Tales to Tell

[morgo]

I have tales to tell. They come to me while I work in the fields. It will be sometime before I start writing them, for they are grand tales indeed. I'll post as I progress.

[Angry Sandwich]

I wait expectantly.

[morgo]

I finished the first section. It is as of yet untitled, and probably will be for awhile. It's not a chapter, but only a part of it, sort of a puase between happenings.

So, here it is.

____________________________________________________

A sudden lurch in the cart jarred her awake. Looking about, it took Una a moment to remember where she was. A soft snort from her mule brought her back – she was on route to Delor. She silently cursed herself for having fallen asleep, for even the well trodden merchant roads were not entirely safe for lone travelers, particularly female travelers.

The thought bridled her. Why was it that the women were always being attacked be bandits and creatures of the woods? Did no one have a sense of decency anymore? It used to be that a maiden could walk, alone and unarmed, down the king’s roads without fear of being molested by some ne’er-do-well. It was only until recently, with the succession of the new king, that these roads had become unsafe. News was that Prince Arabust – wait, that would be KING Arabust now – had pulled the royal guard from the patrols. In there stead he had placed ‘hired help’, a group of men who were little more than mercenaries. While they did their job effectively, or so she had heard, there loyalty was to coin and not to country. Anyone with a few bits of silver, let they be man or beast, could be ‘overlooked’ by the weekly rounds of the watch. Word was that there were now bands of goblins, and worst, taking refuge in the foreboding woods.

Una shivered at the thought, and quickly looked around hoping that she wouldn’t find the beady eyes of some horrible little greenskin watching her from the trees. But the bushes were bare. She sighed with relief. Goblins were relatively harmless when encounter alone, they being a cowardly lot. Any show of force was usually enough to send one running, and a flash of steel would nearly give them a heart-attack. But a group of them, even just three or four, was a different story. Even the stoutest of combatants could be bogged down by the miserable buggers, killed by the rusty knives and short swords that the creatures inevitably carried. As a result, one rarely found goblins individually.

And that, Una speculated, was the most likely reason for her visit here. She was still uncertain precisely why she had been sent this far out from home. If there was a goblin infestation, the Order should have sent a more capable envoy. Though it was true that she had been trained in the art of war, as all followers of her faith were, her prowess was not in combat. In fact, she had barely passed her training. Why then had the Order sent her?

The young half-elf pondered this while her mule, Chutney, continued to meander down the road, pulling the well-laden cart behind him.

She was a competent spell-caster, having mastered the fundamental powers of her order, and she was well versed in the tactics of goblinoids – one never could be too careful. Perhaps that was the reason. None of the other students knew nearly as much about the creatures of the dark as her. Una frowned. No, that couldn’t be it. Learning about the enemy in books was far different than facing them in actually combat. She couldn’t even be sure that the text was accurate.

Una shook her head violently. She should not think such thoughts! The Order’s teachings were absolute, and any transgression of them was a sign of treachery and would result in swift punishment. Why, she remembered when one of the other students, she was fairly certain it was Beflus, had questioned teacher Neor about something in a fashion which belied doubt (it was alright to question, but only to clarify). Neor stood, walked over to Belfus, and escorted him outside. Then the teacher returned, alone. For three days no one heard from or saw Belfus. When he returned on the morning of the fourth day, he did so in silence, his curly locks having turned from the midnight black that made him the love of many of the female students, Una included, to a white more pure than snow. He said nothing of what had transpired. Indeed, he said little from that point on. He became an apt pupil, always attentive, and never again questioned the words of his elders.

None were told what had blasted the very color from his hair, but everyone knew what it was none the less. Belfus had been shown The Dark - and survived.

The memories of the event jarred her almost as much so as Chutney had. Perhaps THAT was why. While the event had galvanized the rest of the students, a powerful lesson in obedience, her own doubts remained unabated.

For as long as she could remember, Una had been a troubled girl. From early on she had been deemed ‘special’. Her parents, while not themselves members of the Order, where none the less pious and devout adherents to its teachings. In a time when such belief in the higher powers was beginning to wan, such stringent observation of their teachings did not go unrewarded, so said the elders. The head of the Order had foreseen that Una would have bestowed unto her a blessing of the Gods.

And she had.

Only, far from being a blessing, it was a curse, at least to Una. Her dreams were not the fantastic visions of her peers, of soaring through the late afternoon skies, or of besting shadows in the night, but of great ruin and suffering. Nearly every night the sights and sounds of devastation would fill her minds eye, and she would wake a wash in a cold sweat. They were never clear, or if they were, she would as soon forget them when she woke, but they were always powerful.

The Order thought this a sign of her future greatness. Her parents had thus at once given her over to the care of the Order, cementing her life on the path of the cleric even before she had learned to speak (for the elders had perceived her thoughts with their great magic’s), and she had never forgiven them for it. Had she the choice, she would never have followed the Path of Belief, as it was know, but would more likely have left home as soon as physically possible. There was no love at home, neither with her parents or the Order. Her father and mother cared little about the physical and mental well-being of their daughter, only her spiritual aspect. They believed Una to be a great champion of the Light, and sought only to encourage her training. The Order, accordingly, followed suite, separating her from most of the rest of the classes for ‘private’ teachings. These teaching were nothing more then intensified versions of the lesson all the other students had, and it angered her that she was being subjected to such ‘special’ treatment.

No, the incident with Belfus had done little to focus her mind. If anything, it had increased her doubt in the ways of the Order. How could subjecting someone to such horrors result in anything positive?

Once more Una shook her head, though not quite as strongly as before. Such thoughts again. And that, of course, was why she was out here, miles away from the church, investigating goblins in the guise of a lowly candle maker – to purify her mind. Her teachers had run out of ideas on how to make her change her ways, and so had sent her out here to find ‘inner peace’. She sneered. Inner peace? She thought not! What they wanted from her was absolute obedience, and the blind belief that she would achieve greatness! They never asked her what she wanted, never thought that perhaps she didn’t care to great. And a candle maker?! That was but an insult! Candle makers were providers of Light, yes, but the lowliest providers to be sure! They thought her incapable of making her own way through the Darkness, and so sent her with their own Light! And not even a proper Light, but the Light of a single flame! What good would that do against goblins? Goblins were frightened by light, for sure, but not from a candle! She would need something stronger.

With that thought, Una gave a quick, sharp motion with her hand and issued forth a few words. Instantly her glove began to shine with brilliance of a torch, half blundering herself in the process. Now THAT was Light!

As she smiled smugly to herself, she slowly realized that was drawing far too much attention to herself with such illumination. The sun was slowly sinking in the west, and it would not be but a short while until nightfall, for the sky was already darkening. Her glove as it were, would not ‘turn off’ for quite some time afterwards. She would be a highly visible target for anything waiting in the woods.

She quickly removed her glove and stowed it in her pocket, quenching its light.

So, the Order thought to cleanse her mind of the ‘curse of self-determination’, to turn her into their little lap-dog?

“I think not…” she whispered to herself. Snapping the reins, she urged Chutney forward, determined now to reach Delor before night.

“I’ll complete their task, yes, but of my own accord,” she spoke allowed. “Perhaps then they’ll see fit to let me be.”

And so Una planned of how she would deal with the goblin problem, alone and without help. She review what she knew, consulting a text which she had brought with her, mumbling her ideas to Chutney as he pulled her ever forward.

[Angry Sandwich]

Intriguing. For some reason I can't stop picturing Una as a hunched old woman ala Howls Moving Castle.

Took me long enough to get around to reading it

[morgo]

Alright I've finished the first chapter. This will be all of the actual story that I'm going to post. I'll keep everyone upto date about it, but this is all your going to see untill I'm done.

This is the first draft. I rewrote the end of the first section because it just didn't seem right, so I'm including everything here. Enjoy.

[morgo]

CHAPTER ONE

A sudden lurch in the cart jarred her awake. Looking about, it took Una a moment to remember where she was. A soft snort from her mule brought her back. She was on route to Delor. She silently cursed herself for having fallen asleep, for even the well trodden merchant roads were not entirely safe for lone travelers, particularly female travelers.

The thought bridled her. Why was it that women were always being attacked be bandits and creatures of the woods? Did no one have a sense of decency anymore? It used to be that a maiden could walk, alone and unarmed, down the king’s roads without fear of being molested by some ne’er-do-well. It was only until recently, with the succession of the new king, that these roads had become unsafe. News was that Prince Arabust – wait, that would be KING Arabust now – had pulled the royal guard from the patrols. In there stead he had placed ‘hired help’, groups of men who were little more than mercenaries. While they did their job effectively, or so she had heard, their loyalty was to coin and not to country. Anyone with a few bits of silver, let they be man or beast, could be ‘overlooked’ by the weekly rounds of the watch. Word was that there were now bands of goblins, and worst, taking refuge in the foreboding woods.

Una shivered at the thought, and quickly looked around hoping that she wouldn’t find the beady eyes of some horrible little greenskin watching her from the trees. But the bushes were bare. She sighed with relief. Goblins were relatively harmless when encounter alone, they being a cowardly lot. Any show of force was usually enough to send one running, and a flash of steel would nearly give them a heart-attack. But a group of them, even just three or four, was a different story. The stoutest of combatants could be bogged down by the miserable buggers, killed by the rusty knives and and short swords that the creatures inevitably carried. As a result, one rarely found goblins individually.

And that, Una speculated, was the most likely reason for her visit here. She was still uncertain precisely why she had been sent this far out from home, told only that she was to meet with the Delorian magistrate. If there was a goblin infestation, the Order should have sent a more capable envoy. Though it was true that she had been trained in the art of war, as all followers of her faith were, her prowess was not in combat. In fact, she had barely passed her martial training. Why then had the Order sent her?

The young half-elf pondered this while her mule, Chutney, continued to meander down the road, pulling the well-laden cart behind him.

She was indeed a competent spell-caster, having mastered the fundamental powers of her Order, and she was well versed in the tactics of goblinoids – one never could be too careful. Perhaps that was the reason. None of the other students knew nearly as much about the creatures of the Dark as her. Una frowned. No, that couldn’t be it. Learning about the enemy in books was far different than facing them in actually combat. She couldn’t even be sure that the texts were accurate.

Una shook her head violently. She should not think such thoughts! The Order’s teachings were absolute, and any transgression of them was seen as a sign of disbelief and would result in swift punishment. Why, she remembered when one of the other students, she was fairly certain it was Beflus, had questioned teacher Neor about something in a fashion which belied doubt (it was alright to question, but only to clarify). Neor stood, walked over to Belfus, and escorted him outside. Then the teacher returned, alone. For three days no one heard from or saw Belfus. When he returned on the morning of the fourth day, he did so in silence, his curly locks having turned from the midnight black that made him the love of many of the female students, Una included, to a white more pure than snow. He had said nothing of what had transpired. Indeed, he said little from that point on. He became an apt pupil, always attentive, and never again questioned the words of his elders.

None were told what had blasted the very color from his hair, but everyone knew what it was none the less…

The memories of the event jarred her almost as much so as Chutney had. Perhaps THAT was why. While the event had galvanized the rest of the students – for no one else that year asked for anything after the event - her own doubts remained unabated. The reasons for which, however, were not secret.

For as long as she could remember, Una had led a troubled life. From early on she had been deemed ‘special’. Her parents, while not themselves members of the Order, where none the less pious and devout adherents to its teachings. In a time when such belief in the higher powers was beginning to wan, such stringent observation of their teachings did not go unrewarded, so said the elders. The head of the Order had foreseen that Una would have bestowed unto her a blessing of the Gods.

And she had.

Only, far from being a blessing, it was a curse, at least to Una. Her dreams were not the fantastic visions of her peers, of soaring through the late afternoon skies, or of besting shadows in the night, but of great ruin and suffering. Nearly every night the sights and sounds of devastation would fill her minds eye, and she would wake a wash in a cold sweat. They were never clear, or if they were, she would as soon forget them when she woke, but they were always powerful.

The Order thought this a sign of her future greatness. Her parents had thus at once given her over to their care, cementing forever her life on the path of the cleric even before she had learned to speak - the elders having perceived her thoughts with their great magics - and she had never forgiven them for it. Had she the choice, she would never have followed the Path of Belief, as it was know, but would more likely have left home as soon as physically possible. There was no love at home, neither with her parents or the Order. Her father and mother cared little about the physical and mental well-being of their daughter, only her spiritual aspect. They believed Una to be a great champion of the Light, and sought only to encourage her training. The Order, accordingly, followed suite, separating her from most of the rest of the classes for ‘private’ teachings. These teaching were nothing more then intensified versions of the lesson all the other students had, and it angered her that she was being subjected to such ‘special’ treatment.

No, the incident with Belfus had done little to focus her mind. If anything, it had increased her doubt in the ways of the Order. How could subjecting someone to such horrors result in anything positive? Particularly in one so young?

Once more Una shook her head, though not quite as strongly as before. Such thoughts again. And that, she realized, was why she was out here, miles away from the church, investigating goblins in the guise of a lowly candle maker – to purify her mind. Her teachers had run out of ideas on how to make her change her ways, tired of waiting for her to reach her potential, and so had sent her out here to find ‘inner peace’. She sneered. Inner peace? She thought not! What they wanted from her was absolute obedience, and the blind belief that she would achieve greatness! They never asked her what she wanted, never thought that perhaps she didn’t care to great. And a candle maker?! That was but an insult! Candle makers were providers of Light, yes, but the lowliest providers to be sure! They thought her incapable of finding her own way, and so sent her with their own Light! And not even a proper one at that, but the Light of a single flame! What good would that do against goblins? Goblins were frightened by light, for sure, but not from a candle! She would need something stronger.

With that thought, Una gave a quick, sharp motion with her hand and issued forth a few words. Instantly her glove began to shine with brilliance of a torch, half blinding herself in the process. Now THAT was Light!

As she smiled smugly to herself, she slowly realized that was drawing far too much attention to herself with such illumination. The sun was slowly sinking in the west, and it would not be but a short while until night fell, for the sky was already darkening. Her glove as it were would not ‘turn off’ for quite some time afterwards. She would be a highly visible target for anything waiting in the woods.

Una quickly removed her glove and stowed it in her pocket, quenching its light.

When the Order sent her out here alone, they thought it to teach her a lesson. Well it had, and now they had to pay the consequences for it. They had given her time to think, and now that she had, she decided that, upon the completion of this task, she would return to the church and tell them that she was done.

“Yes,” Una spoke aloud, “but first we have other matters to attend to, don’t we Chutney?” The mule gave a snort of agreement. Una pulled out a rather large tomb and began flipping through it. “First we have to figure out how to deal with the goblins.”

While she read, Chutney pulled them ever forward into the gathering glooms.




Welik collapsed against a headstone, exhausted. He sat, leaning heavily on the old, worn stone as he slowly fought to catch his breath. If only the ground wasn’t so hard he’d have been done over an hour ago. But the winter thaw had yet to arrive, and the earth was still relatively frozen. Still, he considered between breathes, he was making good time. Another foot, two at the most, and he’d be done.

He pondered for a moment where he was. It was quite by accident that he had found the place, just walked off the road for a call of nature, when lo and behold, this quant little cemetery! It was ancient to be sure, it’s overgrown plots a sure sign that it had known no new tenants in many, many years. The headstones were in remarkably good condition, most likely due to the dense forest surrounding it. There would be little wind through here, and the canopy above was so thick that very little precipitation ever reached the ground. A quick scan of the dates had confirmed it – this yard had been abandoned for almost two centuries. An excellent site!

The wizard forced himself up, knowing that he needed to finish soon. Even though he was still miles outside of town, he wasn’t that far off the road and was in no mood to have to explain himself to anyone who might catch sight of him. On top of that, he had not spied the night watch in several days, and it would only be a matter of time until he ran into them. If they caught him digging around these old tombs, it would cost him more than a few pieces of silver – and he barely had that!

And that was of course part of the reason he had chosen this site. The epitaph on the headstone proclaimed that beneath it lay ‘Lady Oliviaa of Egnas, Wife, Mother, and Lover’. The term ‘lady’, Welik knew, did not simply mean that she was a woman, but one belonging to some line of nobility. The fact that there was little written about her signified that she was only of minor status. Still, he thought, the rich, regardless of their standings, always thought to take it with them when they died. And why not? It wasn’t like people dug up dead bodies to steal their jewels or anything, right?

Welik grinned. The rich could be quite ignorant sometimes. Just because THEY wouldn’t do something, they didn’t think that OTHERS could, and would. Propriety, he thought, was so over rated sometimes.

Oh well, their mistake would be his gain!

He dropped back into the pit, scooped out another head-full of dirt, and chucked it over lip of the hole.

Most people thought it a ghastly and offensive business, grave robbing, but it really wasn’t. So long as one chose the proper site, it was actually a rather enjoyable experience. Take this place for instance. This cemetery was out of the way, which meant that the chances of someone running into him were slim. The site was quite old, so there would be little reason to expect a nightly visitation. Its age, combined with its relatively small size meant that it was more or less safe from any roaming dead – there was too little actual meat left for any ghouls, and there were no mausoleums or crypts for vampires. The bodies themselves wouldn’t be that bad, for decades of decay would leave little more than bones.

And gold.

The thought made him smile.

THUNK!

As if on cue, his shovel struck something solid. He was in luck for the grave was shallow. Clearing the top of the coffin, he paused. The place may be old, but he shouldn’t take any chances. He remembered one time when he opened a coffin not long back, a zombie had burst out and nearly eaten him alive. It seemed that it had been buried rather deep, and had been unable to crawl its way out on its own. He had escaped unharmed, having managed to scramble out and torch the beast, but he had lost a rather pretty pearl necklace

So Welik, keen not to repeat the experience - he was rather low on funds at the moment – climbed out, grabbed his mace as well as a hammer and his lone enchanted stake – one never could be too careful – and went back down. He lowered his head to the rotted wooden lid and listened for a full minute, on guard to smash down with the mace at a moments notice. Nothing happened. Satisfied, he cleared the rest of the dirt away.

Most people carried some variant of a sword with them. They were easier to wield than a mace, and did more damage to a person when they hit. That was why most people simply died when they encountered the undead. Swords were all about piercing organs, and severing arteries. That was just fine when you fought the living who had working organs to puncture and blood to bleed. The undead however had neither of these. A poke of a sword would just annoy them, if they even felt it. What was needed was a heavy, blunt object, something to crush them with. That and some holy water.

Welik padded himself down, and was relieved to find that he hadn’t lost the bottle. Holy water was expensive, and he really didn’t want to ‘reallocate’ any. Clerics were not very hospitable to those who stole from them.

Still smiling, he picked up his crowbar and began prying back the oak boards – which disintegrated. The unexpected shift in weight threw Welik of balance, and he tumbled forward, landing face-to-face with a nearly decomposed skeleton. Nearly, because a great fat beetle was having his way with one of the last few remaining bits of skin still on the skull. A slight wave of nausea swept over the young man, but it dissolved immediately when he brought his eyes up to what lay on the corpses forehead. The circlet which sat there was absolutely gorgeous! It was silver, or perhaps white gold – platinum if he was extremely lucky – with an exquisite arrangement of emeralds and rubies. At its center sat a magnificently cut sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. The settings themselves were tastefully designed, and the headpiece as a whole gave the impression that the woman who had worn it – Lady Oliviaa of Egnas, Wife, Mother, and Lover – was a women of style. It was not some hideous monstrosity encrusted with gems, but light and elegant. It was almost certainly of elven design, which meant that he would have to travel quite far before he attempted to sell it. The woman who wore it might be long dead, but the one who made it might still be alive and well.

Carefully removing the circlet, he searched his dear Oliviaa for anything else of value. Upon her left wrist sat a bracelet, and on her right finger, a ring. Both matched the headpiece. Welik let out a small squeal of delight. He made to remove the pieces, but stopped as he spied something. Clasped against her breast, the women held between her skeletal fingers what appeared to be a highly ornamental scroll case. Intrigued, Welik slowly undid the dead woman’s grasp of the leather casing, managing to extract it with out damaging her. Jewels were one thing, this was another. Most of the time the hands of the dead were merely crossed over their chest, not clasping something.

Welik inspected the tube carefully, noting the gold filament along the edges, and the magnificently script across the face. He was unfamiliar with the language, but it was highly ornate. It resembled Draconic, but had somewhat of a Dwarven feel to it. It was very strange.

So he opened it. Or at least tried to. The cap at the end wouldn’t budge. So he tried the other side. Same thing. Perplexed, waved his hand over the casing, muttering a few words. Perhaps it was Locked.

And so it was. It began to glow slightly, and a moment’s concentration revealed that it was indeed enchanted, abjuration it appeared. Studying it a moment longer, Welik made sure that there was nothing else, particularly inside. It was not unknown for individuals to stack spells, but this one seemed to have only one on it. That was a good sign. Whatever lay within had to be of some value. Why else the security?

He could not yet Dispel it, but Welik believed that he could force it open. He anchored between his feet and a rock in the grave wall, and began to pry of one end with the crowbar. A single hard shove popped the cap off, and the smell of lavender issued forth from the opened end. Inside lay a single sheet of parchment.

Welik gently pulled out the lone sheet, and was surprised to find that it did not crumble. The seal had indeed done its job!

The writing was instantly recognizable. The blocky symbols marked it as Dwarven, yet it was script like and very wispy. Welik hadn’t seen anything like it before, nor heard of such writing. He couldn’t quite make out what it said, for light was almost non existent, so he reached up to the edge of the hole and brought down the lone lit candle for illumination. Sitting down on the edge of the casket, he read.

His eyes began to water, the words instantly touching his heart. Never before had he read anything such as this! Again he read it over, more slowly this time, absorbing every nuance. Welik could not believe that the words could have been written by a dwarf, for he thought it impossible for the gruff beings to be able to tell of such grief and compassion..

At a loss for words, he simply sat there. He looked to the woman who lay beneath him, conscious now of how important she must have been. She had been a companion of the elves, the elves never producing such works for those they did not trust. Not only that, but she held the love of the dwarves, for it was not a simple matter for a dwarf to open his heart, particularly to those other than his own kind.

Welik began to wonder who this woman was. Who could have won the favor of both the elves and the dwarves? He had had plans to take with him a few bones as they were necessary components to a few of his spells, but that was no longer an option. In fact, he was beginning to feel guilty about taking the jewels. No wonder the cemetery had lain undamaged for so long – none dare disturb it.

That made no sense. Surely, if this Oliviaa had such ties with these two races, then should not the grave be in better condition? Both were a long lived people, it was still possible that those who knew her were still alive.

Perturbed, Welik wrinkled his brow. He would have sat longer to ponder this, but something had just landed on his head. Feeling for it, he found a small mound of dirt. Confused, he looked up.

And straight into the most beautiful pair of sea-green eyes he had ever known.

[morgo]

Una stood there, candle in hand, staring down at the slightly disheveled man. She was at a loss for words.

It was only by shear coincidence that she happened upon him. She had been riding on her cart, deep in thought, when she caught a glimpse of light from the corner of her eye. It was barely visible, more akin to a lesser darkness in the shadows than an actual glow. In fact had but a moment longer passed she would have passed it without notice. Intrigued, Una halted Chutney and dismounted to investigate what was probably nothing. In retrospect it had been quite foolish. Not only did the night bring out the worst sort of monsters, but she had left her sword back on the cart. Curiosity, however, had gotten the best of her and she made her into the woods anyways, with nothing but a candle - the irony of the situation would not dawn upon her until many years later – and found an old cemetery. The light emanated from an open tomb, and as Una approached she noticed to her dismay a backpack and a short-handed shovel.

The young woman had frowned. Grave robbers. At this Una hesitated. It was only then that she haddiscovered that she was unarmed. She had prepared no offensive spells for the day, either. If she found herself in trouble it would be difficult to extricate herself from it.

So with her mind telling her to go back and hasten towards town, her feet carried her forward. Shuffling forward to the edge she had look in and found this man sitting on an unearthed casket, straddling a skeleton. Una was so shocked that she couldn’t move. She hadn’t really known what to expect, but not this. The guy was dressed all in black, which seemed reasonable given his profession, and was… well… just kind of sitting there, staring down. It appeared that he was studying something in his hand, a parchment perhaps, but she couldn’t be certain.

Wanting to get a better look at the man, she was fairly certain is was a man, Una foolishly moved forward, knocking loose some dirt.

Her heart froze as a clod tumbled onto the thief’s head, stopping her dead in her tracks. The man tensed, felt the top of his head, and slowly turned to face her.

He stared blankly up at here, a slight look of shock on his face. Obviously he was as surprised to find someone here as she was. Then Una noticed something strange. His eyes, a deep hazel, were reflecting more light than they should. She realized with a start that he had been crying.

That got her moving. “Wha- what are you doing here?” Una stammered.

The young man – yes, it was a man, and human for his ears were rounded – seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. He glanced about himself, then fixed her with a rather queer look. “Well, I’m not playing Three-Dragon Ante, if that’s what you mean.” He flashed her an odd, toothy smile.

Una was caught off-guard. Was he joking? “What?”

His expression turned somber. He leaned forward slightly, and in a voice reserved normally for children, slowly replied with, “I’m robbing a grave.” He remained that way for a moment, then bent back to his previous position. Again, the toothy grin.

This man was indeed mad! But what to do? She could run back to the cart and try to run. Surely she would make it, since she wasn’t the one who had to climb out of a six-foot pit. She could race to town and get help. Una considered this for a moment. No, it was no telling how far Delor was from here, though she should have already reached it by now. And, as a cleric of the Order of Light, it was her duty to purge the creatures of Darkness, wherever she found them. She would stand her ground and deal with threat.

Resolved in her duty, Una inhaled, and was about to demand his surrender, though what for she was uncertain, when she remembered that her mission was one of secrecy. She was not to inform anyone, save for the magistrate of Delor, of who she was. As a lone member of her Order, she could easily fall prey to unscrupulous characters. The Order had the tendency to make more enemies than it did allies. Hence the guise of a candle-maker.

Una paused, her mouth open. What to do then? The cloaked figure below decided for her. In a whirlwind of cloth and mud, he stood, his head and shoulders protruding from the hole - for the hole was actually rather shallow. Una jumped back.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he intoned with regal air, “for I believe I may have startled you.” Startled was one way to put it! “If you might allow me out from this dank, dark hole, t’would be greatly appreciated. Considering our present predicament, however, you might be more inclined to let me stay here for it does leave you at the advantage.”

Caught of guard but such demeanor, she took another step back, allowing him room out. “Thank you, madam.” He gently rolled the sheet he held in his hand, put it into a case, and secured it on his person somewhere in the depths of his cloak. With that he placed both hands on the grass, and in one smooth motion, vault himself over the edge, landing neatly on both feet.

As he casually brushed himself off, Una realized that, had she ran, she would have likely been caught. This strange man who spoke to her in such a distinguished manner moved with almost cat like grace. His motions were swift and calculated, and as he cleared dirt from his clothing, he paid her no attention, giving her the time to study him. She could do little else at the moment, for it appeared that her mind was still trying to come to terms with what was going on. Goblins were one thing, but this man was something else!

He was rather tall, standing just over six feet, and the damp, muddied clothes stuck to him, showing him of slight build. His face was long, the candle Una held throwing shadows over it so that she could not make out many details. She saw that he too was unarmed, then remembered that she had spied in the grave a small mace. If he was a threat, why would he leave his weapon? Perhaps he had simply forgotten, as Una had. Or perhaps, more likely, he had something concealed in the folds of his clothing. A dagger perhaps. She would need to be careful.

Content that he had cleaned the worst of the dirt from his garments, he stood erect, once more fixing her with that unusual smile. “If I may introduce myself,” he said, bowing deeply, “I am Welik the Wizard, and Necromancy is my trade.”


He had caught her flat-footed. Good. He really had no desire to incapacitate such a beautiful creature. He was unsure of how she might react to his brutal honesty, however lightly he might have put it, but Welik saw now that it had succeeded. So long as she could not keep her thoughts together, he would be in control the situation and, with equal measures of luck and skill, manage to escape. There was a moment when he had gotten worried, when a look of something powerful had crossed her face, as if she was about to smite him where he stood. But her mind must have tripped over the matter, and it was once again his game.

“And who, my dear lady, might you be?” he asked graciously. It was obvious she was not a threat, being unarmed and seeming rather skitterish.

“U-Una.”

“Una, eh? What a delightful name! Ah, and fitting!” He paused and looked about. “Might I be so bold as to ask why such a fair maiden as your self is out alone and un-chaperoned at this hour?” As he spoke, Welik screwed his face into one of concern. It wasn’t so difficult since he was slightly concerned for the poor girl’s safety as it were. Why indeed was she out here alone?

The young woman, however, appeared to be getting herself together. No doubt the elvish blood which sharpened her ears had also sharpened her mind. “M-my business is my own,” she said with some authority, though still hesitantly. “And I must be on my way.” She began to back away.

Intriguing. “Your way to where? There are no towns or rest stops for a great many miles.” That wasn’t entirely true. There was an inn about an hours ride back the way she had come - judging by the direction that her cart was facing – back just before the fork. But if she didn’t catch him on it, then he would at least know in which general direction her point of origin was, though why he should care he did not readily know.

Her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, lit up. “What? What are you talking about? How far is the next town?” She seemed shocked and more than a tad perplexed. Well, Welik thought, he guessed he would be as well if he were a lone maiden who had just met a muck covered man digging up graves in the middle of the night.

“Oh,” he replied, a minor look of surprise playing about his face, “About a half-days travel that way.” Welik pointed the way she was heading. How was it that he had not heard the cart? Particularly since there was no other sound, not even the crickets? Honestly, you can be quite daft sometimes, he mentally berated himself. What if it weren’t some pretty little half-elf, but some other creature of the night that had stalked you? His inward smile at that was slightly more devious than the outward one he was currently displaying. Creature of the night indeed! And then he froze. No crickets? That in itself was odd. But that would mean –

Una’s eyes widened in alarm, looking not at he who stood before her, but past him. Already Welik was moving, reaching inside his cloak as he turned to face his enemy. Enemies. There were three of them, goblins carrying an assortment of spears and pointy bits. He therefore shifted the direction of his hand form one spell pouch to another, pulling out a bit of bone and hurling it at the skulking creatures. They were almost on top of them when he turned, no more than twenty paces. That was more than close enough. Welik’s voiced issued secret words with secret meanings, and his face flashed like that of a skull. All three of the goblins stopped dead in their tracks, terror-stricken. They stumbled over their grimy selves as they turned to flee, trying desperately to escape this foul beast who had once been a man.

Welik, looking absolutely normal, turned back to the girl who eyed him suspiciously, no confusion left in her eyes. “That will not hold them off for long. Stupid they might be, but there are enough of them that they might work up the courage to return. I suggest we leave. Immediately.”

Una stared at him as if she were sizing him up. “Agreed,” she responded, giving a terse nod. Turning on her heel she strode back to the cart. Bewildered at her sudden sense of self-control Welik followed. Where was the flustered woman that he ha met but a minute ago? Not only was she not surprised at his actions, but she showed no signs of fear when confronted by goblins. There was something to this girl who had just recently, and suddenly, entered his life, and Welik was resolved to figure out what it was. He no longer thought that she would lead him to the authorities for his ‘crime’, as he now considered himself to be a hero, but he decided not to discuss it unless she asked. If they got too near to the next town with her having questioned him on the matter, he would have assume she would bring him in and would need to part ways with her. He didn’t want to.

She climbed up on to the front of the cart, attempting to hide the hilt of the sword that lay there. Welik however caught sight of it and his breath caught. She was armed. And the craftsmanship of the hilt suggested that she was more than proficient in its use. So, he thought, she had merely forgotten it. Or she had had no use for it when she left the cart. That worried Welik something awful. Attractive she might be, but as the necromancer was well aware, it was the attractive ones who men most often had to fear. The tables had turned in her favor, he realized, and he wasn’t sure he could turn them back. As if to emphasize this she ordered him up beside and to her left. That way she would leave her right hand free to grab her sword if it came to that. He didn’t like this one bit. But what could he do? He had loosened one of his most potent spells, and had little else to protect himself with if more trouble arose. In fact, he had not even paused to retrieve his belongings – or the treasure – and so was almost completely dependant on this woman for defense. He did not wish to consider the irony of the situation at the moment, so he silently mounted the cart.

A soft word from the no longer so soft half-elf brought the cart to a start.

There would be no camping outdoors that night, and Welik could only hope that their mount had enough energy to make it Yadner before dawn broke.




Her head hurt. She had rode all night, tense, waiting for the shadows to leap at her and drag her into their depths, never to be seen from again. It had been a close call, and she was lucky to have survived. More than lucky. Una suspected that there was more than just chance at work here. Her first mistake had been leaving the cart unarmed. Dismounting in itself was not a mistake, she considered, for it would have been a violation of her code to have not investigate the situation, if only to prove that it was nothing. But to leave without her sword? That was just plain foolish. The second error was in not returning for it when she found Welik, who she thought was simply scum. The third was let him talk, to befuddle her mind and let him take control. True, she was not to make her allegiances known, but out there, alone and facing but a single man, she should have struck out, whether with words or force. Instead, she let this dark magician work his wiles, making her seem like more of a fool than she already was.

Una closed her eyes as she sat at a table, a forgotten bowl of stew slowly cooling before her.

She could have died on several occasion, whether by his hands or the goblins. Yet she survived. Instead of being nothing more than a bottom-feeder, a grave crawler with pretty words, Welik proved himself beyond measure, for he was indeed skilled in the arts of wizardry. He lied neither on his profession nor on the reasons for his being at the graveyard, and Una found that commendable. He could have escaped at anytime, and she doubted that he would have much trouble with many of the nighttime creatures. He was, after all, traveling alone, and professed to have been doing so for quite sometime.

This was most definitely not a chance encounter, she was certain. But for what reason could there possibly be for their meeting? Was he not a being of Darkness, one of the things she had sworn to destroy? Why such an improbable companion? Welik was indeed amiable enough. Though he was hesitant to talk once they boarded the cart, a few strongly worded questions loosened him up.

Still, why him? He was a self-proclaimed grave robber, she had even caught him in the act, yet his justifications for doing so seemed most reasonable. He had explained that, while his skills were more than adequate, his obsession with death – and yes, he told her, it was an obsession – prevented him from obtaining any lucrative positions. It was not, he had told her, the bodies themselves which fascinated him, but their nature, the philosophical implications of them, and the lives that the deceased had left.

“For you see,” he had explained as they rode, “it is through death that we have a greater appreciation of life.” At this Una had shaken her head in disagreement, but before she could reply he continued. “Consider for a moment, the fickleness of life. One minute you could be sipping the finest elven vintage in the greatest dinning hall, conversing with the dearest of friends, when suddenly you choke on a piece of steak and die.”

She had risen her eyebrow at that. “And how often does that happen?”

“More often than you might think, though not the specific case. More often than not death comes suddenly, though the process itself might take some time. But most people won’t, or can’t, accept this, thinking that death is a long ways away, that they have time for anything and everything. They put things off indefinitely, never doing the things which make them happy because they have ‘more important things’ to do. And what, pray thee, is more important than happiness?” As this last part Welik had become full of passion, and Una had been afraid that his raised voice would attract unwanted attention to them. But when he regained control of the volume of his voice, she was somewhat upset that he did not continue in the manner.

“Duty,” was Una’s response after a moment, though she knew she need not give him an answer. At that Welik looked surprised, then his face smoothed and he gave her such a look that it made her turn away, as if ashamed. It was not the look that her teachers gave to her and her peers to quiet them when they erred. It was not a glare, it was not out of despise or contempt. It was in fact full of such tenderness and understanding that she could not bear it. She had turned away not out of shame, but out of embarrassment.

“Yes,” he said smiling, “I guess duty is just as important. But if we cannot be happy in our duties, then what is the point?”

It was this that weighed so heavily on Una’s mind, this the reason why she sat here, unable to sleep though she was desperately in need of it, with her head in her hands. Could one be truly happy in their duties? Una didn’t know. What she did know that she wasn’t happy with hers. Then again, had she been given the chance to choose, she would never have taken it. There certainly was no room to be happy at the school, and there was little to enjoy out alone on the road. Well, until she met Welik. But Una had told the not-unhandsome magician none of this, instead letting him continue to talk while she stared ahead.

“And what about death? How does she fit in with loving life?” he asked without asking. “Why, she plays the most important role of all! She hides behind every corner, yet is never seen. She cares for the young and the old, the infirm and the healthy, yet is despised at all. It is she that every man must someday lay with, but who’s bed they always run from. Death is what makes life worth living.

“So long as remember this, that just beyond the next bend, just behind that closed door, death may be waiting for us, only then can we truly be happy. If we think of every meal as our last meal, every dance or last dance, and ever kiss our last kiss, and act accordingly so, then no matter when she comes for us, and come she will, no regrets can we have for what we have done, no sadness for those we leave, and no despair for the things left undone. Living everyday as though it were our last is all we can do, for one day, it will be.”

Here she had nearly wept, his words filling her heart, holding back her tears only with the strongest of wills. From then on they had ridden in silence until the sun rose before them, and they spied the town of Yadner, though Una had not yet been aware that it was Yadner. It was only when they reached the town limits, when they were hailed by a farmer, that she was made aware of it. She had, in her haste to leave the school, taken a wrong turn two days before and had been unawares. There were no land marks either on the map or by the road, and Welik had been the first person she had met since her error.

Una caught her head just before it hit the table. Her mind, weary but still full of thoughts, had not let her rest, but now it seemed her body had finally given up and was shutting down anyways.

Slowly she pushed herself up, willing her legs to carry her upstairs before they failed her completely. Una had paid for both their rooms when they arrive. Welik had left everything at the grave site during their retreat, and after emptying his pockets, found that he had only two silver pieces and six copper bits left. That and his roll of parchment. She had not yet asked him about it, and was uncertain how to. After the nights events and what he had told her, she thought it should wait a while, though she wasn’t quite sure why. And so Welik, thanking her and promising to pay her back when he could, made his way upstairs and to his room. Whether or not he slept was beyond her. Una didn’t think he would leave her without notice, but she wasn’t positive.

Oh well, she sighed inwardly, we shall see in the morning.

And with that, Una slowly climbed the stairs, found her room and fell into bed. She slept through the rest of the day, the entire night, and most of the following morning. No dreams followed her that night, neither fantasies flight nor hellish visions of what might be.

[morgo]

If our moderator wishes, she can delete this post and the first section I posted earlier to keep the thread clean.

[morgo]

BUMP! Because everyone should read it