roads.

As they argued against racism in the tavern, Marvel was in jail. Never mind that the reason he was there was that he had saved a small child's life. Never mind that the jailers had no charge to hold him on because he had committed no crime. He was in the dungeon and, barring a minor miracle, that's where he was going to stay.

This had its compensations.

He didn't have to pay for his food. True, bread and water wasn't the most lavish dish he had ever eaten, but, being a demon, he was able to supplement his meal with an occassional bit of fresh rat. And it didn't hurt that the same bit of evolutionary trickery that let him speed up his metabolism for flying could also be used to slow it down when necessary.

Still, he wasn't exactly happy with his new station in life, and he was wary of the guards, who glinted shiftily at him behind their little knives. He was polite and gentle as could be--he wanted to do as little as possible to further arouse their ire--but it was having little affect. He wondered how much that barely-contained hostility would have multiplied if anyone had seen what he had done with his tail the night before, or knew how much more it was capable of. As it was, he hid it in his human form, trying his best not to give small minds anything to make into big problems.

Sooner or later, though, he knew something was going to give. He only hoped that someone would hear about him and put an end to the farse of his captivity before it did.

---------------------------

OOC: someone--a centaur or a half-elf or someone--should intercede.

Beeko suddenly lifted his head, as if onto a scent. "What is it, Beeko?" asked Baisriel, losing his scowl. The monitor lizard crawled off his shoulder and left out the door.

As the ranger stood to follow his lizard, he paused to look at the Centaur. "If there's any more trouble, let me know."

The lizard walked on, followed by half-elf, until they came to a grate.

---
In Marvel's cell, a monitor lizard plopped in from a ventilation grate.

The sound of rain pounding the painted cobblestones of the Crossing's wide streets was suddenly masked by the clanking of swords against armor. Marching rather loosely for a band of militiamen, six guards sauntered towards The Hive entrance, where four of their companions already awaited them. They were led by two very interesting yet powerful characters in the Crossing's day-to-day functions. One was Ulan Daar, a younger, thick-bearded enchanter garbed in a sopping wet green robe and armed with an iron quarterstaff. The other tall, sort of goofy-looking human was Captain Huldwick, a personal friend of the High Chandler and a man of undying loyalty. As they approached the tavern's entrance, rainwater pelting their armor and dripping off of their unshaved faces, it became quite apparent that the two leaders were arguing. The other men stared on with faint interest; there were darker devices to be worried about.

"All ah'm sayin' is that I dun' think that's wot the Chandla' wanted. 'E neva' said a blinkin' word to me about this magic business, an' quite frankly I won't feel comfortable carryin' it out till we take the issue up wit 'im."

The captain blinked several times, trying to shield his vision from the foul weather drenching him. He looked quite comical out in the storm, eyes squinted over his big nose and tongue wagging, his yellow, toothy mouth open as he concentrated on his companion. It didn't help that he had butterfly wings for ears and short, greasy black hair that stood up in strange places. Still, he was a man of deep respect and resolve, hard to find in days like these. The enchanter, however, found his partner insulting to his intelligence. When Ulan spoke, his high, whiny voice was filled with arrogance. The lack of respect was so evident that Huldwick had half a mind to knock this puny twat on his arse, but he had always been the type to keep his temper.

"And what I'm telling you, Mister Huldwick, is that these orders came directly from Deputy Chandler D'Aluette. Need I remind you that Chandler D'Aluette is a government aide personally appointed by the High Chandler Stalmun himself? Why would Mister D'Aluette give orders that his superior did not approve of? I tell you, Mister Huldwick, this is the High Chandler's will and we shall carry out, regardless of whether you think it is ethical or not. Do we have an understanding? I'd hate to have you locked up in the very jail you keep."

At this Huldwick scoffed and waved a gloved hand in dismissal. This was disgusting, and everyone involved knew it. But the word of the Deputy Chandler was as good as the High Chandler's. There was little other alternative than to follow the orders given.

"Ack, it's all a bunch o' bollocks. Carry on wit yor dastardly deeds; ye'll not 'ear anotha' word from me. But I swears on me mother, I'll 'ave nay part in this when Abbus gets wind of it. This is yor responsibility now."

"Yes, yes, I know. You needn't remind me of my duty, captain. Now then, shall we proceed? As much as I like standing in the frigid rain, I really don't."

Suddenly the doors of The Hive were kicked open with surplus force, and the ten guardsmen plus their would-be leaders marched inside with a slight hint of overdramatic bravado. Muttonhead, who'd been eyeing the centaur nastily as he went about his work, dropped a bar mug and immediately began to curse, silenced as quickly as he'd started with a single glance from Ulan Daar. This was serious business. Something was about to go down. The wiry enchanter Ulan Daar stepped forward and pointed a crooked finger in the direction of Orafel, who was now standing alertly, eyes tired but still rather startled.

"By the order of the High Chandler of Merchant's Crossing, Abbus Stalmun, you, horseman of Thornhaven, shall accompany us for an audience with his highness at the seat of power, the Swap House. However, the conditions you've presented yourself under are suspicious and wreak of foulplay. Therefore, I have been instructed by his lordship, Deputy Chandler Rumar D'Aluette, to place you under mind enchantment and secure you with chains before you are to meet with Chandler Stalmun. Should you refuse, you will be bound and magicked regardless. I suggest you go peacefully, beastman. Our guardsmen's tempers are short; they already dispatched of one beast this afternoon. I should hope you would prove wiser...or has the Great Balance forsaken you?"

The last statement was snide and was meant to dig at the prevailent centaur culture. Orafel was not offended though. Instead he stomped one of his front hooves in anticipation, making it understood that his age would not be a factor in his decision. He would fight, and he would do so fiercely. First he would speak his mind. His voice low and gravelly, his hair wild and untamed, the older centaur was quite a spectacle to witness in all his glory.

"Rather, I have forsaken the Great Balance. And for better, two-legs. For now I've no reason to pardon your sniveling, whining, racist manure. I can strike you down like the scum you are and feel good about myself afterwards. You are not so old that you've forgotten the years our people once flourished together. Have things become so difficult here that you would not respect my people?"

Sighing heavily, Captain Huldwick stepped beside the enchanter in his dripping chain mail, now shifting side to side in uneasiness. He'd known this would be a nasty affair; hell, him and Orafel knew each other from before the great centaur isolation. He would never forgive himself if the situation broke down into violence.

"Ye jest can't understand, Orafel. Ye've been away fer too long. The Crossin' was always bitter about yor people sealin' off their city, but since things started goin' down hill, it's gotten worse. People is lookin' fer somebody to blame. Horsemen is a good scapegoat. If ye'd jest come with us under our terms, we'll let ye have yer audience with the High Chandler and yer intentions, which ah'm sure are good, will be heard. These wizards, they've got their heads stuck up their arses...do things the way they want, and we'll all walk away wit nay a scratch."

There was a pause, as if Orafel was considering this preposition. But Huldwick and Orafel both knew this couldn't come to light. It was nothing short of an insult to place Orafel under such restrictions when he hadn't done a single thing. All he'd wanted was for his voice to be heard; it had been spun into something else.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Huldwick. I'm a beast, but a beast of honor. I refuse to be spat upon by two-legs with an agenda. You will not mindrot me with your magicks when all I seek is a solution to our problems. Yours and mine. If you must take me, you'll do it by force."

"Hrmph. An answer I was expecting long before you opened your chomp," said Ulan, a nasty sneer on his fair-skinned face. "If you'd really come on the wings of serenity, you'd do as we asked. I fear the Deputy is right. You are probably an assassin, sent to kill the High Chandler in our weakest moment. No matter. You have been discovered for what you are, and you will be dealt with accordingly. Captain?"

The hesitance was almost too much for all involved. Than sure enough the Captain nodded his head in solemn sadness, and the guardsmen surged forward, knocking over tables and chairs and spilling drinks all over the hard wooden floors. Swords raised, eyes glowing, and hearts ablaze, the militia men came upon Orafel with a fury; they were met with a force much the same as theirs. Rearing back on his hind legs, Orafel managed to topple the first two guards and trample the second two as he brought his front legs down. These men would do as they wish and probably succeed. They would not succeed unscathed, though.

* * * * * *

Soft as a kitten the voice whispered into Stalmun's ear, startling from his nap. Instinctively the High Chandler went for a sword hilt that wasn't there. He breathed a sigh a relief when he saw who it was though.

"Good god, Rumar, you made me jump out of my skin," Stalmun mumbled, pushing himself out of the large, cushioned armchair in the common room and tidying his clothes. "I suppose you come with news? Has the centaur arrived yet?"

"No, my lord, but he's on his way. I do bring news though, of a most...alarming nature."

Stalmun walked to his office, the pesky Rumar D'Aluette following him like a shadow. The door closed and the High Chandler seated himself behind a desk smothered in papers, scrolls, ink jars, and feather pens. He looked up at his Deputy as if prepared to hear the very worst. Rumar frowned.

"It does not surprise me that as the centaur was being apprehended, there was a small attack on our city, mounted by a group of spiders and what appeared to be a...hm."

"On it with it, man. I haven't the patience today."

"A demon, my lord. A winged demon. He assaulted a little girl, but thanks to the bravery of our guardsmen he was battled, defeated, and stored away to rot in the city jail. He was a most cunning hellspawn...he can change shape and he speaks with the guile and wit of a man like you or I. It was he who controlled the spiders, or so the guardsmen say."

"Evidence that a greater evil is afoot. Have the guards retrieve him and brought before me. We might as well entertain him too, as long as we've got the extra security." There was a long silence in which neither man spoke. Instead Stalmun sat with his hand under his chin, trying to process the news that'd just been given to him. A demon? Perhaps the worst of his fears. For if pit fiends and gargoyles were the ones offending Skywood with their pestilence and disease, the problem would be much more difficult and costlier to solve. This would warrant a great deal of thinking on his part. He'd never dealt with such entities, in sight nor sound. The closest he'd ever come to hellspawn was in ancient books and scribes, all of which he held with a great deal of skepticism. This was a revelation he had not wanted to face.

"You said the centaur was on his way, then?"

"Yes, my lord. But there was a problem."

"A problem? This storm was an omen from the gods, I tell you. Much has unfurled before our eyes today."

"He assaulted our guard, my lord; he refused to be accompanied. Further proof that he is an assassin. I'm afraid this creature's appearance coupled with the demon is not a strange coincidence, but a coordinated attack gone awry. I think there is little question as to what the motive was. I can only thank the gods you still stand here before me, alive and breathing. To think if we hadn't taken the precautions that we did..."

"I'd rather not. Have you made arrangements for more guardsman?"

"Yes my lord. But I must say, I'm not so sure it is a wise decision to see these beasts in person. Now that we know of their allegiance, I should say that a-"

Looking slightly refreshed and brighter colored than he had all day, Stalmun raised a hand to silence his deputy chandler, a sign that he was done with his underling. Although a man of infinite patience, he was smart enough to know when webs were being spun; he had a vague distrust of D'Aluette's insistence that these creatures were wrong-doers. Not that he distrusted D'Aluette. The man had several good reasons for being cautious, especially with the city under siege by the forces of nature. But Stalmun wished to make judgements on his own, rather than have them made for him. When he spoke, it was with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"I do [n]not[/b] know anything...only what you tell me. And while I hold your opinion in the highest esteem, I would still prefer to do things my way. Do as I ask and bring the demon and the centaur before me. Fill this room up with as many guards as you'd like; just get the task finished. I would like to get to the bottom of this mystery, something not easily accomplished when there's more speculating going on then there is questioning. Understood?"

"Yes my lord. I shall have it taken care of immediately."

* * * * * *

As the pudgy jailor made his way down the narrow stone steps, a line of seven guardsmen behind him, the atmosphere amongst them was a tad bit jollier than it had been in the Crossing over the last week. While it was true the outpost was slowly crumbling to dust under the pressures of forest beasts and unnatural magic, there had been victory this day. Word was put out on the streets that some assassins had been caught; horribly untrue and fabricated, but nonetheless relieving to a town full of people who had little hope to cling to. Sure, their troubles would continue, but now at least somebody would hang for it. Two somebodies to be precise. And as they shambled out in front of the cells, it became clear that they were there to retrieve one of them.

But as they came upon Marvel's cell, the jailor was suprised to see a monitor lizard that hadn't been there before, teeth bared and ready to attack. This was unusual.

"Wot in the bloody feck is that? Where'd ye get that? Wot manner of sorcery is this?"

The jailor stood with both hands stuffed into his lovehandles, a comically quizzical look pasted on his chubby face. The guards behind him did not appear at all amused, though...

"Hello, little fella," a voice said somewhere within the grate. "You're not from around here. I know the local fauna, and, if you'll pardon my saying so, you ain't it. Still, if you'd like to stay a while, there are plenty of bugs for you to eat. I should know. It's been three days since I saved that little girl's life, and they won't let me go, and they won't even charge me with a crime.

"There's a nest of roaches in the corner over there. Help yourself."

Himeko looked at the sky with concern. It looked awfully menacing and stormy. "Mako, look at this storm comming in!"

"I see it, but land is dead ahead!"

They managed to land it on the beach right as the storm sturck. Mako and Himeko were buttond down in ponchos, with a lone lantern and a sword for defence. "This map is very confusing. But I'm pretty sure the village is due north. Right through this forest."

"Must we go in there?"

"Come my love no need to be frightend."

The thunder and lighting didn't make it easier on Himiko. She followed him closely.

"Wot in the bloody feck is that? Where'd ye get that? Wot manner of sorcery is this?"

The jailor stood with both hands stuffed into his lovehandles, a comically quizzical look pasted on his chubby face. The guards behind him did not appear at all amused, though...


"He fell through the ventillation grate," the demon replied, a weak smile playing across its all-too-human-looking face. "I told him where the food was, but he had his own ideas. Forgive me if I don't rise, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He clanked the chains on his wrist. "If I were you, little fella," he continued, turning his attention to the lizard, "I wouldn't be so hostile. After all, what can a six-inch lizard do to three men with swords and armor?"

Running his gnarled, fat fingers through his musty brown hair, the jailor stared on at the prisoner in mild disbelief, a little agitated at what he was witnessing. Truth be told, he wasn't the brightest individual, and the only reason he'd landed the job he had now was strictly due to a family relation with Captain Huldwick. However, he wasn't completely helpless either, as he had two sturdy, armed guards at his back, and their would-be prisoner was chained rather tigthly. The lizard only complicated things, though. Something would have to be done.

"Now, now, dun' lie to ol' Grulk. Look at ye converse wit 'im. A beast talker ye is, n' a fine good one at that. Tell 'im to go back whence 'e came, or ah'll stain the cell walls wit 'is blood. And yors too if'n ye dun' watch yorself."

The jailor patiently awaited a response, confident that he'd solved the conflict. The two guards behind him exchanged confused glances, though; how Grulk came to his conclusions was beyond them. Bah, it wasn't their job to think. Just to take orders. And so they waited too, although they weren't exactly sure of what they waited on.

* * * * * *

As Mako and Himeko trekked through the howling, muddy woods, the truth of the Skywood forest began to unfold before their very eyes. Dead trees whistling in the dangerous storm winds, streams that bubbled with boiling tar. Something was amiss in this place; a great evil had befallen it, and unfortunately they happened to stumble smack dab in the middle of it amidst raging thunderclaps. Wailing gusts forced the two off their chosen path, occasionally blowing down dead branches in their wake. Flashes of lightning seemed to hit the ground a mere dozen yards away from them. Why they had come to Skywood was still an unanswered question. But they were not welcome, and nature had a way of letting people know such.

Luckily for them, the forces of darkness would not prevail on this miserable evening, for as the two found themselves traveling deeper and deeper into the woods, they were confronted by a heavily cloaked figure, tall, gaunt, and mysterious but almost immediately good-natured. It was a wood elf, a welcome sight to the eyes of lost strangers, and he approached the pair with his own lantern, a sign that civilization was probably not too far off. Extremely handsome with his neck-length blonde hair, burning blue eyes, and slender, angular face, both Himeko and Mako may have found it strange that he was so heavily armed. A halberd was slung over his back along with a quiver, and in his left hand was a short bow.

As he came upon the duo, he spoke loud and clear, as the pounding rain in the background was difficult to overcome. "Hail strangers, and well met! Pray tell, what are the pair of you doing out in such horrible weather and in such a dangerous area? And so young too!"

From above came the sounds of something prying at the grates, and a loud clatter as the grating was moved aside.

Six seconds later, a half-elf dropped in after the lizard.

"I don't know why you would come here, Beeko. I think it's a jail."

The monitor lizard continued to hiss at the guards.

"What's wrong? They don't look like bad sorts."

Beeko hissed once more at the guards and motioned with his head towards the demon in human form.

"What do you mean 'He's not human'?"

Beeko made a few other movements. Baisriel seemed oddly in tune with these seemingly innocuous motions.

"A Tanar'ri? A good one? I'll take your word for it."

After this bizarre exchange, Baisriel turned towards the guards. "The question remains - what were you planning on doing that's annoyed Beeko so much?"

Running his gnarled, fat fingers through his musty brown hair, the jailor stared on at the prisoner in mild disbelief, a little agitated at what he was witnessing. Truth be told, he wasn't the brightest individual, and the only reason he'd landed the job he had now was strictly due to a family relation with Captain Huldwick. However, he wasn't completely helpless either, as he had two sturdy, armed guards at his back, and their would-be prisoner was chained rather tigthly. The lizard only complicated things, though. Something would have to be done.

"Now, now, dun' lie to ol' Grulk. Look at ye converse wit 'im. A beast talker ye is, n' a fine good one at that. Tell 'im to go back whence 'e came, or ah'll stain the cell walls wit 'is blood. And yors too if'n ye dun' watch yorself."

The jailor patiently awaited a response, confident that he'd solved the conflict. The two guards behind him exchanged confused glances, though; how Grulk came to his conclusions was beyond them. Bah, it wasn't their job to think. Just to take orders. And so they waited too, although they weren't exactly sure of what they waited on.



Fortunately, they didn't have to wait for long.


From above came the sounds of something prying at the grates, and a loud clatter as the grating was moved aside.

Six seconds later, a half-elf dropped in after the lizard.

"I don't know why you would come here, Beeko. I think it's a jail."

The monitor lizard continued to hiss at the guards.

"What's wrong? They don't look like bad sorts."

Beeko hissed once more at the guards and motioned with his head towards the demon in human form.

"What do you mean 'He's not human'?"

Beeko made a few other movements. Baisriel seemed oddly in tune with these seemingly innocuous motions.

"A Tanar'ri? A good one? I'll take your word for it."

After this bizarre exchange, Baisriel turned towards the guards. "The question remains - what were you planning on doing that's annoyed Beeko so much?"


"Now, you see," the turned demon said, "this is the kind of thing I was trying to keep from happening. You see, where I come from," he morphed back to his demon form, "this kind of thing--people trying to set upon one another when they would be much better off facing their common enemies--happens so frequently that, well, I grew tired of it."

"Grulk, all I ask is that you trust your eyes. I can't talk to beasts, I just know one that travels with sentients when I see one. I treat companions as companions. He can talk to beasts, though, and I say that this is a good thing. You need no more proof of that than what you've just seen. The lizard spoke to him, not me, and it was he, not I, who understood it--but I think that this one is smarter than you give it credit for. I think, Grulk, that it understands you, and that you upset it when you threatened my life."

As the two guards went rigid, realizing the truth of what the demon had just said, he turned his head to Baisreil.

"My good man, your friend is very observant. My name is Marvel, and, though I may at times appear a bit unlike the rest of you, I've never intended any of you any harm. You may not know this, but I was a diplomat for a while before escaping the underworld. Perhaps it is my diplomatic training that allows me to see an opportunity for us all to get something that we wish.

"Forgive me, sir, but you strike me as a man of conscience. You will find that I am here because I was forced to reveal my true form in order to save a young girl's life. It is unjust that I am being held here, but I believe in the goodness of even the men who are my captors so strongly that I will not resist. To keep your conscience clean, I humbly beseech you to take your companion, leave this place, and intercede on my behalf with the Grand Chandler's court. Find out what happened on the wall a few days ago. Let others know.

"Grulk, you want the creature to be gone. You can have this by forgiving this--man--his tresspass and letting him take the creature and go--in peace. He came for it, not me. He didn't even know that it was my cell he was breaking into. You yourself heard him ask his companion. We all did."

There were nods of agreement from the two guards.

"That way, I'll get what I want, too. No one will be harmed--and you can move me to wherever you're going to move me without having to go through the effort of dragging my heavy body after you've tired yoursleves by beating me senseless. Don't look at me like that, boys. It doesn't take a genius to tell that you're moving me because it doesn't take three of you to drop a slice of bread on the floor.

"So, gentlemen, do we have a deal?"

He morphed back into human form while he awaited their answer.

As Mako and Himeko trekked through the howling, muddy woods, the truth of the Skywood forest began to unfold before their very eyes. Dead trees whistling in the dangerous storm winds, streams that bubbled with boiling tar. Something was amiss in this place; a great evil had befallen it, and unfortunately they happened to stumble smack dab in the middle of it amidst raging thunderclaps. Wailing gusts forced the two off their chosen path, occasionally blowing down dead branches in their wake. Flashes of lightning seemed to hit the ground a mere dozen yards away from them. Why they had come to Skywood was still an unanswered question. But they were not welcome, and nature had a way of letting people know such.

Luckily for them, the forces of darkness would not prevail on this miserable evening, for as the two found themselves traveling deeper and deeper into the woods, they were confronted by a heavily cloaked figure, tall, gaunt, and mysterious but almost immediately good-natured. It was a wood elf, a welcome sight to the eyes of lost strangers, and he approached the pair with his own lantern, a sign that civilization was probably not too far off. Extremely handsome with his neck-length blonde hair, burning blue eyes, and slender, angular face, both Himeko and Mako may have found it strange that he was so heavily armed. A halberd was slung over his back along with a quiver, and in his left hand was a short bow.

As he came upon the duo, he spoke loud and clear, as the pounding rain in the background was difficult to overcome. "Hail strangers, and well met! Pray tell, what are the pair of you doing out in such horrible weather and in such a dangerous area? And so young too!"

Never before had Mako seen such a harsh storm. He'd been through pelnty of squals on land and sea, he's survived twisters, fires floods, but nothing could prepare him for this. It almost seemed as if the forest and the storm wanted them away or dead. Himieko wasn't used to such violent weather. She never lived in the Kuronan country side long enough. Lighting sturck down a large branch obstructing their path. Both nelt down and braced as the wind gusted. Mako panned the area with the lantern, it was pitch black. He saw a dark figure approaching, freind or foe? He pulled his sword ready for a fight but a freindly voice called out.

"Hail, we are on our way to the nearest village. We had to beach up to avoid the stormy seas!" Mako cried out

"Will you help us good sir?" Himiko cried.

"As you can see she is quite frightend we would like to get out of this storm soon." He ebraced her tightly.

Though the doors to the Grand Hall were shut, something came through. That would be the sounds from the waiting room beyond.

"'But, Sven, wot happ' tue de pickel sliser?'" came Marvel's voice--actually, a falsetto so bad that it almost dropped the hinges off the door.

"'Dat's de wurst part, dear!'" this was also Marvel's voice, but it was much lower this time. "'Dey pro'ly fired her, tue!''

The next voices that were heard were those of two guards instantly bursting into intense laughter.

"Och! I ne'er herd soch eumer! Does ye know any more, per chance?" That was Grulk's voice.

"Well, I know a little song or two..."

"Let'n hear it, then!"

"Well...if you insist..."

I wish I was a bough of pine
A bough of pine
A bough of pine
'Cause if I was a bough of pine
I wouldn't hear my woman whine!

The guards burst into laughter again.

It wasn't long before the noises coming through the door sounded suspiciously like the voices of three guards and a turned demon...trying to harmonize...and failing badly.