“Kotia, you must look. Something is wrong.” Perthran said quietly. He thrust the looking glass into her hands and glanced at Veryyn. They exchanged a nervous look. Stretched before them, on the far side of the foothills, was the remnants of a bloody battle. Hauntingly quiet before them, there was a broken field of shiny steel and blue trimmings. A ferocious battle had been fought recently. Hundreds of men and almost that many horses laid out in the spring sun. The long grasses were beaten flat in a wide swath that extended to the horizon and beyond in the north and east.

“What happened?” Kotia said. She was fixed upon the scene. “We are nearly to the entrance, we must continue!” Perthran said loudly. When he spoke, his arms flew up in exclamation. Veryyn found himself in agreement. “Let’s carry on, I don’t intend on getting much closer to the battle.” Veryyn said. “Let the tribes of men kill each other.” He continued. They quickly set out again for the dwarven hold. The evening breeze had picked up substantially, and gusted harshly from the west.

Descending into the foothills, they wound their way through the fertile grazing hills. The sun dipped low in the western horizon when they first laid eyes on it. A shear rock face emerged, chiseled deeply into the rolling hills. Surrounded on three sides and carved in such a way as to slope deep below ground level, the rock face was marked with dwarven text, simple and inornate. The blocky letters stood proudly over an open passageway. It was large enough that two carts could comfortably pass side by side. The entrance had the appearance of ongoing work, and several hammers and heavy handled chisels laid strewn to one side.

Approaching the entrance, the scene grew dim. A battered pathway led out from the freshly carved entrance. The clean lines of the entryway were deeply gouged along each side, as if too many beasts were shoved through its grand walls all at once. The beaten path widened outside of the mouth of the entrance and wound down out of the foothills northward. A peculiar stench hung in the air, rotten and sulphuric. Veryyn looked down into the blind valley and dread set over them all. “Daemor.” He said quietly. “I’d recognize the stench anywhere.” “Daemor? That explains a lot. I have heard the stories.” Kotia, nodding.

“What does that explain to you, Kotia? I’m afraid I’ve lost you.” Perthran said, tense. The group had taken a pause, but now slowly made their way down towards the scarred entryway. “If that is true, that the Daemor have crawled up out of some nasty hole here…” Kotia trailed off, hesitating. “The dwarves barred the doors.” She finished slowly. Veryyn was struck dead in his tracks. Barron whined and nuzzled up under Veryyn’s arm roughly. Veryyn hung his head, and for a moment, the party was still and quiet. 

The silence was broken by rhythmic rumbling. The ground trembled in a heavy, building cadence. A guttural howl pierced the failing light, and seemed to ring from deep within. “Quickly, we must find shelter!” Perthran said, frantic and low. Veryyn seemed to snap from a trance, and together, the party ran upwards, and away from the dwarven hold. The rhythmic pounding grew louder and faster. “We are too late.” Veryyn said. “It may have already smelled us.” Kotia and Perthran looked at Veryyn in disbelief. “If it has, we will not escape. Quiet now.” He continued softly. The group retreated a quickly out and above the blind valley and layer prone, just able to see into the entryway.

Barreling out from the stone came a beast of appalling, tremendous proportions. Vaguely man-shaped and nearly house-sized, the enormous Daemor giant was a disgusting sight. The skin was a dark red and mottled black. It galloped on all four with it’s long sinewy arms extended over-long and down to the ground. It’s large, wide head seemed even wider for the enormous fan-like ears that hung over its shoulders, translucent with a network of veins. It ran with mouth opened, jagged and irregular blackened teeth set extending from ear to ear. The face was punctuated with two large nostrils set flat against its face. Most unsettling was the absence of any eyes. 

Sliding to a halt just outside of the dwarven halls, the creature rose up onto two feet and sniffed the air deeply. Veryyn was reminded in some strange way of the dogs that had tracked him and Evie, and for a brief moment, he was filled with longing. The wind howled in the face of the huddled companions as they watched with dread. Veryyn silently raised a finger to his lips, calling for silence. The beast raised its head high into the air, seeming to taste upon the wind. Its head cocked this way and that before it came down upon all fours again. Turning down the beaten path, it thundered away into the growing darkness.

Scooting away from the hill across the ground, the party slowly and silently stood. They walked back the way they had come, out of sight and earshot of the dwarven doorway. Kotia broke the silence first as they took their first rest. “I have heard tales of the Daemor, but I never realized they would be so massive.” She said. “That was one of the giants, their generals. The Daemorthor.” Veryyn replied. “You speak as if you have seen them before!” Perthran exclaimed. His loud voice made everyone wince and look around. “I have. I remember the destruction and I have lived to see them return again. These are dark times indeed.”

Taking a short rest, the party had much to discuss. Pethran and Kotia were keen to learn about the old times, long ago. The first sightings of the Daemor, the old alliances, and the old battles, Veryyn gave his recount as if it were the month prior. They talked long about plans and what to do next. Veryyn struggled to remain hopeful that he may see his dwarven maiden again. The wide trodden path, and the bloody field of battle littered with shiny silver and blue armor spoke to the strength of this first wave of Daemor. There would be more. Many more. Most curiously of all, his companions did what they could to console the pain of his loss. They seemed unafraid to plunge headlong into the infested tunnels. They would make camp for the night, and in the morning make again for the dwarven underworld.

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Below is an early edit the first ten chapters of Veryyn’s tale. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1 – The Thief and his Maiden

“Grab ‘em!” The guardsmen shouted, their voices echoing fiercely as they raced after two shapes. They were navigating through a dirty, mostly forgotten dead-end alleyway. The sense of urgency heightened as the duo reached the end of their path, and were now cornered by the encroaching guards. Despite the circumstances, Veryyn maintained his composure and turned to soothe his agitated companion. “Easy boy…” he whispered gently. In response, Barron released a low, menacing snarl. His face contorting into a twisted, vine-like maw.

Seeing the pair trapped, one of the guards, clad in shiny, well-polished armor, confidently moved forward to capture them. “Come now, you’ve nowhere to go, outlaw. Calm your beast and come with us. The captain is very interested in a chat with the likes of you!” he declared, attempting to seize the slender figure of Veryyn. In a sudden blur of black and blue, Veryyn dodged with surprising agility, leaving the guard to stumble forward grasping at air. Stunned, the guard turned to his companion, wearing an expression of sheer surprise. Undeterred, the second guard lunged forward, aiming his pole-mounted blade at Barron’s gruesome, snarling face, hoping to subdue the fierce creature.

With a snap of Barron’s grotesque maw, which bore little resemblance to a mouth, he clamped down violently over the pole, splintering the wood into several pieces. The guardsman holding it emitted a sharp yelp of surprise and pain as a searing heat unexpectedly penetrated his side. In that moment of chaos, Veryyn acted swiftly; he withdrew his blade from the guard’s side and melted back into the shadows with an agile fluidity. Left standing, the remaining guardsman faced Barron squarely with his posture tensed for a confrontation. “You won’t get away with this, tree demon!” he shouted defiantly at Barron. His courage faltered quickly. With a hurried glance back, the guard turned and sprinted towards the street, eager to escape and content to keep his life if nothing else.

In the dim light of the alley, Veryyn reappeared, standing calmly over the fallen guard who was now sprawled on the cobblestones, writhing in agony. “Quite a companion you have there,” Veryyn remarked, observing the wounded man with a hint of detachment. “Perhaps you should consider another profession,” he suggested, his voice steady and to the point. It was clear that his words, though softly spoken, were aimed to pierce deeper than any blade could.

“You will survive that wound if you apply a bit of pressure,” Veryyn assured the injured guard lying on the cobblestones,  “When you are healed, take this message to Kardone: the tree demon has come to collect on the captain’s debt.” The wounded guard managed only a wordless nod in response, his hand clutching tightly at his side while his eyes shut tightly against the pain. He seemed to conserve every ounce of energy, focusing intently on maintaining pressure on the wound to stem the flow of blood.

Outside the narrow confines of the alley, the noises of the town seemed to swell, echoing the tension of the encounter. Veryyn, a tall and thin figure, knelt beside his formidable companion, Barron. “I believe we have overstayed our welcome, Barron,” he murmured, glancing briefly toward the mouth of the alley where the sounds of the town permeated the tense air. With a gentle but firm touch, Veryyn caressed the rough, vine-like texture on the back of Barron’s head, signaling a silent but affectionate appreciation for his loyalty and bravery. Together, they prepared to vanish into the shadows once more.

Quickly, Veryyn and Barron made their retreat from the alleyway and hastened down the dirty street, their footsteps quiet against the chaos brewing behind them. Far off in the distance, within the thick, sturdy walls of the fortress, horns sounded, signaling a great commotion. They moved swiftly out of the castle’s surrounding city, well known as the great city-state of Nearborne. A lowly city elf, hunched over her children in a decrepit fashion, extended her outstretched palms toward Veryyn and pleaded, “Spare a copper!” Veryyn cast a glance filled with pity at the elf as he continued to stride by proudly, choosing not to respond. His heart may have softened for a moment, but his face remained resolute and unyielding.

“This city is a blight,” Veryyn whispered lowly to Barron, his voice laced with disdain as they navigated through the crowded streets, eager to leave the corruption and decay behind. The two companions soon reached the outskirts of the city, where the dense buildings began to give way to open countryside. Glancing back one last time at the lights of Nearborne, Veryyn felt relieved. He turned his attention forward, leading Barron into the ragged underbrush. Here, the streets faded away, replaced by paths that were little more than tracks beaten by the passage of animals and men. As civilization receded, the duo pressed on, disappearing into the wild, their forms melding seamlessly with the shadows of the untamed foothills. The foothills retreated into deep forest at the base of a vast mountain range.

Veryyn and Barron traveled through the cool, crisp breeze of the early night, their swift movements nearly silent against the natural sounds of the wilderness. They paid little attention to any possible pursuers; the humans, with their clumsy and heavy-footed ways, were hardly a concern. Even the humans’ best trackers were unlikely to have much luck, as Veryyn and his kind left minimal signs of their passage. Barron, although nearly bearish, wasa creature of the woods, and maintained an even lighter step than Veryyn, the tall, dark elf, blending seamlessly with the forest floor.

“Evie will not be pleased…” Veryyn muttered under his breath, the uneasy feeling growing like a knot in his stomach. Barron responded by shaking his head and making a low, agreeable sound, his posture slouching slightly in acknowledgment of their shared apprehension. “However, it’s high time those stub-eared folk got a taste of their own medicine, consequences be damned,” Veryyn added, his tone laced with a mix of frustration and determination. At this, Barron let out a knowing snort, suggesting skepticism regarding whether Evie would be as forgiving or understanding as they might hope. The thought lingered between them as they continued their journey, deeper into the safety of the woods, driven by the belief that their actions, however bold or reckless, were justified.

After the lengthy, familiar journey through the night, Veryyn and Barron finally approached the tree line in the early rising hours of the morning. Their travels over the past months had familiarized them with this route, and Barron led the way, his tail wagging with a cheerful rhythm as they drew closer to their underground haven. Within the shelter of the trees, they slowed their pace and regrouped. There was much loyalty between obedient pet and servant master, forged over many, many years.

“Stay close, bud, nearly there,” Veryyn murmured to Barron, his voice low and filled with the weariness of their long trek. They moved through the dense wood and tangled undergrowth where no distinct path lay, but their steps were deliberate and purposeful. Amidst the hickory trees, they came upon a familiar, ancient oak. Here, Veryyn crouched low and slid beneath a large protruding root that concealed more than just earth. What he found there seemed starkly out of place in such a wild setting: a copper-colored door embedded in a cobblestone wall, its surface adorned with blocky Dwarven script that Veryyn had learned to decipher. “Elves were not meant to live this way,” he remarked softly, a hint of resignation in his voice as he opened the short door. From the door of the dwarven hold, one had to descend upon many grand stairs. Upon entering the cavern, Veryyn took a deep breath, savoring his last taste of forest air, before securing the hatch behind him.

With Barron by his side, Veryyn entered, entering into the sprawling underground caverns below, a hidden world far removed from the life expected of his kind. As he descended further, the atmosphere shifted markedly; the air was dusty, and although it was just air, it seemed to constrict around him, choking his breathing. The vastness of the cavern was accentuated by a distinctly dwarven atmosphere. The walls were lined with eerie, warm-glowing torchstones that cast an otherworldly light and radiated a deep heat. The main hall was expansive, branching off into countless passageways, each a relic of what once must have been a sprawling underground fortress now lost to the progress of time. As they approached the familiar quarters, the smell of wild game, expertly seared and seasoned, began to fill the cavernous halls, stirring a mixture of comfort and nostalgia in Veryyn.

From the second hallway on the left, a voice rang out. A stout dwarven maiden emerged, wiping her hands on her apron as she eyed Veryyn and Barron with a mixture of excitement and her typical clunky charm. “How did it go?” she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber. Her eyes twinkled with a hint of humor as she added, “You didn’t happen to gather any sugar on your little adventure, did you?” Her casual tone and the warm welcome in her voice contrasted sharply with the dark forest paths they had just navigated. It was for Veryyn a respite from the countless raids he had taken upon the town and peoples of Nearborne.

As Veryyn approached her, he entered what was clearly once a grand kitchen, now reduced to a more modest state yet still resonant with echoes of its former grandeur. A small and rough hewn table, comically undersized in comparison to the colossal dwarven cook stove and the numerous expansive prep stations that surrounded it, stood at the center of the room. The air was filled with a rich, savory aroma. “It smells delicious, is that hare?” Veryyn ventured. His nose sniffed slightly as he enjoyed the odor.

“Indeed,” Evie responded warmly from where she busied herself near the stove. Her practiced hands were deftly preparing the meal. “Three of them, and wild onions besides. Delicious! The white hares are easy to spot this time of year. Spring comes earlier than it used to, before the humans. In the old days, there was still snow covering the trees this time of year. Bounty for us, but it is a sad thing to think…” Before she could continue reminiscing, Veryyn interjected sharply, a serious tone cutting through the homely warmth. “Evie,” he said, “I have news, and not the best kind. The humans are increasing patrols. I hardly made it within view of the walls before we were discovered.” His words hung heavy in the air. It was a reminder of the ever-present threat that loomed outside their hidden refuge.

“Perhaps you are losing your touch, pointy,” Evie teased with a chortle, though her expression lacked its usual rosy cheerfulness, clouded instead by a hint of concern. The grand meal she had prepared  lay spread across the table, filling the room with enticing aromas. In front of him, Veryyn found an assortment of roots and berries, stewed wild hare, and an impressive loaf of elven-styled bread, surprisingly well-crafted by her stubby dwarven hands. Seated together with their faithful companion Barron, they caught up on the day’s events, their conversation meandering through mundane and momentous topics alike. Evie talked more than she listened, as was her way. Veryyn listened intently.

Evie shared tales of rabbits, her latest baking experiments, and reminisced over an old triumph that brought a soft smile to her face. Veryyn recounted his own day, detailing an attempted raid on the city stores and the ensuing chase by the guards. He carefully omitted mentioning the personal message he had left for Kardone, wary of stirring Evie’s ire. Indeed, if there was anything more daunting than being pursued by a horde of shining-armored soldiers, it was facing the fury of his stout-hearted companion. As the first light of dawn began to seep above the trees outside their secluded burrow, the unlikely trio retired. They settled into their sleeping arrangements. Evie and Veryyn crawled into their modest bed, with Barron curling up on the cool stony floor beneath them. Their eyes closed slowly, drifting into sleep. A day of peril gave way to quiet peace in their hidden sanctuary.

Chapter 2 – The Decree of the Warden

Morning sunlight streamed in through the narrow stone windows, casting a golden hue on the room. Captain Kardone sat, deep in thought, in a tall intricately carved wooden chair. He was reflecting on the treasonous events that had unfolded the night before. Despite having spent considerable time as the acting steward of the proud city, the blue crushed velvet cushion of the chair still felt somewhat foreign and uncomfortable to him. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, insistent knock on the heavy wooden door. With a voice that carried the weight of authority, Kardone commanded, “Enter.”

As the door opened, various members of the household staff quickly and quietly made their way into the room. Each one worked diligently, head down, and with a covering over hair and ears. One servant carried fresh linens, while another bore a tray laden with an assortment of fine breakfast meats and fresh fruits. A woman, whose name Kardone had yet to learn, approached with a respectful demeanor, her eyes cast downward. She asked in a polite tone, “Will the lord take his breakfast in his chambers?” To which Kardone replied affirmatively, “Indeed, there at the table.” With efficient movements, the bed was made anew and a beautiful spread of breakfast items was laid out on the table. The servants withdrew as silently as they had entered, leaving the captain alone to enjoy the lavish meal prepared for him. The table bore aromatic sausage links, perfectly boiled eggs, the finest breads the city had to offer, fresh juices, and a selection of excellent cheeses. As he began to eat, Kardone murmured appreciatively under his breath, “Fit for a king.” It was a small moment of peace and indulgence.

After finishing his breakfast, Captain Kardone moved away from the table and called for his aide, who had been waiting discreetly behind the door. “Jesse, come along,” he beckoned. Responding promptly, Jesse entered the room dressed in full armor, his suit shimmering with hues of white and blue. “Yessir, right away,” Jesse replied calmly, as they approached the armor stand together. Jesse meticulously helped Kardone into his regal breastplate, carefully pulling each strap and making adjustments for maximum comfort. The elaborate metalwork of the breastplate far surpassed the common plate mail worn by the guards, echoing the intricate designs found in ancient elven craftsmanship.

This distinctive armor set Kardone apart, and no one in the city had ever seen a ruler who would don full battle gear as he did. Expressing gratitude to his aide, Kardone and Jesse then walked in step from the grand bedroom, descending a magnificent flight of stairs and continuing through a sprawling hallway that led from his chambers. As they progressed, a small, slightly stooped man hurried to catch up to them, his steps uneven and his hands clutching parchment. “You have quite a busy day, good steward. There’s a dispute waiting your decision in the court right now. The pointy-eared elves have been causing trouble again, and today they have the audacity to request an audience,” the man reported with a mix of excitement and exasperation. Kardone, barely pausing in his stride, responded, “Leif, their petty squabbles can wait. Any word from the north?” His tone conveyed little expectation of receiving any significant news.

“None, sir. However, your lieutenants are currently assembled in the war room, and they, too, are hopeful for an audience,” the diminutive aide reported, then scurried away with a dismissive wave from Captain Kardone. It was well known among the staff and council that the acting steward did not keep his lieutenants waiting without orders. With stoic expressions, Kardone and Jesse continued their march towards the war room. Upon arrival, they found it a scene of intense debate among the twelve men in full military regalia, their voices crowding the space with heated arguments.

One particularly forceful, yet shorter man was shouting above the rest, “The patrol has already been doubled! I say we kill them all, and purge this blight from our city!” His commanding presence belied his stature. In contrast, a taller, broad-faced lieutenant countered with concern, “Nic, we can’t just indiscriminately start killing the elves in the streets; we will have a riot on our hands!” But Nic, undeterred and growing increasingly agitated, argued, “Let them riot and let them taste our blades then! Joseph was one of my best men, and now he’s been made lame!” At that moment, Kardone’s commanding voice cut through the tumult, “Men!” Instantly, a hushed silence fell across the room. Kardone continued, “I know tempers are high. I have had my fill of the elven menace as well. When your men are attacked, I take it personally. Joseph was my man as well as yours, Nic.” It was then Jesse spoke up, “Public support has never been higher, sir. Perhaps it is time… to rid the city of the elven aggression.” His words were met with nods and murmurs of agreement from the gathered lieutenants.

Kardone settled into his chair at the head of the long table, his presence dominating the war room. He took a moment, quietly mulling over the situation, letting the weight of his thoughts settle in the silence that hung over the room. After a contemplative pause, he finally broke the awkward stillness with a clear, deliberate tone. “I have been in deep thought through the night, ever since I received word of the attack,” he began, his voice resonant in the hushed atmosphere. “One thing has become exceedingly clear to me. We must strike back at the elven aggressors. The elves are less than human. They disregard the conventional rules of engagement, preferring attacks shrouded in shadow and smoke.”

Kardone continued, his decision firm and irrevocable. “Let no elf consider himself equal to a man. The knife-ears no longer have a place in Nearborne! As warden of this great city, and together with you, the finest men I know, I will drive the elven menace from our walls, and in time, from our kingdom!” At the conclusion of his declaration, approval thundered through the hall, the assembled men rallying to his call. Rising from his seat, Kardone’s voice boomed with renewed authority, “Guardsmen, with me!” Each man swiftly fell in line behind their captain. “We have business to attend to in the court!” he announced. Leading the way, Kardone and Jesse, followed by the lieutenants arrayed four abreast, marched through the castle’s corridors. Their determined strides echoed off the ancient stone walls as they advanced toward the grand court, prepared to set their resolute plan into motion.

Bursting through the doors into the hallway leading to the grand court, Captain Kardone and his entourage were met with the astonished gazes of numerous onlookers. Both humans and elves, present to seek the judgment of the warden, stared in disbelief. The room was already lined with a dozen more guards, standing at attention. With a commanding voice, Kardone bellowed, “Guards! Seize every elf!” Instantly, the order was executed, and ten or more of the city elves, their figures conveying distress, were swiftly taken into custody. Some had already been bound and were awaiting the court’s decision for various minor offenses.

As the chaos unfolded, Kardone approached a particularly forlorn figure: an elf who appeared to be a beggar, now in chains, likely accused of some petty crime such as stealing a loaf of bread. The elf looked up at Kardone with pleading eyes and implored, “Please, good sir, I only meant to feed my child! I’ll never do it again.” Meeting the elf’s gaze, Kardone’s response was chilling in its detachment. “No, you will not,” he declared coldly. Without a moment’s hesitation, he ran his sword through the unfortunate elf. Emboldened by their leader’s ruthless action, the lieutenant and guards quickly followed suit. In a grim sequence of events, many elves were slain right there in the hall, their bodies collapsing to the floor as deep crimson pools spread ominously around them.

After his grim act, Kardone meticulously cleaned his exquisite sword, its blade catching the light with a sinister gleam that matched the icy resolve in his piercing blue eyes. Stepping away from the brutal scene, he made his way atop the grand court, ascending the stairs to his impressive throne. With a voice that carried across the crowded space, he issued a stark command, “Under the authority of your king, and as warden of the great city of Nearborne, I do decree- let no elf remain in this city by the fall of night!” His words ignited a great uproar within the court and reverberated throughout the castle.

The decree caused immediate chaos. Many servants of the castle were elves, from the lowest social strata. They frantically dashed about, trying to escape the castle and city. Marked for death, each elf scrambled to alert their brethren, spreading panic through the streets. The ensuing terror was palpable, and only the luckiest managed to slip beneath the portcullis as it slammed shut with a violent clang, sealing the fate of those trapped inside. From the towering walls of his keep, Kardone surveyed the scene below. “The time has come,” he declared in a ghostly tone, seemingly speaking more to himself than to his companion. Jesse stood by his side, echoing the sentiment with a disturbing zeal, “Indeed, great warden.” Together, they watched as the town descended into chaos. The air was filled with the sounds of mob violence echoing through every street.

Chapter 3 – Across the Dragonsback

Veryyn’s sleep had been restless. He had been disturbed by anxious dreams that he could not shake. Despite his fatigued body, lying in bed was no longer an option. The day called to him urgently. Sliding from the confines of his bed quietly, he dressed quickly and quietly, so as not to stir his partner. As he headed toward the entryway, his companion, Barron, refreshed, stirred from his own slumber and playfully circled around Veryyn’s feet. “I need to see the sky. You too, bud?” he spoke gently, mindful not to wake the sleeping dwarf. “Let sleeping dragons lie, isn’t that right, Barron?” he chuckled softly, the creature’s face twisting into what seemed an amused agreement.

They exited through the large hatch, stepping into the cool spring afternoon. Outside, Veryyn took a deep breath. The fresh, crisp air washed over him, renewing his spirit. Beside him, Barron delighted in the undergrowth, rolling and snuffling with contentment. The pair then made their way through the thick woods that enveloped their home, heading toward the familiar murmur of a nearby stream. Upon reaching the water, Veryyn scooped up handfuls and drank deeply, the cool liquid quenching his thirst. Meanwhile, Barron leaped with abandon into the stream, splashing in the shallow waters. Together, they embraced the new day. Veryyn found solace in the simple, enduring rhythm of nature, and felt at ease for a moment.

Feeling invigorated from his time by the stream, Veryyn made his way back to the burrow, noting the sun’s descent in the sky. Evening was already approaching. He had planned to journey northwards over the pass in the mountains and through the great forest. In the far side of the mountains, a small, nomadic tribe of elves resided. The Uite band, as they were known, held a special place in Veryyn’s heart, and their exchanges were always fruitful. He anticipated trading his recent haul of animal skins and some exquisite human-made fineries for essentials like sugar and flour, which his beloved Evie favored. Perhaps he would get some new attire for himself as well.  A new cloak to endure the changing seasons would be prudent, as his tattered cloak was worn from many years use.

Upon returning to their dwelling, Veryyn was greeted by the bustling activity of Evie, who moved energetically about the kitchen preparing a meal of salted meats and eggs. “Good to see you, sweet Evie,” he called out as he approached her from behind, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace. “And you, my love,” Evie responded, her voice filled with affection. She allowed herself a brief pause to savor the embrace, then turned her attention back to the task at hand. “I suppose we are going to meet old Wilkers today. Best be moving soon, as soon as I can get these eggs to cooking. This old stove is quite a marvel, what that it works with no wood. But it just does not throw out heat quite the same as a simple wood stove.” Her words filled the grand kitchen.

After cooking their meal together, Veryyn and Evie settled down to a hearty meal composed of salted meats, eggs, and a few honey berries plucked fresh from the bushes just the day before. As they ate, their conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. They reminisced about their previous exchanges with the Uite band, chuckling over the tough negotiations with old Wilkers and recalling the precious items they had traded. “Remember those golden bangles you got last fall? You could have bought the whole camp, the way they fell over themselves trying to buy them,” Evie reminisced, her laughter ringing through the room.

“Indeed, the Uite’s love for shiny things has filled our bellies and our stores more than once,” Veryyn agreed, his eyes twinkling with the memory. He then sighed slightly, adding, “Unfortunately, the raiding has gotten a bit lean, and I’d settle for a bit of flour and sugar to tide us over.” Evie, ever the optimist, quickly dismissed his concerns. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You haven’t had a set of fresh clothing in long enough. We ought to have plenty, I’ll see to it that it’s enough. I’ll load the pack.” With the meal concluded and their plan set, the couple swiftly moved into action. Packs were loaded with the necessities for their journey, as well as the bulky goods they brought to trade. Soon they were ready to leave. Together, they stepped out the marvelous dwarven door, leaving for their familiar trading expedition with eager anticipation.

The trek to the Uite village was an arduous one, especially through the densely wooded areas full of towering trees and thick underbrush. Veryyn and Evie made slow progress along the narrow trail that would eventually lead them to their destination. Traveling at night, they hoped to reach the village before dawn. They eased their journey under the cover of darkness, when any human traveling down the roads would be fast asleep. Both bore heavy loads on their backs, filled with a collection of furs and various fineries they had gathered through weeks of diligent trapping and a good bit of practical thievery.

Navigating through the dense foliage, Evie occasionally found the going tough due to her shorter stature. “Slow down, dwarves aren’t meant to toil through the brambles!” she called out, her voice strained as she maneuvered over a particularly stubborn root. Veryyn, taller and more accustomed to the rough terrain, reduced his pace, frequently reaching back to assist her over the larger obstacles. Though Evie managed her heavy pack with surprising ease, the physical challenges of the path tested her. Veryyn, noticing her effort, remarked with a smile, “We each have our strengths.” He continued to lead the way, his expertise in handling the rugged trail evident as he deftly avoided the thickest patches of brambles, setting a path that would accommodate them both.

Ahead of them, the dense wall of trees finally gave way to a well-beaten footpath. The sun had already dipped out of sight, leaving behind a sky painted in shades of twilight. As the forest around them darkened with the falling night, the path beneath their feet had finally become prominent, and they moved with haste. “I do hope they have mead!” Evie remarked, with sweat forming on her brow. “One can hope, my little whetstone,” Veryyn replied. His voice was tinged with amusement and only served to deepen the blush on Evie’s already flushed face. Momentarily caught off guard, she smirked and fell silent, focusing on the trail ahead.

Continuing down the path, Veryyn adjusted his pace to a leisurely stroll, allowing Evie to keep up without strain as she doubled her steps. This hunting trail, deeply ingrained into the terrain, had served the native Uite people for generations, helping them traverse the dense forest safely and efficiently. As the chill of the evening began to set in, Evie reached into her pack and pulled out a torchstone. She unwrapped the damp cloth encasing it, and upon exposure to the cool night air, the stone sparked to life. Its glow bathed Evie’s face in a soft light, casting playful shadows around them and emitting a gentle warmth which both Veryyn and Evie welcomed against the brisk breeze slicing through the trail. Above them, tall oaks and willows bent and swayed, their movements orchestrated by the wind, while the entire forest seemed to hum with the rustling of leaves.

“I do enjoy this walk, even though the openness of the sky overhead is something I can hardly adjust to,” Evie shared, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension. She chuckled lightly, adding, “As a child, the elders would warn us that stepping out of the caverns was tantamount to risking being swept up into the sky!” Though Veryyn had heard this tale perhaps more than once during their time together, he listened with the same affectionate attention, nodding gently as she spoke.

“Yet here you are, daring to roam with a tree-demon, of all companions!” Veryyn teased, using the old dwarven term of endearment that straddled the line between jest and the darker undertones of their peoples’ past conflicts. Evie’s response came with a quick, playful retort, “You know, the elder dwarves who had never ventured to the living surface would shy away from using such harsh terms.” Her words were only partially true; both were keenly aware of the deep-seated prejudices that sometimes surfaced in less guarded moments among their respective kind. “And you’re lying through your teeth,” Veryyn replied, his tone turning somber, recognizing the half-truths they shared. With a mutual understanding of the complexities of their heritage, they continued their journey in quiet companionship, the path leading them ever closer to the Uite encampment.

It was a calm, clear night as Veryyn and Evie made their way through the early morning hours. The winding trail gradually took them upward, over the steep contours of the mountain pass. They moved under a sky sprinkled with stars, the silence around them punctuated only by the occasional call of a night creature. From a high vantage point along the steep trail, they paused at a clearing. Veryyn pointed towards the horizon, a soft excitement in his voice. “All downhill from here. Come now, Evie.” There was a soft glow in the distance.

The trail led them past a rocky outcropping and as they descended, the dense trees gradually opened up into a vast valley. Below them lay the Uite encampment, a small cluster of rough-hewn stone and wood dwellings nestled in the openness of the valley. Each of the dwellings emitted a warm glow, with plumes of smoke curling up from their stone chimneys, painting a picturesque scene of rustic life. “I can see the clearing, just a bit further,” Veryyn encouraged, his eyes tracing the path down into the heart of the valley.

Reaching the edge of the encampment, Veryyn turned to Evie with a grin. “Come and let us make camp,” he said. Evie responded with a playful, yet tired chuckle. “I thought you’d never ask. It’s hard to keep up with your long legs.” She let out a slight grunt as she heaved her heavy pack onto the ground, her relief palpable in the cool mountain air. Together they decided that they would wait until the dawn, or after, before approaching the Uite. They were ready to rest before engaging in the trade and tales that awaited them with the dawn.

Veryyn carefully set his pack on the ground and began rummaging through it, pulling out a coil of rope and a sturdy piece of heavy cloth. With practiced ease, he tied the rope between two trees, creating a tight line. He then draped the cloth over it, crafting a snug makeshift shelter that would provide them some protection from the elements. Evie helped him pull the edges tight, securing the setup with additional knots at the base of the trees.

Once their shelter was ready, they dragged their packs under the tarp and settled close together for warmth. Evie pulled out some dry salted flatbread wrapped in a clean white linen from her bag. They shared the simple meal quietly, appreciating the sustenance after their long trek. As they finished eating, the cool breeze of the night continued to swirl around them. Tired from their journey, they lay close to each other under the cover of their makeshift shelter, quickly falling into an easy, deep sleep amidst the tranquil sounds of the forest night.

Chapter 4 – Desolation of the Valley

The valley was alive with a low roar that stirred Evie from her slumber. Her eyes flickered open, fatigue evident on her face, as she urgently nudged Veryyn awake. “Veryyn, something’s wrong.” she exclaimed with a hint of panic in her voice. They quickly scrambled out from under their makeshift shelter, greeted by the bright morning sun already climbing high into the sky. “We slept too well, Evie,” Veryyn murmured, rubbing his eyes. His sleep had been deep but far from restorative, leaving him feeling sluggish and unprepared for the day ahead.

Barron, sensing the tension, paced nervously around them, his behavior mirroring the unsettling vibrations that filled the air. As the distant sounds of chaos mingled with the persistent rumbling, Veryyn exchanged a worried look with Evie. Her eyes widened with fear. Deciding to get a better view, he motioned for her to stay put and stealthily made his way to the edge of a nearby rocky outcropping that provided a clear view of the valley below. Staying low to the ground, he slithered forward on his belly, inching closer to the precipice. Peering over, what he saw down in the encampment sent a chill through his spine, confirming his unspoken fear about the origin of the disturbance.

In the valley below, an overwhelming scene of chaos and destruction unfolded before Veryyn’s eyes. What had been a peaceful village just hours ago was now a scene of devastation. Many of the buildings that had provided warmth and light against the night sky were now violently ablaze, their structures consumed by roaring flames. Smoke billowed upwards, filling the air with a choking haze that obscured the early morning light. The once tranquil clearings were now occupied by an imposing force; the ground was littered with shining blue and silver armor reflecting the fiery glow.

Veryyn viewed in horror as it became evident that the fierce battle had already come to its grim conclusion. The overwhelming might of the invading force had erased virtually every trace of the Uite people’s existence in the valley. Where once the laughter of children and the conversations of villagers filled the air, there was now only the heavy clanking of armored soldiers and the stomping of horses decked in battle regalia. For every resident that had lived there, it seemed there were now four soldiers, and two horses. They formed large ranks away from the burning buildings. The looting and destruction was total and complete. They appeared to be regrouping for another march. Overcome with a mix of fear and sorrow, Veryyn whispered to himself, “Why?” before retreating. Crawling back from the edge with a heavy heart, he made his way to where Evie waited. With a somber tone, Veryyn relayed the catastrophic sights he had seen in the valley below.

“By the stone!” Evie’s voice pierced the morning air with unexpected loudness. Her natural inclination had never been for stealth. Her voice betrayed her in the moment of shock. Veryyn quickly gestured to her, his hand movements sharp and commanding, signaling the need for silence. “We have to go, now,” he whispered urgently, his voice low but filled with an intensity that brooked no argument. They swiftly dismantled their makeshift camp, hurriedly stuffing their belongings into their packs. After a quick gulp from their canteens and a handful of dried berries and meat, they set off back towards the mountain pass with haste.

“What has happened? This is going to mean war!” Evie muttered under her breath, the words slipping out as they put distance between themselves and the valley via the winding footpath. The packs on their backs, now somehow heavier than the night before, weighed them down as they ascended the mountain trail. Veryyn, his voice a hushed whisper laden with grave concern, responded, “That didn’t look like war. That was a slaughter. They won’t be far behind us, surely checking for survivors. We must hurry.” Evie’s mind was racing with the implications when Veryyn said “And what war would the tree elves wage against the men from Nearborne? Every village around pays tribute to the city. The Uite were not soldiers; they were farmers.” “True enough,” Evie grunted in acknowledgment. The dire situation they found themselves mixed up in spurred them on. They continued their urgent climb away from the chaos.

They reached the pass after a few strenuous hours of climbing, their swift pace designed to maximize the distance from the calamity they had fled. The exertion, however, had taken a significant toll on Evie, who on typical days found comfort in the slower tasks of tending to her garden of mushrooms and roots. Gasping slightly from the effort, Evie suggested they pause. “How about a rest here? I need to rest my feet,” she proposed, setting her pack down with a thud on the rocky ground. It did not seem like a question, but more of an assertion.

Veryyn, however, felt the urgency of their situation pressing down on them. “We really ought to keep going. I’m sure they will have found that trail by now,” he replied, his voice was reluctant and concerned. Despite his insistence, Evie’s next words were soft but firm. “Veryyn, I’m tired,” she said, letting out a sigh. It was then that Veryyn truly looked at her, seeing past the companion of his journey to the physical signs of strain and age. Lines etched deeper into her face than he remembered, and streaks of gray had begun to weave through her once deep auburn hair. The sight softened his resolve, and he nodded, agreeing to a brief rest before they continued back down the winding mountain path.

Veryyn paused for a moment. “Of course, but let us at least leave the road,” he said. She too understood the importance of finding a secluded spot away from prying eyes. With a heavy sigh, Evie hoisted her pack onto her shoulders, offering Veryyn a breathless agreement in his decision. Together, they ventured off the well-trodden path, navigating through the dense undergrowth of the steep woods until they found a relatively flat clearing nestled between two towering trees.

With practiced efficiency, Veryyn set up a quick camp. His movements were fluid and familiar, as they tended to be. Evie wasted no time in seeking respite from the early spring heat, disappearing beneath the cover of the makeshift shelter in search of shade and rest. “Rest up. I’m going to fill my canteen. Maybe I can find some of those white hares that you keep bringing home,” Veryyn suggested, a faint glimmer of determination in his eyes. Releasing the crossbow that had been slung over his shoulder, he set off with Barron trotting faithfully at his side, disappearing into the dense foliage as they ventured along a high ridge line in search of water and game.

As Veryyn walked through the dense forest, the weight of their long companionship lay heavily on his mind. Together, he and Evie had navigated the twists and turns of life for more than a century, each bringing the experiences of their own considerable pasts to their partnership. When they had first met, Evie was already well into her middle years for a dwarf, nearly two hundred years old and seasoned by many of life’s challenges. Veryyn, in contrast, had long ceased to count his years. Born in days long past, he had seen the Dragonsback rise upwards from the land and watched the sea retreat from the plains. His people, or those truthfully those like him, had sown the forest they now called home. He had seen it grow from seed to mighty woodland. His lifespan stretched far beyond that of any human or dwarf. The mingling of elves with the stout human peoples from across the sea had cut their lifespans to a fraction of what they once were.

His people, the ancient elves, predated even the earliest settlers on this continent, their existence woven into the fabric of nature. Unlike the city elves, whose features had softened and adapted over generations of living and partnering amongst humans, Veryyn’s appearance still bore the distinct, exaggerated marks of his ancient lineage. Observing the cultural shifts around him, he noted with a trace of sadness how even the wild Uite, much like other groups, had gradually abandoned their ancestral ways in favor of human-style dwellings and customs. In doing so, they had not only reshaped their identity but had also unknowingly shortened their lifespans to merely that of a human’s, in contrast to the extended years granted to his own kind.

Veryyn expertly dispatched a hare with a swift shot from his crossbow, the weapon serving more as a novelty than a necessity for him. With abilities far surpassing the need for such tools, he could easily have captured the hare with his bare hands, and more often than not did so. This reflected his deep-rooted connection to the ancient and natural world. His movements were fluid and  feral as he prowled lowly on all fours, starkly contrasted with his typically more upright and gentle demeanor. It revealed a primal side that could easily unsettle those unfamiliar with his kind.

As he stood up, holding the hare, Veryyn spoke to Barron. “I do enjoy these toys, Barron, but it  seems improper. It lacks respect,” he commented, carefully cleaning the bolt and stowing it away. With practiced ease, he handled the hare, skillfully preparing it with a few deft slices of his dagger. The forest around him responded to the gentle breeze, branches rustling softly. The trees gave a quiet acknowledgment of the ancient elf’s mastery and respect.

Veryyn was making a brisk return to their hastily assembled campsite. Suddenly, a jarring noise pierced the calm of the surrounding woods. Reaching his finely tuned elven ears, the unmistakable sound of barking dogs echoed from the far side of the mountain, signaling trouble was swiftly approaching. Veryyn dropped the hare and ran like the wind, reaching his campsite in moments. Alarmed, he called to Evie, urgency clear in his voice, “Evie, we need to go!” His tone sharpened to a command, “Now!” At this, Evie, who had been resting, stirred from her short nap. Her movements were sluggish at first but quickened as the gravity of the situation sank in. “Quickly, or they will be upon us!” Veryyn pressed, panic edging into his voice. Outside their makeshift tent, Barron released a low, menacing growl, sensing the approaching danger.

From their hidden spot, the voices of the handlers drifted closer, carried by the wind. Veryyn listened intently, parsing out the sounds; he could make out four distinct voices, accompanied by the barks of several dogs. Realizing they had little time, Evie crawled quickly out from the tent, her face set in a silent resolve. Together, they cast a regretful glance back at their campsite, now too dangerous to dismantle properly. They left their packs and all their belongings behind, knowing that every second mattered. Without even a shared nod, they hurried to the well-worn path they had traveled earlier and broke into a desperate run, the sturdy sprint of the dwarven legs carrying Evie rapidly down the mountain, away from the imminent threat. Veryyn kept pace easily, ever mindful of the path behind them.

Within a few miles of their frantic departure, Veryyn and Evie had managed to widen the gap between themselves and the relentless pursuit. The barks of the dogs, initially a constant alarm, had faded somewhat, leading Veryyn to surmise they had paused to sniff around the abandoned campsite. Panting heavily, Evie slowed to a stop, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Veryyn took a mental note of her fatigue. Soon, his mind was resolute. He spoke with urgency yet a tone softened by concern, “Go on ahead, Evie. We won’t make it to the hollow before they catch up to us.”

Evie’s face, worn and lined from years beyond most, was slick with sweat. Tears welled in her eyes as despair took hold. “What do you intend to do? You are only one!” she cried out, the fear of losing her companion overshadowing her exhaustion. She knew in her heart he was right, yet the acknowledgment brought little comfort. With a resolve hardened by the situation, Veryyn responded, “If nothing else, I can lead them away. Please, go. I’ll be right behind. You have my word.” He tried to reassure her. She only needed a sliver of hope with his plan, “Bar the door, and if I am not back within a day, you must make for the shore west of Nearborne. The fishermen there are kind, and they would be sympathetic to a wanderer.”

“Even an old dwarf maiden,” he added, his lips curving into a brief, wry smile despite the grim circumstances, trying to lighten the heavy air with his customary pointed humor.

As Evie’s eyes narrowed, a flash of determination swept over her face, but it quickly softened into a sad resolve. “I’ll hold you to your word. Find me in one piece, pointy,” she said, the affectionate nickname hanging between them as a reminder of their deep bond. They shared a brief, tight embrace. It was a small moment of warmth in their chilling predicament before they split paths. Evie continued her rapid pace down the well-trodden path, while Veryyn, with Barron loyally at his side, veered off into the dense underbrush. The elf knew the terrain better than anyone, and with his faithful companion, he prepared to encounter their pursuers. He intended to give Evie the precious time she needed to reach safety. He did not share her fear, for in all their time together, he still had his secrets.

Chapter 5 – The Hunter and the Quarry

Garrett quickened his pace as the dogs excitedly picked up a fresh scent. The hounds were eagerly sniffing the ground and signaling to their handlers. “Yaevagrim, look there!” he exclaimed with a hint of urgency in his voice. As they ventured off the well-trodden path, the small party found themselves a stone’s throw from the well beaten mountain path. For hours they had followed the winding path upward. They had been led further than expected by the dogs’ eager noses, and they hoped for a breakthrough. They had followed a set of heavy prints, but they only occasionally showed upon the heavily trodden path. Now before them, nestled snugly between two robust trees, lay a low, makeshift shelter, seemingly hurriedly put together but sufficiently hidden from casual view.

“Stragglers. Round them up, men,” commanded Yaevagrim as he directed his well-trained dogs to inspect the area around the tent. Within moments, the men pulled out remnants and possessions left behind. They recovered two backpacks of notably different sizes. One was so small it seemed it might belong to a child, yet Garrett found it surprisingly heavy as he attempted and failed to lift it. “Is this packed full of bricks?” he said angrily. A round of hearty laughter broke from his comrades. With a practiced motion, Garrett used his long, straight sword to slash through the tent’s bindings, all of which collapsed into a heap on the forest floor. “No sign of fire; I doubt this was a hunting party,” observed Parth, his voice low and contemplative. “The packs are just like the ones back at the encampment,” he added thoughtfully. “How odd…” he mused, puzzled by their findings.

“Barnut, what is your opinion on this?” Yaevagrim inquired, turning to his trusted advisor as he tended to. He valued Barnut’s perspective greatly, considering him a beacon of reason in the current time of great chaos. After the recent upheaval in Nearborne, rational thought was indeed a rare commodity. It was likely that the entirety of Enwyld would soon be engulfed in the ongoing conflict. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Barnut slowly responded, “This crossbow, it’s not crafted by the elves. It’s too finely made. There’s nothing unusual here otherwise. Regardless, our course of action remains unchanged.” 

With that, Barnut picked up a nearby blanket and held it out for the dogs to inspect. The dogs, energized by the scent, excitedly sniffed at the fabric. Immediately, they became restless, each tugging at their long leashes and pawing the ground excitedly. They were eager to return to the main road. The entire party hastened their steps, spurred on by the continuous barking of the dogs as they made their way forward. They were driven by the mysterious clues they had uncovered. Yaevagrim set an unyielding pace..

Before long, the group found themselves returning to the winding footpath. They began their descent, winding down the northern slope of the mountain. The air on this side was noticeably cooler and the shadows cast by the dense foliage more pronounced. This was so, even though the sun was high in the sky, signaling midday. Their bulky armor clanged with each step, hardly allowing for a stealthy approach. Yet, the robust protection it offered instilled a profound sense of security among them. For the men of Nearborne, marching in the ranks adorned with the shining silver and blue of the guard was a profound honor.

Historically, the primary strength of Nearborne had been its brute force, a trait celebrated and relied upon through generations. This formidable reputation was precisely why they were able to exact heavy tributes from neighboring lands. Each clank of their armor was a reminder not just of their protective shell, but of the power and influence that came with their martial prowess.

As the party rounded a switchback along the forested path, Parth noticed something unusual. Lying across the trail was an animal that appeared to be dead. “What is that?” he asked if the group. “I’d call it a dog if it weren’t twice the size,” responded Barnut, peering cautiously at the creature. Each member promptly heeled their own dogs with sharp commands, aligning themselves two abreast as they prepared to investigate the mysterious animal. Garrett and Parth held the rear, following closely behind Yaevagrim and Barnut who led the approach.

As they neared the motionless form, their dogs began to hesitate, their tails stiff and noses twitching. Sensing the tension from their companions, the men exchanged eager looks and quietly drew their matching swords. With careful steps, they continued toward the mass sprawled across their path. The massive creature was indeed doglike in appearance, but it appeared almost mossy. It laid with its back turned to them. The men approached confidently and with the cocksure sense of invulnerability that men get after a decisive victory.

As they edged closer to the deceased animal, Barron suddenly sprang up on all fours. He faced the armor-clad party and let out a grinding noise that was unsettling to the ears and sent shivers down the spine. Then, as quick as Barron had stood up, he moved with horrifying agility and disappeared into the wood. The abrupt movement and call of such an immense, extraordinary creature startled the dogs, causing them to bark and tug vehemently at their leashes. “Be still, men,” Yeavagrim commanded in a firm tone, cautiously beginning to back away. Amid the confusion, the dog held by Garrett slipped from his grasp, darting away and retreating back along the path they had just traveled. 

“Garrett!” Yeavagrim called out, but his command was cut short as he tripped quite ungracefully and toppled over. Landing on the ground, Yeavagrim found himself beside the lifeless body of his companion. Blood stained Garrett’s mouth and trickled down upon well trodden footpath. There were no visible wounds and his armor was undamaged. His right hand was still tightly gripping his sword, as he layed motionless in the dirt. The scene was chilling, devoid of any obvious signs of an attack. “Ambush!” Barnut bellowed.

As chaos erupted, the men quickly released their dogs. They went away scampering and yipping, their loyalty momentarily forgotten in the panic. Swiftly, the group formed a defensive circle, standing facing away from each other. They were bracing for an imminent assault, but from whom or what? The wind howled above them, stirring the tree branches into a frenetic dance, while birds fluttered and called, adding to the cacophony. Yet, despite the tumultuous natural orchestra, there were no signs of the expected attackers. The men remained in their tense formation, each one alert and ready.

After a few harrowing moments in this standoff, Barnut broke the silence, his voice laced with tension, “What’s the next move, Yeavagrim? And what the hell was that thing?” Yeavagrim, ever composed even in the face of uncertainty, responded firmly, “Be still, men. Garrett will be avenged. I’ve killed bigger…” Right on cue, a deep, hoarse howl echoed through the forest, sending shivers down each man’s spine. It was then that Barron revealed himself again, positioned just a stone’s throw down the path, its eyes locked on the group. Yaevagrim had seemed to forget his words.

Facing the group now was the grotesque and viney maw of the creature, roughly the size of a large boar. Barron’s face did not resemble that of any beast known to the men. It featured large, dimly colored eyes that glinted with an unsettling light. Initially perceived as dark black or brown, the creature’s hide was the deepest green, shimmering eerily in the light. Instead of a mouth, he boasted an array of woody shoots, interwoven into massive jaws that were more reminiscent of a spider than any mammal. Barron let out another wail, a sound so potent that it seemed to silence the birds and still the wind itself, leaving the forest eerily quiet.

“What is that!” Parth cried out. His voice cracked and for a moment lost all weight. Quickly, the men readied themselves, assuming battle stances. Yaevagrim, trying to steel his nerves, added confidently, “I’ve killed many beasts, with less than the fine swords given to us by Kardone.” Yet, even as he spoke to bolster his and his comrades’ courage, the tip of his sword lowered slightly in a moment of involuntary hesitation. “But I’ve never seen anything like that,” he admitted, his voice betrayed a trace of fear. He had to acknowledge the strange and monstrous entity before them.

“All together now, men, for Kardone! And for the King!” Yaevagrim roared, his voice reverberating with determination and fervor. Motivated by their leader’s call, the group charged as one toward the monstrous Barron. The creature emitted a sound akin to trees grating against each other in the wind as it too charged forward to meet their assault. Yaevagrim, leading the charge, swung his large sword in a powerful arc. However, the beast was unnaturally agile. Barron easily sidestepped the wide sweeping attack.

In a swift counter-maneuver, Barron darted around the men, circling to their rear. With a sudden, fearsome bite, it seized Barnut, dragging him screaming into the dense underbrush. His cries for help pierced the forest, chilling the bones of his comrades as the creature disappeared, dragging him into the shadows. Barron moved with a horrifying grace and speed that none of the men could match. Left in stunned silence, the remaining men felt a deep dread wash over them as Barnut’s cries gradually faded into a haunting silence, leaving an ominous quiet in the forest.

“Steady…” Yeavagrim began, his voice quivering and losing its commanding tone. He was abruptly cut off by the sound of steel clattering to the ground. Turning sharply, he saw Parth drop his sword and sprint away in terror. “Coward!” Yeavagrim shouted after him, his voice filled with contempt and disappointment. Despite the defection, he steeled his resolve and pressed forward towards the dense forest where Barnut had been taken.

He was running with determination into the forest when he was brought to a halt. Unexpected hot searing pain suddenly pierced his neck. Veryyn’s blade, swift and deadly, had found its mark. Collapsing to the ground, Yeavagrim’s vision blurred, the blue sky above him swirling into a dark void as his strength faded. The blackened air seemed to swallow everything around him, his consciousness slipping away into the encroaching darkness. His last thoughts were not of his fallen comrades and the battle that remained unfinished, but rather his simple home and family.

Parth pushed himself to the limit, sprinting towards the mountain pass with all the speed he could gather. He was desperate to catch even a glimpse of his great city, which he believed was just beyond the horizon. The loud clanking of his armor, exacerbated by his full-speed dash, echoed in his ears, deafening him. For a fleeting moment, he considered shedding the cumbersome metal to gain speed but quickly dismissed the idea, realizing the risk was too great. His breath heavy and thoughts racing, Parth worried about how he would explain his actions to his superiors. The shame of being branded a coward weighed heavily on him, and he doubted whether his tale of survival would redeem his abrupt retreat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped so many drills,” he muttered under his breath, acknowledging his lack of endurance. His time in the guard had been short, and he hadn’t developed the robust physical strength typical of his fellow guardsmen. Each step now was a struggle. His body reminded him of his neglect and his mind haunted by the consequences of his cowardly actions.

As Parth hurtled along the path, his heart pounded in his chest. Suddenly, a tall figure materialized ahead of him. The figure’s elongated, pointed ears and slender build marked it unmistakably as elven. However, quite unlike the city elves Parth had encountered, this one had a much darker complexion and more pronounced features. He had long ears, and a long slender face, more like the caricature of an elf drawn by a bratty human child. These observations flashed through Parth’s mind as he came to a quick stop. Each detail intensified his growing anxiety. His heart thudded painfully in his ears, and his vision began to blur with fear and exhaustion.

Parth had hoped, above all, to reach the safety of his fellow guardsmen before encountering another elf. However, fate seemed to have other plans. Turning to retreat again, he saw the massive beast that had terrorized them earlier now following him at a calm, measured pace. Caught between the approaching elf and the beast behind, Parth’s resolve crumbled. Overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty, he fell to his knees on the rough path. As he looked up, the elf towered over him, presenting a formidable presence. Parth’s breath caught in his throat as he braced for what would come next, trapped and utterly defenseless.

“Why have the humans gone to war with the Uite? They were not warriors.” Veryyn asked, his tone calm and composed, cutting through the tension in the air. Parth, still kneeling, struggled to form words, his voice shaky. “Wh… what are you?” he managed to stammer, his fear evident in his trembling words. “What a rude question, little man,” Veryyn responded with a slight sneer. His gaze bore down on Parth, intimidating and unwavering. “I offer you a deal, akin to the ancient pact once forged between your ancestors and my kin. Tell me why the humans have taken to the warpath, and your death will be swift and painless. Refuse and you shall suffer a most grievous end. The choice is yours,” he declared. His words were laced with a cold finality.

Faced with such a stark ultimatum, Parth’s survival instincts took over. Panic set in and he began to babble. Quickly, he was spilling everything he knew in a desperate bid to save himself. Words tumbled out incoherently as he tried to convey the reasons behind the human aggression, hoping to appease Veryyn’s demand for information and earn a merciful end. His voice was frantic and breathless. His eyes darted around, seeking any sign of leniency from the imposing figure before him. Veryyn, apparently satisfied with the information he obtained, held good to his word.

Chapter 6 – The Disquieting Silence

Veryyn stooped low and cleaned his slender blade in the low, swaying grass just off the beaten trail. He took little joy in the kill, and wished to wipe away the remnants of the day’s grim task. As he did so, he stopped for a moment to give his four-legged friend a comforting stroke. The faithful creature wallowed in the affection from his master, his long tail thumping against the earth in contentment. The guardsmen’s death may not have brought him joy, but Veryyn also felt no remorse. Instead, a great depression brewed deep within him as he began his brisk walk back to the burrow that had been his home for the last few seasons. He knew now that Kardone ordering the guardsmen to the warpath was a reaction to his own raiding. Their personal vendetta had grown out of control, and many more deaths were coming.

His life with Evie, hidden among the dirt like a stone, was not the way of his people. It was a stark contrast to the lush, fruitful bogs of Sphangna where he had spent the earliest years of his life. He was raised immersed in the vibrant culture and ancient melodies sung by his kin. Back then, he had yearned for something beyond the simple life of hunting and singing the old songs. That was before he had known of the human menace. Yet, despite his current path, the echo of drums still beat in his heart. They rang out as a warm reminder of the life and rhythms he once knew.

In the wilds of ancient Eoforwood, ‘neath the moon’s soft silver glow

Lived a boar as black as midnight, with tusks as white as snow

None dared to track this creature through the forest wide and deep

Where the roots twist like serpents and the shadows softly creep

Oh, sing the song of spear and fang

Of the hunt that lasted days so long

Sing of the boar of Bron so bold

Whose blood was as black as heart was cold

From the village of Giedenlas came a youth with eyes like flame

Armed with nothing but an ashen spear, Dokkalfur was his name

He sought the boar of Bron to prove his worth to kith and kin

To return a hero crowned, with the boar’s head as his win

Oh, sing the song of spear and fang

Of the hunt that lasted days so long

Sing of the boar of Bron so bold

Whose blood was as black as his heart was cold

Through the bracken and the briar, he tracked the beast for days

Through valleys shrouded in the mist and hidden woodland ways

Till at last he heard the rustling and the mighty boar did see

With eyes that burned like coals beneath the old yew tree

The boar charged with fury, like a tempest through the trees  

Dokkalfur stood his ground, his fate as fixed as the mountain breeze 

Spear met hide in the dance of death, where only one could reign

And the echo of the struggle rang like a mournful, ancient strain

Oh, sing the song of spear and fang  

Of the hunt that lasted days so long  

Sing of the boar of Bron so bold 

Whose blood was as black as his heart was cold

When dawn painted the sky with streaks of gold and red

Dokkalfur stood victorious, the great boar of Bron lay dead

With strength borne of battle, he claimed the head as prize

And returned to Giedenlas, a hero in their eyes

But listen, children, to the wind that whispers through the night

For it carries tales of bravery, of sorrow, and of might

Remember Dokkalfur and the boar, in the shadows of the trees

For the wild woods of Eoforwood still hold their mysteries

Oh, sing the song of spear and fang

Of the hunt that lasted days so long

Sing of the boar of Bron so bold

Whose blood was as black as his heart was cold

So here’s to the hunter and the hunted, in the dance where fate is spun

In the heart of Eoforwood, where the streams cold and run

May the song of the boar and the boy, echo through the glen

In the twilight of the evening, till the woods call us again

As Veryyn sped down the footpath, the old familiar tune he hummed brought back fond memories. Although the words seemed distant, they were only partially obscured by time. He then realized that over the years, he must have gradually begun to think in the clunky and brutal language that was common in the East. It was a stark contrast to the melodic tones of his native tongue. “Come now, Barron, surely we have given our fair maiden time enough to make it home,” he said, glancing at his companion. Barron, lumbering graceful, followed closely behind. Despite their great speed, the pair made little noise. Indeed, their presence in the forest was as subtle and swift as a whispering breeze.

As they neared the burrow, Veryyn consciously slowed the pace to a comfortable walk. The remnants of ancient conflicts and deep-seated resentments still smoldered within him, but he always became light of heart when he was around his Evie. His thoughts shifted as he approached the haven of his burrow. Soon, he was feeling the coiled springs of depression within him gradually unwind. Evie, with her gentle demeanor and understanding heart, had a remarkable ability to soothe the storm within him. With her, Veryyn found a semblance of peace. Her presence coaxed forth a softer, more considerate side of the ancient elf. She had somehow tempered his turbulent emotions with a touch of tenderness, although in her brash dwarven way.

Crawling under the familiar overgrown roots that arched over the hidden path like ancient guardians, Veryyn approached the round dwarven door. He made a quick attempt to open it, his hands searching for any give, but found the door locked tight, just as she had promised it would be. “Evie, it is Veryyn,” he called out firmly, his voice echoing slightly against the dense wood. Without a moment’s hesitation, he knocked sharply on the heavy door to announce his presence, the sound of his knocking stark in the quiet of the woods.

He remembered then their parting words, and his insistence on securing the door behind her as a precaution against unexpected dangers. Outside, Barron paced restlessly by the entrance, his movements mirroring Veryyn’s growing concern. Despite the unease twisting in his gut, Veryyn spoke calmly to his four-legged companion. “I’m sure she is just being overly cautious,” he reassured, though his voice faltered slightly with worry. Barron responded with a low whine, sensing his master’s distress. Frustrated by the silence, Veryyn picked up a palm-sized stone and rapped it heavily upon the door, the sound more urgent this time. The door remained mute, offering no answer or sign of life from within.

The heavy feeling in Veryyn’s stomach intensified as he stood puzzled before the silent door. It was wholly out of character for Evie to be inattentive, especially during times fraught with danger. The sudden, sharp cry of a bird pierced the surrounding stillness, an unusual sound that made him instantly alert. Another call answered back, and Veryyn’s eyes widened in recognition. The cries did not belong to any species native to his home woods. Though he was no tree elf, his years spent in these lands had attuned him to their natural chorus. This was not the call of any bird in these woods.

Assuming a defensive stance, Veryyn knelt low, his senses sharpening to the hidden dangers around him. Beside him, Barron’s hackles rose, and a deep, woody growl rumbled from his throat, echoing the tension in the air. “You only know we are here because we have allowed it, dark one. We mean you no harm.” an unfamiliar, deep voice called out from the shadows, its tone chillingly calm. “I believe not, human!” Veryyn shot back, his voice firm and defiant. Recent memories of dark alleyways in Nearborne flashed through his mind. Before his eyes flashed scenes of narrow escapes and hidden threats. With a single swift motion, he slipped from under the overgrown roots, ready to confront whatever lay ahead, his hand drawing the thin blade at his side.

Facing the source of the voice, Veryyn’s initial shock gave way to wary assessment. Before him stood a tall, broad man who appeared calm despite the tension that hung heavy in the air as a thick fog. The man’s attire was unusual for the region. Instead of the heavy cotton pants and shirts typically worn by the locals, he was clad in lighter robes that flowed gracefully around his form. It appeared to be lacking the rugged practicality of the typical regional dress. His ears bore heavy golden studs, gleaming oddly in the dim light. These adornments were unusual and marked him as a stranger. A wide and  heavy leather belt, slung over one shoulder, completed his ensemble.

“I mean you no harm, elf. My name is Perthran,” the man announced. The man’s voice steady and his hands raised in a gesture of peace. His eyes, however, held a hint of caution as he added, “But I am not alone, of course.” Following his gaze, Veryyn’s attention shifted slightly, and he noticed a small woman standing a short distance away. She was so still and unobtrusive that he had nearly missed her presence. Her stance, though unassuming, was poised and alert, suggesting she was more than a mere bystander.

A head shorter than Perthran, the woman wore robes of the darkest gray, nearly black. They were fashioned similarly but designed to blend more effectively with the shadows. Her appearance lent her an ethereal quality. She blended into the landscape, and had intended to remain unnoticed and unseen. “I am Kotia,” she introduced herself with a voice that was quiet and breathy. “We are traders, nothing more. We are seeking the dwarves. We are not with the Nearborne guard.” Her statement was direct, meant to distance herself and her companion from any factions that Veryyn might view with hostility or suspicion.

“I do believe that you are not with the guard. Your dress says that alone. I am also not alone, but I believe you know that already,” Veryyn said, his voice carrying a warning tone. As they spoke, Barron had discreetly been stalking around to the flank, staying low to the ground and ready to pounce. The atmosphere tensed as Veryyn continued, “I don’t know what you humans think you are doing here, but I am not in the mood for pleasantries”

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the two strangers, pressing them further. “Where are you from, and what do you mean you seek the dwarves? There are no dwarves, save one, within two weeks journey from here.” His statement was firm, reflecting his knowledge of the area and its inhabitants.

“Well, that is not exactly true, now is it,” Perthran replied slowly and playfully. His response hinted at something that Veryyn hadn’t anticipated. The air thickened with tension and curiosity. This statement, and the air of the strange man disarmed Veryyn somewhat, but he remained vigilant. Standing rightly, Veryyn intended to probe the foreigners further. 

Chapter 7 – Intrigue from Garamas

“I am not one to speak of my business before a proper introduction. I believe that an elf from the west would be more rare a sight than traders from Garamas. What is your name?” Perthran stated. Veryyn found himself perplexed. In his long years, he had only heard of a place called Garamas, but had never met anyone from there. It was a rare sight indeed to meet anyone capable of crossing the great oceans. He had also never encountered anyone dressed in such strange attire as these two.

“I am Veryyn, if you insist. But please tell me, who are you two? If you are not with Kardone or the Nearborne oppressors, how do you know this country so well?” Veryyn’s tone shifted from curiosity to skepticism. “This dwarven passage has remained hidden from the humans. It has fallen out of memory long ago. Also, I know of only one dwarf nearby, and I happen to be in pursuit of that dwarf. What dwarves are you talking about?” he pressed. He was eager for answers that might shed light on their intentions but more importantly, he sought Evie.

His gaze intensified, focusing sharply on the foreigners. He looked for any hint of deceit or recognition in their expressions, ready to piece together the scattered clues they provided. The smaller foreigner’s response was calm and measured, easing some of the tension in the air. “We are more than happy to answer all of your questions. My name is Kotia, and this is my partner Perthrsn. However, I’d much rather talk without your beast ready to attack. Can you please call your companion?” She gestured toward Barron, who had positioned himself at the strangers’ flank. His body was coiled tight and ready to spring into action at any moment.

“Come, Barron, let us listen to what they have to say,” Veryyn commanded. His voice was firm but infused with an underlying warmth meant only for his bear-sized friend. With a slow and deliberate pace, Barron circled wide around the strangers before rejoining Veryyn, sitting faithfully by his side, a sentinel in repose.

“See now, no threat to you,” Veryyn reassured them, his tone a blend of diplomacy and caution. He then returned to the matter at hand, his curiosity piqued by the inconsistencies in their story. “You say there are dwarves nearby, but I have known none to live nearby. Kotia and Perthran, of Garamas, how did you find this little burrow?” His eyes had remained narrowed slightly as he posed the questions.

Perthran’s expression shifted noticeably as he responded, his broad face becoming a canvas of sincerity. His brows furrowed. “We spoke the truth when we first met. We have traded with the dwarves at Fulmin-Dum for many years. More so than the brutal humans in these parts. The hold is only a few days walk from here, if you know the way. However, it is tough country and nearly impenetrable.” He spoke with earnestness that Veryyn appreciated.

Veryyn, his curiosity now thoroughly aroused, found himself grappling with this new information. Fulmin-Dum was not a name familiar to him. Despite the many tales and songs shared with his beloved Evie about the halls of dwarves, this particular dwarven hold had never come up. Evie, with her deep roots in dwarf lore, had never mentioned such a place. 

Perthran, sensing Veryyn’s intrigue, elaborated further. “We made landfall southwest from here, as we have many times in the past. The journey is treacherous, navigating through the sea-stacks along the Ghostshore.” He paused, reflecting on their many voyages. “The gate to Fulmin-Dum is only a quick walk from the beach there.” His description hinted at a well-worn path known only to those who dared the perilous seas, a route unfamiliar to the locals and obscured by the rugged landscapes.

“Lies,” Veryyn stated flatly, his voice edged with disbelief. “There is no beach along the Ghostshore, and no ship can survive the attempt.” His assertion was firm, rooted in the knowledge shared and confirmed by generations of locals who knew the terrain. “Maybe,” Kotia replied, jumping in quietly to speak. “Maybe that belief is what the dwarves have relied on. They are a reclusive bunch, and refuse trade with any of the inhabitants of Enwyld. But it was the dwarves who sent word to Garamas years ago. They hoped that we might come to bring trade and sent a messenger. Most unusual people!” Her last statement left a flicker of amusement on Veryyn’s face. A dwarf willing to embark on a sea voyage was so far outside of anything he had known that it was nearly an impossible thing to imagine.

Regaining his composure, Veryyn pressed further. His expression turned serious once more. “That doesn’t fully answer my question, but that is definitely a strange story. Why are you here, at the mouth of my burrow?” His question hung in the air. He had been pointed and direct. 

The laughter that erupted from Perthran and the slight giggle from Kotia momentarily cleared the lingering tension. “Your burrow?” Perthran remarked, his voice filled with amusement as he regained his composure. “An elf squatting in a dwarven hold. I believe that I have seen everything now.” This comment, light-hearted as it was, sparked a small grin on Veryyn’s face too. Despite the peculiarity of his living situation, he found a certain humor in it as well.

“To answer your question, Veryyn, we were given directions,” Kotia interjected, bringing the conversation back to a more serious note. Just as she spoke, Perthran subtly slid his hand under his heavy baldric, a movement that did not escape Veryyn’s notice. The atmosphere became tense once again. Veryyn’s hand reached for the hilt of his long, slender knife that he had only recently sheathed. Barron, sensing the change, emitted a low growl, his instincts aligned with his master’s caution. The brief moment of levity had vanished, replaced once again by the undercurrent of mistrust. Distrust and unanswered questions hanging thickly in the air.

“Easy now, friends,” Perthran urged. Carefully, he withdrew several flat boards tied together from beneath his baldric. Each board was the length of his forearm and as wide as his hand. With deliberate movements, he untied the fabric binding the pieces, then gently bend down and laid them out on a bare patch of earth between them. It was a map, detailed and meticulously crafted. It seemed to represent southeastern Enwyld.

The map was instantly recognizable to Veryyn, showing the sweeping Dragonsback mountains running from the southern coast to the northeastern badlands. The imposing Iron Palisades capped the mountain range at the southern coast, while the expansive Kiowan Plains stretched westward, extending beyond the map’s boundaries. What caught Veryyn’s attention, however, were the unfamiliar red marks overlaying the familiar black terrain. These marks formed a complex network, like a spiderweb, weaving through the Dragonsback mountains. Various holds, unfamiliar to Veryyn, were listed, and prominently among them, within the Iron Palisades, was marked ‘Fulmin-Dum’ in heavy, blocky script. As Veryyn leaned closer, his eyes traced a particular section of the red spiderweb that ended precisely at the spot where they currently stood, marked by a single nondescript red dot.

Perthran continued, “You see, Veryyn, we made landfall at Fulmin-Dum and found the dwarf door unresponsive to our calls. It was quite unusual. Along the bank of that tough country, we made camp. For three days we hailed the mountain folk with no answer. We didn’t know what else to do, and after some debate, we made for your little burrow to see if we could reach our dwarf friends. That was a little over a week ago today.”

Veryyn was stunned at the information. In all of his life, he had never known dwarves to inhabit this far south. He felt foolish, but he had long been removed from the dealings of the world. He had preferring instead to remain hidden, scraping a living with the only one he had come to know and care for. The thought that a community of dwarves might have been living so close without him knowing was embarrassing. His gaze drifted back to the map, its red lines now seeming like lifelines to a world he had ignored for too long.

“It is locked,” Veryyn repeated, a hint of perplexity in his voice. “I do not know why. It has never been locked before except by myself or…,” he trailed off. His thoughts strayed to Evie, and suddenly his path was starting to become clear before him. “Perhaps our paths crossed for a reason. I am seeking a dwarf. Evie is her name. Together, we have resided here in this burrow for several years. Today, we were pursued by humans. We meant to meet here, but it is locked. She hasn’t answered my calls and I don’t know why.” Veryyn’s voice was tinged with concern. He felt a twinge in his stomach, an uneasy knot of worry.

“You care for this dwarf?” Kotia asked, her tone softening. “Yes. Very much so. She is long in years. I have been her companion for over a century,” Veryyn responded, his face reflecting the depth of his bond. Kotia nodded, her expression one of understanding. “I believe our paths are connected, at least for now,” Perthran chimed in, his voice reassuring. “Come, these are strange times. Let us make camp. In the morning, we will take another approach to reach our dwarven comrades.” The suggestion was met with nods. Veryyn finally felt easy enough to be civil with the strangers. It seemed that they may have to work together, for the time being, if he was to find Evie. Not wanting to camp in the open forest, Veryyn gestured for them to follow.

Under the protective embrace of the large overgrown roots, Veryyn led Perthran, Kotia, and the still cautious Barron to the sheltered area by the dwarven door. The sun dipped lower, painting the sky with shades of orange and purple. A cool breeze whispered through the rocks, offering a gentle reminder of the encroaching night. Kotia, her movements deliberate and calm, gathered a small pile of wood for a fire. With a hushed incantation, dark embers flowed from her outstretched palms across the wood, igniting a dim, smokeless fire. The flames seemed to dance atop the logs without consuming them, casting an eerie warm glow on their faces.

As the fire crackled quietly, their conversation meandered through various topics, the night deepening around them. Veryyn pressed again about Evie, the dwarves, and Fulmin-Dum until he was satisfied for the night. Barron curled up in the dirt close to Veryyn, who sat with his back against the cool stone. The foreigners, their voices eventually fading into tired murmurs, succumbed to sleep beside the mystical fire. Yet, Veryyn remained awake, his eyes occasionally scanning the darkness beyond their small circle of light. A pervasive sense of longing filled him. The thought of Evie lingered in his mind, her absence a weight against the stillness of the night. As the quiet hours wore on, his vigilance never wavered. He would find her.

Chapter 8 – The Nearborne Infiltrators 

Stirring from a restless slumber, Kardone found himself slow to wake. The discomfort of a troubled night lingered in his bones. The previous day’s reports from his scouts had been unsettling. A mix of minor victories and significant losses gnawed at his confidence. He had dispatched six companies of his best men to consolidate control over the Nearlands. The operations to cleanse his castle and city had been executed with commendable efficiency and the end result had been relative stability. The news from the eastern coastal settlements was less encouraging. His forces had suffered heavy casualties there, a fact that left him deeply frustrated. In a moment of irritation as he lay there in bed, he cursed under his breath. “Dirty knife-ears,” he said. He the cunning elves and their numerous allies along the eastern coast for the setbacks. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of his plush bed. The linens seemed to soft and did not comfort him.

Kardone moved silently across the room to his full-length mirror with muffled footsteps. As he dressed for the day, he selected his attire, choosing a commanding, dark gambeson and matching hose adorned with rich embroidery. Each article of clothing was chosen with care, a symbolic armor against the challenges ahead. Standing before the mirror, he adjusted the fit, ensuring each seam lay perfectly, as though aligning his external appearance could somehow order the chaos of his thoughts. He steadied himself for the difficult decisions that lay ahead. He raised his chin proudly as he dressed. He was fortified by the resolve to reclaim momentum and turn the tides in his favor.

The morning light spilled generously through the curtains and cast bright patterns on the floor of the castle. The castle was unusually quiet and somewhat in disarray. The absence of Elven hands, who had once managed much of the castle’s daily chores, was keenly felt. “Good riddance,” Kardone muttered under his breath. His disdain for the departed Elven servants clouded his mood somewhat. The human servants who remained were few and struggled to maintain the extra burden. The kitchen, a vital heart of the castle, had seen its hearth grow cold and unused for a full day now. The whole of the castle was with low morale and disorganization that had taken hold.

“Jesse, come in here,” Kardone called out with a commanding tone. The door opened as Jesse, ever faithful, entered swiftly and silently into the warden’s spacious chambers. In his hands, he carried a tray bearing roughly sliced meat and bread. It was a far cry from his usual, finely prepared meals. It was a meager breakfast, but it would have to suffice under the circumstances. “Cold breakfast again?” Kardone remarked with a hint of irritation, his frustration with the ongoing situation within the castle evident in his voice. Jesse, setting the fine silver tray somewhat abruptly on the bed, nodded. “Cold again today, sir. But I believe our stores will sustain us for quite some time. I’ve sent men out last night to recruit additional hands to help around here,” he explained. There was much to be done.

As morning light filled the castle Kardone and Jesse commenced their routine ritual of armor fitting. It was a morning ritual they had shared for many years, ensuring every piece was aligned perfectly for both protection and ease of movement. Once fitted in his intricate and impressive armor, Kardone, followed closely by Jesse, left his quarters and passed the stern guards stationed outside. The heavy clink of their armor echoed through the quiet halls. 

From a shadowed alcove, Leif emerged. He seemed to materialize from the very stone of the hallway where he had been waiting, unnoticed until he needed to be seen. “Have any more messengers returned in the night?” Kardone inquired, his voice echoing slightly in the vast corridor. “None, sir,” Leif replied, his voice quivering slightly. As they walked, the metallic jingle of the warden and his companion filled the grand corridor, punctuated only by their conversation. Leif kept pace with them, moving silently, and ever-present.

“Send a message to the East,” Kardone commanded. “Have every man return. We will regroup and ride as a single army. Overwhelming force to crush the elven supporters.” His disdain was palpable as he continued, “What kind of man would shelter an elf, anyway?” His words were sharp and cold. There was a harsh reprisal against any who opposed his will in these trying times. As they continued down the corridor, the castle started to awaken with the purpose of impending war.

“No man, only worms,” Leif retorted with a dry edge to his voice, a comment that seemed to amuse Kardone, bringing a rare smile to the warden’s stern face. United in their resolve, the three men continued their walk toward the great court, discussing matters of state and strategy. The castle halls felt quiet, and the absence of the Elven hands was palpable.

As they entered the great court, it was clear that Kardone’s day was to be consumed by the intricate duties of governance. A great many individuals waited beyond the halls, in an effort to see the warden. The primary concerns on his agenda included addressing the shortage of servants within the castle and resolving disputes arising from claims over the forfeited Elven properties. It was a contentious issue that sparked heated debates among his human subjects. These were just a small sampling of the domestic issues Kardone would face today. His influence extended far beyond the castle walls, with many from across the Nearlands seeking his judgment. He had always been known for his firm yet fair approach to stately affairs. Kardone ruled on all matters of state with a practiced hand and was well respected.

Throughout the day, the court was a flurry of activity. People entered and exited in a steady stream, with each person eager to present their case and hear the warden’s decisions. Long hours passed and Kardone’s posture in his chair gradually slumped. It was a visible sign of burden that he carried. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to press upon him. It sapped his energy and his mind occasionally drifted back to thoughts of the battlefield. In moments of reverie, he imagined himself not in the crowded and clamorous court, but on the open field. He yearned to be leading his men with sword in hand. It was a place where the rules were clear and the enemies easily identifiable. However, Kardone felt a sense of purpose that came with his stewardship and did his best to lead the people. He snapped back to matters at hand.

As the clock struck midday, a temporary lull fell upon the court. It allowed all a much-needed reprieve. Kardone seized this opportunity to withdraw to his expansive dining hall. The vast room, with its long tables and high ceilings, could comfortably accommodate a hundred feasting men, yet today it held only one. As he settled at the head of the table, the echo of his solitary presence filled the cavernous space. Jesse stood at a discreet distance, ever vigilant, while a few guards were scattered throughout the hall. Kardone appreciated the presence of his guard and felt much at ease.

Despite spending the majority of his day in Jesse’s company, Kardone realized that he could not recall the last time they had truly eaten together. Such trivial thoughts, however, were quickly dismissed from his mind. They were overshadowed by the pressing demands of governance. Though he had addressed a significant number of issues that morning, the stack of matters awaiting his judgment seemed inexhaustible. With a forceful bite, Kardone tore into his meal, the sounds of his eating resonating off the stone walls, and he took hearty swigs from his heavy iron mug. The break was brief and he intended to make the most of it.

The calm of the dining hall was shattered by a loud commotion emanating from the direction of the western doors. Startled from his solitary meal, Kardone hastily wiped his face and sprang to his feet, driven by the urgent sounds of distress. Beside him, Jesse reacted instinctively, drawing his sword and dashing towards the source of the noise. Outside the doors, there was a tussle. He was mere steps away when the great doors slammed shut with a resounding thud, echoing ominously throughout the hall.

Jesse threw his shoulder against the heavy doors, trying to force them open, but it was futile; they wouldn’t budge. From outside, the clatter of heavy furniture being moved and piled against the door filled the hall, a clear indication that it was being deliberately barricaded. Inside, a tense silence fell over the room as Kardone and Jesse turned to survey the scene behind them. It was then that they witnessed a shocking betrayal unfold before their eyes.

Several guardsmen who had been stationed around the hall had removed their heavy armor. As each helmet was lifted, the face beneath was revealed not as human, but Elven. The warden’s quickly realized the extent of the deception and anger boiled in him. Around them, several other guardsmen lay slain, their bodies strewn unceremoniously across the stone floor. The elves had infiltrated his ranks, disguising themselves as his own soldiers to execute a surprise assault from within the very walls of the castle. Kardone and Jesse were now acutely aware of their situation. The battle hardened men braced for confrontation.

“Kardone!” Jesse’s voice echoed through the hall as the first of the infiltrators charged at the warden, sword held high in a reckless assault. With a seasoned warrior’s instinct, Kardone had drawn his sword and taken a defensive stance. As the first elf charged towards him, he parried swiftly and countered with lethal precision, his blade piercing through the Elven assassin. With a fluid motion, he sidestepped the falling body. There was a thud as the corpse hit the stone floor.

Regaining his stance, Kardone braced for the next wave of attackers. Before they could close in, Jesse arrived at his side. His sword swept through the air in a deadly arc. With a skilled and forceful strike, he relieved two of the charging elves of their heads, each hitting the ground with soft, inconsequential plops, followed by the heavier thud of their bodies. The display had momentarily halted the advance of the remaining elves. Their surprise attack had been ruined and their momentum broken. The remaining assailants fled through the open eastern doors. Kardone and Jesse took a brief moment to assess their situation.

The din of clashing metal and urgent voices filled the air as guardsmen, battle-worn and weary, soon poured in from the eastern door of the great hall. They called out to their warden, seeking direction amidst the chaos. Kardone and Jesse, having momentarily subdued the immediate threat, turned to meet the incoming soldiers. Their expressions were stern and commanding. With a calm demeanor that belied the intense situation, they walked toward the reinforcements, signaling them to slow their frantic pace.

As they approached, Kardone’s frustration boiled over. He shook his head vehemently, his voice thundering through the hall as he berated the soldiers for their lapses that had allowed the infiltration and subsequent assault. “Secure the western door immediately!” he roared, dispatching many men to navigate around to the barricaded passageway and reassert control. Turning to Jesse, he muttered angrily, “There are spies among us. How is it possible that they penetrated the guard?”

Together, they exited the dining hall, stepping past the bodies of fallen elves and fallen guardsmen strewn across the floor. Kardone’s gaze fell upon one of his own men lying near the western door, a casualty of the earlier tussle to secure the entry. Disgust etched on his face, he nudged the lifeless body with his boot and spat out a single word, “Wretch.” His voice was thick with contempt. Now more than before, Kardone realized the depth of the espionage and was disgusted with the guardsmen he had once called comrades. He knew that he had to root out the treachery.

Chapter 9 – Slithering between the peaks

The bright sun was suspended high in the sky. It cast a warm glow down, penetrating the trees as the newly formed party made their way through the dense and rugged forest terrain. The morning had started with a somewhat lengthy discussion. Veryyn and Perthran finally reached an agreement on what they believed to be the best route to gain access to the expansive dwarven complex hidden deep within the sinuous Dragonsback mountains. The closest access to the tunnels lay directly west of Veryyn’s subterranean burrow. Avoiding detection would mean forging new paths through the unyielding Dragonsback peaks. Ascending steep mountain slopes would be a tough hike, but they agreed that it would be preferred over the quicker, riskier alternative. The well-trodden path leading to the Uite encampment and would surely be crawling with men from Kardone.

Throughout the journey, Barron remained noticeably aloof. He kept his distance and interactions with the two foreigners minimal. He was not inclined to be fast friends or engage deeply with those he was unacquainted with. Besides his long friendship with Veryyn, his preferred solitude. There was no camaraderie between Barron and the humans, as the elves are not the only creatures who remember the times past. However, outside of Veryyn’s companion, there was a light air that seemed to be forming among the others in their small group.

Allowing the newcomers to take the lead, Veryyn cautiously followed a short distance behind. He observed closely how the strange humans navigated the thick brush. Perthran, with deliberate strokes, was cutting a trail using a long, wide blade that seemed perfectly designed for this particular task. The blade was exceedingly thin and light. It did not appear to be intended for battle however, and it seemed likely to bend or break if it came down on plate mail. Kotia, on the other hand, moved quite differently. Her movements were reminiscent of the ancient tree folk described in the old tales. She trod softly, nearly imperceptibly, across the forest floor, and left barely a trace of her passage.

Barron seemed to appreciate the wide path that Perthran was forging, as it made it easier for the beast to follow. Coming to a clearing in the heavy underbrush, they could see in the distance a single desolate peak. The treeline ended far short of the tall peak. It was capped in heavy grey and peppered with melting snow. Further in the distance, behind the first, was a row of jagged white-speckled peaks that faded into blue in the distance. Perthran gestured toward the nearest giant and said, “If we can round the summit of that peak today, we will find ourselves in warmer and more sheltered conditions for the night. We must make haste.” Although his comment seemed directed mostly at himself, Veryyn nodded in agreement. Pushing past the clearing, they crossed through a high valley before beginning their ascent towards the summit. Perthran’s large physique labored significantly as he pushed through the dense underbrush, and it became apparent to Veryyn why those from Nearborne and their kin favored their robust cotton garments. The lightweight robes that Perthran wore offered scant protection from the bramble as they pushed forward.

As the sun continued its westward journey across the sky, they rose higher above the mountainous terrain. A cool breeze of summer brushed against their skin. The air was thinner here and the gentle wind was a welcomed companion. It offered a soothing chill that eased the exertion of their hike. Behind them, though breaks in the dense canopy of trees stretching to the south and east, Veryyn could just catch a glimpse of the distant blue horizon.

Further ahead, the dense forest began to give way to jagged rocky slopes. Moss-clad rocks and jutting outcroppings became more frequent, marking their progress above the treeline. At this higher elevation, the expansive view opened dramatically, revealing the sprawling city of Nearborne below. From this vantage point, they could also see the tiny specks of ships scattered along the distant horizon. They navigated a path that wound its way between two towering peaks. With each step, the gray shale beneath their feet crunched and shifted, occasionally breaking away to tumble down the slopes below..

Perthran pointed out the expansive view as they paused for a brief rest atop a large, exposed boulder. “You can see nearly all the way to Garamas from here, Kotia,” he said, taking in the beauty of the mountain. Barron, on the other hand, showed signs of unease since they had left the protection of the tree line. He paced slowly, tracing a wide circle around the rest of the group, his discomfort apparent. During the break, Perthran retrieved a brass-colored telescope from his belt. Compact in design, it was no bigger than the palm of his hand. Perthran extended it out, and it grew larger than the length of his forearm.

Holding the fine brass telescope up to one eye, Perthran surveyed the landscape. His gaze scanned the sprawling terrain stretching toward the sea. There were small villages visible along the coastline, each appearing as nothing more than a cluster of houses nestled near the water’s edge. After a quick survey, he collapsed the telescope and secured it once more at his side. Looking to lighten the mood, Perthran then turned to Veryyn with his usual loud manner. “What does that pup of yours eat?” Veryyn replied dryly, “Whomever he chooses.” The remark elicited brief smirks from the others, but they quickly faded when they weren’t returned by Veryyn.

Following a modest lunch of dried bread and fruits, the group resumed their journey. Veryyn walked in silence, his mood pensive as memories of his beloved occupied his thoughts. He had first met her under circumstances not entirely dissimilar. She had been fleeing persecution from the far north after her family had been ousted from their ruling position in her homeland. Veryyn had discovered her desperately clinging to the ground, fear etched into her face as she clung to the earth, afraid to fall into the sky. Since that fateful meeting, it felt like they had shared a lifetime of experiences together. Several human lifetimes, in fact. Lost in these reflections, Veryyn was abruptly jolted back to reality.

Barron’s agitation had grown noticeable. As they advanced, a sudden scattering of flat flaky stones tumbled down the steep pathway a ways ahead. Reacting instantly, Perthran unsheathed the wide-bladed machete that he carried at his side. His movements were sharp and ready. Intensity ignited in Kotia’s eyes as she adopted a defensive stance, her palms turning upward. Dark red and black currents began to dance mysteriously around her fingers. 

The mountain before them seemed to awaken with movement as strange rock-skinned creatures appeared crawling over the mountain surface. These creatures, resembling large lizards, moved with eerie agility across the stones. Their bodies adapted perfectly to the contours of the rock, clinging tightly. When they ceased moving, they disappeared into the natural landscape and became nearly invisible to the eye. “Kragcreepers!” Veryyn shouted. He stood prepared for combat with his slender knife in hand.

Dozens of beady eyes locked onto Veryyn and the eerie focus of the kragcreepers unsettled him. Their rocky faces parted to reveal multiple rows of jagged, stony teeth. With a sudden burst of coordinated energy, they surged toward Veryyn as a creeping horde. Barron, quick to react, leapt at one of the advancing creatures. The creature’s thick hide resisted his jaws, and it thrashed about. More of the creatures swarmed over Barron, overwhelming him. Perthran swung his machete with formidable strength, cleaving one of the beasts cleanly in two.

Breaking from the group, Veryyn tried to navigate the chaos. He attempted circling and outpacing the kragcreepers to find a better position against the onslaught of the fiends. Despite his efforts, he quickly found himself swamped by the sheer number of attackers. His movements became restricted as he was engulfed by the horde. Suddenly, the entire mountain began to tremor beneath them. Elf, man, and beast alike were stunned and each attempted to remain upright. As the mountain swayed, Veryyn caught a glimpse of Kotia.

Kotia chanted in quiet, ethereal tones. When the threat had grown close, Kotia had disappeared. She hadn’t pressed forward towards the beasts, nor had she retreated. She had made herself smaller and less inconspicuous. In a swift and decisive motion, she had pressed her hands against the rocky ground, calling upon the giant. The mountain responded to her command. It shuddered, and loose rocks and earth began to slide downward. Around her, a deep red mist swirled. It grew in intensity as her whispers echoed like thunder through every nearby valley. Her voice rang and beat in the ears of all around her. The angry lizards scrambled haphazardly among the tumbling rocks and were scattered.

The group quickly gathered around Kotia to reassess their situation. “We can’t stay here. We need to move. They will be back,” Veryyn stated. He acknowledged Kotia’s effective use of her power with a nod, “That is a nice trick, Kotia.” He spoke in a casual tone. “A nice trick!” Perthran exclaimed, his tone laced with fire. “You have forgotten your place, elf. This enchantress is Magi of the Aegaeon Isles. You’d best mind your tongue.” Kotia seemed to emerge from a deep trance, the mystical fog clearing from her eyes as she regained her composure. Standing firmly, she addressed the group with urgency, “Let’s go. We need to make it below the tree line. We need to leave now.” Her words spurred them into action.

Chapter 10 – The Path to the Unknown Hold

Their chatter was minimal for some time. The kragcreepers were not unknown in the high peaks, but they did not generally move in large numbers. There was some talk about this, and the other wild beasts that lived in the forests. Navigating the wild, rugged terrain of the Dragonsback mountain pass, the group trudged onward. They were driven by necessity despite their growing fatigue. As they wound their way through the high pass, Veryyn caught glimpses of the Northwest horizon. The foothills eased into stretches of amber grass as far as the eye could see. The relentless pace allowed no opportunity for rest, and the physical toll was evident in their weary expressions and sluggish movements.

“My feet aren’t handling this well. The mountain is unforgiving,” Perthran confessed. His voice was heavy with exhaustion. Yet, the group pressed on, enduring the long day’s trek as the sun began its descent behind the mountainous backdrop. They approached the tree line from above just as the sun’s last rays stretched long shadows across the vast plains below, while the sky above lingered in the twilight glow. Barron had sustained a few minor cuts and scrapes during their skirmish with the kragcreepers. However, he already showed signs of curious natural healing. His vine-like flesh had oozed a thick sap and began to form a crust. Despite the physical marks of the encounter, his spirit became buoyant as they descended from the rocky peaks into the sheltering embrace of the lower forests.

In the light shelter of the trees, the group made camp under a rocky overhang that offered some shelter from above. This side of the mountain was more exposed, allowing the chilly winds from the Northeast to sweep through. This left a persistent coolness in the air even within their makeshift shelter. Veryyn, with his keen eyesight, spotted several grouse roosting in nearby trees. He set out to bring in his supper for the night.

Meanwhile, Barron settled close to the others. They were busy setting up a fire, raising shelters, and sorting throug their usual provisions of dry breads and fruits. Perthran pulled out a dram of strong liquor that burned with intensity as they shared it among themselves. They nipped at it lightly and gradually, there was lighthearted merrymaking among the two. As the fire crackled and the warmth began to fill their small camp, Perthran and his companion reminisced about past adventures and recent challenges they had faced. They raised toasts in honor of their own exploits, the resilience of the dwarves, and their distant homeland, bringing a sense of camaraderie to the cold mountain air.

In a moment reflecting the mood around the fire, Barron turned his face away from the flames, perhaps finding the light and heat of the fire too harsh. In observation, Perthran said with his usual rough tone, “Missing your dwarven master, pup?” Barron offered Perthran a brief glance before turning away once more, his actions speaking loudly. Barron was heavy-hearted over the loss of Evie. Perthran and Kotia comforted the beast with assurance that they would be with the dwarves soon. In a short time, they spotted their elven companion returning. As Veryyn made his way back to camp, several freshly caught grouse dangled loosely from his hip. Among human company, his prowess in the wild was unmatched. His arrival was met with a spirited uproar from the rag tag group. While Veryyn himself wasn’t particularly inclined to celebrate, given the mood that had gripped him earlier, the infectious merriment of the Garamans was hard to resist.

“We are taught to celebrate every victory in my country, elf. Come, have a pull.” Perthran said, extending a strangely shaped metallic container towards Veryyn. It was an oddity to the elf—unfamiliar in design and feel. It was cold yet somehow also warm to the touch. With a moment of hesitation, Veryyn took the flask and removed its intricately decorated cap. He took a mouthful of the fiery liquid, which warmed him pleasantly as it went down. It was not offending his palate. Kotia and Perthran cheered loudly as he finished his draught. “Better drink slowly, friend. It has more bite than it would make you believe,” Kotia warned with a grin. Veryyn proceeded to clean and skewer the birds, placing them over the fire. Under Kotia’s command, the fire rose up to cook their meal with a brighter, hotter flame. As the night wore on, the thoughts that had been weighing on Veryyn began to dissipate, and he found himself drawn into the warmth and joviality of the group. The rest of the evening blurred into a festive haze as he allowed himself to relax and partake in the revelry.

As dawn broke, and the early sunlight filtered through the trees, it bathed the campsite in a gentle, warming glow. Veryyn awoke, rising with the sun. He sat quietly for some time, immersed in the serene morning quiet. The light danced across the treetops, creating a tranquil scene. “Good morning, elf,” Perthran greeted, his voice groggy as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The remnants of last night’s fire lay cold beside them, causing Perthran to shiver slightly in the morning chill. The lingering warmth of the previous night’s drink still seemed to hang in the air. It was comforting and mild.

Perthran, gathering his bearings, looked around and then spoke back to Veryyn. “Another full day, I would guess, before we reach the entrance to the dwarven tunnels,” he said. “The map doesn’t name the hold that lies there, but I recall the dwarves speaking of it fondly.” Veryyn, intrigued and somewhat puzzled, responded, “A hold without a name?” His interest was piqued. Perthran nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It might have a name by now. When this map was given to me, the site was a fresh dig. It has been a new venture deep beyond the existing tunnels. It had been an expedition to unearth what remained of deeper, older dwarven mines. I forget the old names.” he explained, trying to recall the details lost to time. The conversation lingered in the crisp morning air as they prepared for another day’s journey. Veryyn pondered his Evie, and at least for now, he decided that he would allow himself to hope. He hoped beyond hope that his Evie had taken up with reclusive dwarves in the deep.

Kotia was stirred by the sound of conversation. She rose from her makeshift bed and her expression was weary. “No kragcreepers visited in the night, I see,” she said. Wrapping her light blanket more snugly around herself, she added, “You two have hardly given them a chance.” She glanced at the brightening sky. Their camp was still covered in long shadows by the canopy of trees. “I’d give it another hour before the sun peers over the trees. But if it is time, let us go,” she said, pulling herself from her bed and readying herself for the day ahead.

Veryyn watched her with a sense of curiosity. In his mind, he mulled over the odd pair. He had not figured if these two were a couple or merely business partners. Perthran, with his robust and commanding presence, stood in sharp contrast to Kotia’s more subdued and fleeting demeanor. Yet, when it came to decision-making, they appeared as equals, each holding their positions with a certain dignity. In terms of sheer power, Veryyn could not help but acknowledge that Kotia had displayed abilities that eclipsed anything he had ever witnessed before. Her control over the elements the previous day had left an impression on him. He felt a twinge of fear, and was glad that the human mage was in his party.

Swiftly, the group organized themselves for the day’s journey. They packed  up their makeshift camp with practiced ease. Kotia and Perthran shared with Veryyn their breakfast of dried fruits and roots that were unfamiliar to him. At first glance, these fruits appeared unappetizing, withered and brown. To his surprise, they were both delicious and surprisingly satiating. After some water and conversation, they resumed their journey, their path winding through the tall evergreens that were typical in the upper reaches of the forest. They continued descending and the forest thickened, offering a palette of different hues. The undergrowth thinned out, while the trees grew taller, their branches stretching ambitiously upwards.

The mood was lightened by the foreigners, who began to sing as they walked. Their songs were cheery, but unfamiliar to Veryyn. They were filled with flowing melodies that seemed to weave seamlessly into the sounds of the forest. Perthran led with his robust voice, and Kotia joined in shortly afterwards.Her voice was sweet and quiet, but no less enchanting. Together, their voices melded beautifully, and they sang old walking songs.

In the morning mist with beards so long

The Magi tramp with a merry song

Their staffs tap-tap on the cobblestone

On paths untrod and lands unknown

With robes that shimmer in moon and sun

They speak of stars and the deeds they’ve done

Their maps unfold like tales of yore

With every step, they seek for more

Oh, ho! The roads are wide

Beneath the silver moon they stride

From mountain high to river deep

Through secrets old their ways do sweep

Across the dale, beneath the trees

Where whispers dance in the midnight breeze

Their eyes alight with the fires of lore

The Magi wander, forevermore

By ancient runes and stones they pass

Their laughter caught in the evening grass

Stars their canopy, the earth their bed

By dawn’s first light are their spirits fed

So hear the song of the wand’ring wise

As over hill and vale they rise

Their journey endless as the sky

With hearts aglow and spirits high

Oh, ho! The roads are wide

Beneath the silver moon they stride

From mountain high to river deep

Through secrets old their ways do sweep

Yes, through secrets old their ways do sweep

Across the dale, beneath the trees

Where whispers dance in the midnight breeze

Their eyes alight with the fires of lore

The Magi wander, forevermore

In twilight gleam, they pause to rest

Spinning tales of east and west

With eyes that gleam with starlit flame

Each place a story, each star a name

They conjure light with whispered words

Call forth the night’s unseen birds

In the cool eve, with spells they weave

A tapestry of dreams at eve

Oh, ho! The roads are wide

Beneath the silver moon they stride

From mountain high to river deep

Through secrets old their ways do sweep

Yes, through secrets old their ways do sweep

Across the dale, beneath the trees

Where whispers dance in the midnight breeze

Their eyes alight with the fires of lore

The Magi wander, forevermore

Their fingers trace the ancient scripts

On worn-out scrolls and stone monoliths

Knowledge vast, in pages old

In books of cloth and scrolls of gold

With potions brewed beneath the moon

Their chants rise up in a mystic tune

The air grows thick with scents so sweet

As magic swirls where the four winds meet

Through towns where folk with wonder gaze

The Magi walk in a mystic haze

Gifts they bring of magic rare

Blessings spread with utmost care

Oh, ho! The roads are wide

Beneath the silver moon they stride

From mountain high to river deep

Through secrets old their ways do sweep

Yes, through secrets old their ways do sweep

Across the dale, beneath the trees

Where whispers dance in the midnight breeze

Their eyes alight with the fires of lore

The Magi wander, forevermore

And when at last the journey ends

Where sky and ground in twilight blends

The Magi smile at roads they’ve crossed

In lands of frost and sunlit moss

Oh, ho! The roads are wide

Beneath the silver moon they stride

From mountain high to river deep

Through secrets old their ways do sweep

Yes, through secrets old their ways do sweep

Across the dale, beneath the trees

Where whispers dance in the midnight breeze

Their eyes alight with the fires of lore

The Magi wander, forevermore

Their voices trailed off. Kotia laughed. It was a light, infectious sound that carried effortlessly through the trees. “Silly kids’ songs,” she remarked with a playful grin. “I’m afraid my beard is too short to fit the description.”

Perthran returned her smile, the bond between them clear and warm. The mood among the group was light as they navigated through the increasingly dense forest. The tall trees loomed above them, ancient and stoic. They cast long shadows that danced on the forest floor as the sun raced westwards. With each step, the anticipation of reaching the dwarven hold grew. Veryyn walked with a determined and single-minded pace.

Ahead, the trees opened up and gave the party a clear view of the sprawling plains to the northwest. They were nearly down into the foothills. “We are almost there.” Kotia said. “Look there, what is that?!” With that, Perthran drew his spyglass from his belt. Extending it, he held it up to eye and looked out along the plains. His breathing became tense. Veryyn did not require the looking glass. His hope for finding his Evie grew dim at the terrible sight before him.