Blood pounded in Noira's ears as her boots thudded over roots and through the underbrush, the two drumming cadences drowning out her senses as she fled from the creatures. A renewed hot spike of pain shot down her arm as she slammed into a branch; she twisted it aside, and looked back for her pack when she heard it land behind her.
No, not her pack: the mass of knotted black fur and lean muscles towering over it, blowing steam from its nostrils, reflecting the bright moonlight in its pale, pustulent eyes. She screamed, as enraged by her misfortune as afraid for her life in the moment, and found purchase on a knobby root with one hand to push off, back to her mad sprint.
Damp leaves tumbled through her hand as she withdrew it, and the flash of arcane fire failed to light the brush around her pursuer. She was sure she had inflicted a moment of blindness on the beast, because it was merciful seconds before she heard it bounding after her again over the drumbeat in her ears. Barking howls sounded from the stony heights of Crosswych Cut beside her as she tore away from them, into a bramble-choked deer path and out the other side.
In the distance, silver light glimmered and danced on running water. Thimble Creek ran northwest to southeast, only a hundred yards from the last granite outcropping of Crosswych: a hundred yards in the open, and beyond the water, the Canteen Campsite. It was hardly a fortress, but under the circumstances it would have to do.
* * *
Eighteen hours earlier...
"Why you scared to go alone? Hm? It's just the woods, teach," and Slade clicked his tongue as he cocked a thumbs up; Chris sniggered into his hoodie sleeves, and blinked blearily at Noira when she scowled.
"I'm not your bloody teacher -- Chris, you've had blood and bones a full decade more than me!" She waved a hand at him in exasperation as he regained his easy, stupid grin, looking only vaguely her way in the dim morning light. "And I am not bloody scared... of anything but a snowstorm because you booked this outing for me in December."
Chris shrugged, then jumped off the fencepost he'd been sitting on and scrambled as the truck out front of the Inn blared its horn. 'Sword & Sorcery Genuine Adventure Tours, LLC,' read the airbrushed logo on the side. She tuned out Slade cackling at his friend, and Chris hurling discarded fast food trash at him in retaliation, to study the gaggle of groggy programmers and developers in the camper behind the cab. "Corporate retreat," she sighed; she remembered the words from the form she'd signed for Chris, but she couldn't make sense of them. She couldn't make sense of a lot about her current situation.
S&S had hired her from someone called a 'recruiter,' a woman who had assured Noira that, no, there were no adventuring jobs that paid regularly, but had insisted she could easily place her at a private school, teaching Elvish Language & Mythology to privileged young students.
"Any degrees?" Noira had blinked, utterly nonplussed, and equally so when the recruiter had decided: "We'll just put you down for R.C.C. class of '15. Go Dragons!"
It should have come as no surprise to her that no private school was interested; nor that Steven, S&S's hiring manager, had fixated on her long elven ears as a 'selling point' for adventure-minded tourists. "They look so real! But are they? Just kidding, no one will know the difference. But seriously, are they implants?"
The truck honked again -- Steven was a lot less chipper in the morning -- and ten seconds later, a sheepishly grinning man in a green hoodie emblazoned with a software logo came stumbling through the front door.
"Where's Lisa?" Noira heard someone asked as the truck door open, spilling a passenger's foggy breath. She didn't care. She picked up her pack and cast a sharp, narrow-eyed look back at Slade.
It took a few seconds for him to stop laughing, notice Noira, and pale under her scrutiny. "What, creepy?" he said as he squirmed onto a fencepost perch. Chris swatted a burger wrapper at him.
"Where'd you find an open site only one day out? Gina's got the ice-fishing group at Merrow Quay all week, and S.E.P.A.'s closed the Canteen for owlbear season... Everything else is booked solid."
"The, uh, ranger guys checked out a few last week." Slade took a moment to unfurl the wrapper, picking off a sticker with the name 'KINARA' written in red sharpie. "Hill site two klicks east of the Canteen among them. Perfect, right?" Noira raised an eyebrow. "Hey, teach, Slade can work his magic, too."
Chris wiggled his fingers like a magician, cackling at Noira's retreating back as she climbed into the cab. "You're both idiots," she sighed, eager -- for once -- to get this trip underway.
* * *
The cold air felt like fire in her lungs as she thudded up the earthen bank on the far side of Thimble Creek. The pain carried a clear instruction for her body to slow down, but when her legs seized up, she pulled at roots and branches with her hands, yanking herself up and over, stumbling into the clearing.
The Canteen Campsite was dead ahead, no more than a cluster of campfire stones and a corrugated metal lean-to; but it was wide open, and that would let her see the beasts coming. Maybe, if I kill one...
She had stopped. She pushed her hands off of her thighs, took two steps forward, and turned her head to the sound of the black mass of a predator now hurtling towards her back.
"****! Whoreson!" The pain from the claws was quick before it went numb, but the cold damp feeling now spreading across her back let her know how bad it had been. The creature tumbled past her with a yelp, favoring its left forepaw as it pushed itself up, stalking a half-circle in front of the crouching elfess.
"Oh? Does that hurt?!" she snarled, and the beast growled in kind. "If you think for a second I'm going to die as food for some stupid animal -- "
It pushed off of both paws and bounded unevenly, yellow eyes flashing in the sparse light. Noira screamed as she swung her bloodied arm straight up, and a lash of white-hot arcana tore through the leaves and whipped up into its torso, searing its flesh and eliciting a series of panicked yipes. It stumbled the rest of the distance, and the mage could see her own reflection in one of its wide eyes before she brought her hand down onto its head, throwing the weight of ten times the gravity into the blow. It fell over sideways, pinned beneath her hand, and writhed as hot energy sizzled from her fingertips. Its legs kicked twice, one hindclaw tearing through her jeans and across her shin, before it fell still.
There wasn't a moment to savor her victory. There were only a few to take stock of her wounds, pulling blood-soaked down from the back of her jacket and feeling the numbness recede, replaced by fiery pain. She could walk, for a while, maybe.
She had to run. Growls rumbled low as shadows passed between her and the distant lean-to, pustulent eyes flashing in the darkness. If they didn't kill her, infection or exposure would, but there were taverns and lodges north of here, deeper in the mountains. If she could reach one of them...
The pack howled. Noira ran.
Crosswych
Moderators: Gren Blockman, Izira Nyte
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Gren Blockman
- Expert Adventurer
- Posts: 746
- Joined: Thu Jun 19, 2008 9:00 pm
- Location: The forest, the woods, the trees
“Okay, Missus Stoneman . . . “
“It had blood dripping from its severed head, and its arms were out wiiiide like this!” Missus Stoneman lifted both her arms at Gren as if she were a monster ready to grab and bite him. “It could be a werewolf! It could be a ghost! Oh, heavens, what will I do?” She began to pull her macramé shawl around her frail shoulders and wring her hands fretfully.
Gren sighed and tried to be understanding, even though it had been the fourth time in two months she had called for the Rangers because of some mythic threat to her little cottage in the woods. “I’ll check it out, Missus Stoneman, don’t worry about a thing.”
“Oh, thank you, young man. It was right up at the top of the hill, to the south, just before you get to Thimble Creek.”
“Alright, ma’am.”
“If you kill that nasty brute, I’ll fix you a nice cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows and a little drop of butterscotch.”
Gren smiled a little and gave her a half-hearted wave. Stepping out the door, he headed up into the thickly wooded forest. It was already dark, and Gren could see the moonlight shining through the trees.
“Another boogey man to deal with. Geez, I feel sorry for poor Missus Stoneman, but I can’t go trekking out here every time she hears a noise . . . . “ Suddenly, Gren stopped and threw himself behind a tree. He had reached the hill overlooking Thimble Creek, and at the top he saw a shadowy figure. It looked like a headless ghost, and its two arms flapped madly in the night air. Gren gulped and began to tremble.
“N-n-now take it easy, Gren. There has to be an explanation. J-j-just a trick of the light.”
The attempt at reassurance didn’t seem to work, as he was unable to remove his back from the tree. Gren took a rapid series of breaths to steady himself.
“Missus Stoneman needs me to protect her. It’s my duty as a Ranger. Justice must be done.” The one thing that got Gren out of a nervous funk was his duty as a Ranger. Taking one more deep steadying breath, he began to zigzag up the hill, trying to sneak up at whatever creature was skulking at the top. Outflanking his adversary by hiding behind a nearby tree, Gren jumped from behind and rushed forward.
“Alright, you evil fiend . . . “
Gren stopped short. He was staring at a flannel shirt that had gotten stuck in a bush. Its vacant arms flapped in the cool evening breeze, giving it the illusion of life. Gren let out an explosive breath.
“Boy, do I feel silly. Missus Stoneman got me again. I should know better . . . “
Suddenly, Gren heard the howling from below at Thimble Creek. Sudden flashes of white fire could be seen in the campsite. Gren became silent and slipped over the crest to see what was going on. The noises and flashes stopped, and Gren was left straining his eyes into the dark. Then the growling started. Gren gulped nervously.
Unexpectedly a nearby bush began to shake violently, and a figure leaped out and slammed into Gren before he could react. He landed flat on his back as the figure cursed lightly and knelt over him. Gren started to protest his rough treatment when he noticed the figure was humanoid, with pointy ears that stood out in the moonlight. Gren squinted and recognized familiar facial features.
“ . . . . Noira?”
“It had blood dripping from its severed head, and its arms were out wiiiide like this!” Missus Stoneman lifted both her arms at Gren as if she were a monster ready to grab and bite him. “It could be a werewolf! It could be a ghost! Oh, heavens, what will I do?” She began to pull her macramé shawl around her frail shoulders and wring her hands fretfully.
Gren sighed and tried to be understanding, even though it had been the fourth time in two months she had called for the Rangers because of some mythic threat to her little cottage in the woods. “I’ll check it out, Missus Stoneman, don’t worry about a thing.”
“Oh, thank you, young man. It was right up at the top of the hill, to the south, just before you get to Thimble Creek.”
“Alright, ma’am.”
“If you kill that nasty brute, I’ll fix you a nice cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows and a little drop of butterscotch.”
Gren smiled a little and gave her a half-hearted wave. Stepping out the door, he headed up into the thickly wooded forest. It was already dark, and Gren could see the moonlight shining through the trees.
“Another boogey man to deal with. Geez, I feel sorry for poor Missus Stoneman, but I can’t go trekking out here every time she hears a noise . . . . “ Suddenly, Gren stopped and threw himself behind a tree. He had reached the hill overlooking Thimble Creek, and at the top he saw a shadowy figure. It looked like a headless ghost, and its two arms flapped madly in the night air. Gren gulped and began to tremble.
“N-n-now take it easy, Gren. There has to be an explanation. J-j-just a trick of the light.”
The attempt at reassurance didn’t seem to work, as he was unable to remove his back from the tree. Gren took a rapid series of breaths to steady himself.
“Missus Stoneman needs me to protect her. It’s my duty as a Ranger. Justice must be done.” The one thing that got Gren out of a nervous funk was his duty as a Ranger. Taking one more deep steadying breath, he began to zigzag up the hill, trying to sneak up at whatever creature was skulking at the top. Outflanking his adversary by hiding behind a nearby tree, Gren jumped from behind and rushed forward.
“Alright, you evil fiend . . . “
Gren stopped short. He was staring at a flannel shirt that had gotten stuck in a bush. Its vacant arms flapped in the cool evening breeze, giving it the illusion of life. Gren let out an explosive breath.
“Boy, do I feel silly. Missus Stoneman got me again. I should know better . . . “
Suddenly, Gren heard the howling from below at Thimble Creek. Sudden flashes of white fire could be seen in the campsite. Gren became silent and slipped over the crest to see what was going on. The noises and flashes stopped, and Gren was left straining his eyes into the dark. Then the growling started. Gren gulped nervously.
Unexpectedly a nearby bush began to shake violently, and a figure leaped out and slammed into Gren before he could react. He landed flat on his back as the figure cursed lightly and knelt over him. Gren started to protest his rough treatment when he noticed the figure was humanoid, with pointy ears that stood out in the moonlight. Gren squinted and recognized familiar facial features.
“ . . . . Noira?”
When Noira collided with a warm body and went over in a string of elven swearwords, her first thought was that she had collided with a beast. Starlight flashed in a black void that yawned between the bloody fingers poised beside his face, illuminating her features: clothes ragged, one sleeve stained red from elbow to wrist, lips twisted and teeth bared in a snarl, eyes alight with fury. Then she blinked, bewildered, and whispered, “Gren?!”
She did not dismiss the spell, instead aiming it behind them as she rolled off of his torso. Something big and yellow-eyed was bounding through the leaves, and she unleashed a rippling cosmic tear into the darkness. Trunks cracked loudly as sap ruptured with the intense cold of the void, branches vanished in consuming flashes of starfire, and in the distance that big something yelped in pain and anger. It would buy them a few moments, but she could see more movement beyond the path of destruction wrought by her magic, beasts pacing uncertainly as they gathered for the next strike.
“There’s at least six of them,” she breathed, steadying herself on a sapling as she took heaving gulps of air. “They attacked the camp. Survivors ran downstream,” and she let go of her support to flap her good arm to the west, “farmland that way -- I drew off the pack.” There was blood running down her back, long claw marks torn through her padded jacket and into her flesh, and she quickly grabbed the sapling again to steady herself.
A howl rang out from the pack in front of them, fifty or a hundred feet away, hard to gauge in the forest at night. Further off in the distance, due east, a second pack howled in reply. “Where’s the nearest shelter?” Noira whispered.
She did not dismiss the spell, instead aiming it behind them as she rolled off of his torso. Something big and yellow-eyed was bounding through the leaves, and she unleashed a rippling cosmic tear into the darkness. Trunks cracked loudly as sap ruptured with the intense cold of the void, branches vanished in consuming flashes of starfire, and in the distance that big something yelped in pain and anger. It would buy them a few moments, but she could see more movement beyond the path of destruction wrought by her magic, beasts pacing uncertainly as they gathered for the next strike.
“There’s at least six of them,” she breathed, steadying herself on a sapling as she took heaving gulps of air. “They attacked the camp. Survivors ran downstream,” and she let go of her support to flap her good arm to the west, “farmland that way -- I drew off the pack.” There was blood running down her back, long claw marks torn through her padded jacket and into her flesh, and she quickly grabbed the sapling again to steady herself.
A howl rang out from the pack in front of them, fifty or a hundred feet away, hard to gauge in the forest at night. Further off in the distance, due east, a second pack howled in reply. “Where’s the nearest shelter?” Noira whispered.
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Gren Blockman
- Expert Adventurer
- Posts: 746
- Joined: Thu Jun 19, 2008 9:00 pm
- Location: The forest, the woods, the trees
“YAH!” Gren covered his face with both arms as the magical missile flew from Noira’s grasp. Briefly thinking he was going to get lit up, he breathed a sigh of relief as she sent the spell away from them.
“Don’t worry, I know this forest like the back of my hand, we’ll . . . “ He stopped short and gaped as one of the feral creatures burst towards them.
“I got this one! I’ve got a silver tipped arrow I’ve been carrying around for times like this!” Removing his oaken bow from his shoulder, he deftly grabbed the arrow and aimed it for the creature’s heart. Just as swiftly the missile flew through the air and imbedded itself deep in the creature’s chest, sending it tumbling down the hill screeching in pain.
“Silver tipped arrow! Hah hah!” He briefly pumped his fist in the air, then gaped and smacked his hands against his face. “That was my only silver tipped arrow! Gah! We have to get out of here! I know! Miss Annabelle’s fortified Ranger outpost is to the north of here! Let’s go!”
He offered Noira his arm to help guide her through the woods, or assist her if she was in too much pain.
“Don’t worry, I know this forest like the back of my hand, we’ll . . . “ He stopped short and gaped as one of the feral creatures burst towards them.
“I got this one! I’ve got a silver tipped arrow I’ve been carrying around for times like this!” Removing his oaken bow from his shoulder, he deftly grabbed the arrow and aimed it for the creature’s heart. Just as swiftly the missile flew through the air and imbedded itself deep in the creature’s chest, sending it tumbling down the hill screeching in pain.
“Silver tipped arrow! Hah hah!” He briefly pumped his fist in the air, then gaped and smacked his hands against his face. “That was my only silver tipped arrow! Gah! We have to get out of here! I know! Miss Annabelle’s fortified Ranger outpost is to the north of here! Let’s go!”
He offered Noira his arm to help guide her through the woods, or assist her if she was in too much pain.
Noira's eyes widened, with surprise and then hope after he felled the bounding beast in a single shot... but her face fell at his confession. Two of the other creatures leapt onto the freshly fallen corpse, ripping through flesh and snapping bone as they feasted. At least they were distracted, she thought, noting the rest of the pack circling their feasting brothers jealously.
"We can't bloody well retrieve it now!" she said, and took his arm long enough to pull herself upright. She screwed up her face as she fought back a scream and pushed on as hard as she could, plodding at first before she could force her body to break into a jog. Moonlit steamy breaths trailed behind her as she thudded through the fallen leaves.
"How far is Annabelle's?" she huffed, her words coming out on labored breaths. "Is it far? Defensible? Warm?" she added hopefully. "Well-stocked with silver arrows?" She winced, feeling another jolt of pain, followed by a heavy feeling in her head. Talking would keep her focused on the here and now, and on her continued consciousness.
"Maybe... if we go back... and ask nicely... they'll give us your arrow back. You think... they like rawhide?"
"We can't bloody well retrieve it now!" she said, and took his arm long enough to pull herself upright. She screwed up her face as she fought back a scream and pushed on as hard as she could, plodding at first before she could force her body to break into a jog. Moonlit steamy breaths trailed behind her as she thudded through the fallen leaves.
"How far is Annabelle's?" she huffed, her words coming out on labored breaths. "Is it far? Defensible? Warm?" she added hopefully. "Well-stocked with silver arrows?" She winced, feeling another jolt of pain, followed by a heavy feeling in her head. Talking would keep her focused on the here and now, and on her continued consciousness.
"Maybe... if we go back... and ask nicely... they'll give us your arrow back. You think... they like rawhide?"
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Gren Blockman
- Expert Adventurer
- Posts: 746
- Joined: Thu Jun 19, 2008 9:00 pm
- Location: The forest, the woods, the trees
Thankful that the werewolves were busy feeding on their fallen comrade, and that Noira seemed to be able to at least jog, he slowly led her north through the dark forest.
“It’s not very far to Annabelle’s, and it is defensible and warm. Silver arrows? I don’t know. But at least we’ll be safe. I hope.” He added that last sentence under his breath.
They spent a tense dozen minutes jogging through a dense forest of cedars, winding their way slowly down into a valley. Behind them they heard continual howls and yelps of anger as the werewolves picked up their scent and gave chase again. Luckily they found a stream, and briefly changed direction so the water would throw off their scent. Gren heard the werewolves splash through the stream and off into the woods, so he knew his little trick worked. Switching direction to the north again, he helped Noira as best as he could, knowing she was probably freezing at this point. Fortunately, they were close to the Outpost. They stumbled into a clearing where a large cabin stood. The walls were made with thick oaken logs, and there were shutters similarly made that could be closed for protection. Gren half-carried, half-led Noira up the stone steps and through the front door. There was a spacious main room with wooden furniture and a brick fireplace. A female dwarf, wearing a grey cloak with the hood down, was sitting at a table, eating a plate of beans and cornbread.
“Annabelle! Thank goodness you’re here. My friend is hurt and we need . . . . “ Gren had led Noira to the fireplace so she could warm up, when the dwarf jumped out of her seat and stormed over to Gren.
“And WHAT do you think you’re doing barging into MY outpost at this time of night!” Annabelle raised herself up to her full four-and-a-half feet and planted her fists on her hips.
“Annabelle, please! My friend is hurt and there’s a pack of werewolves after us . . . “
“So you led WEREWOLVES here? To my outpost? To where I sleep? What is wrong with you?”
“We need your help. Okay? Please. Do you have any silver tipped arrows or . . . “
“How in the blue hell do you expect me to afford silver tipped ANYTHING let alone arrows? I’ve eaten beans for the LAST TWO WEEKS! Has Perrigan forgotten about me? I’ve been stuck in this godforsaken corner of the forest . . . “
“Annabelle, I swear I will get you some better supplies. You know how tight things are these days. Just please help Noira.”
Annabelle glared at Gren for a few long moments before she snorted in disgust. “Fine. Not like I’ve got anything BETTER to do.” She stomped over to a cabinet and withdrew a first aid kit, then knelt beside Noira to offer what aid she could. Gren hurriedly dropped the shutters on the cabin and stared outside the window on the door apprehensively
“It’s not very far to Annabelle’s, and it is defensible and warm. Silver arrows? I don’t know. But at least we’ll be safe. I hope.” He added that last sentence under his breath.
They spent a tense dozen minutes jogging through a dense forest of cedars, winding their way slowly down into a valley. Behind them they heard continual howls and yelps of anger as the werewolves picked up their scent and gave chase again. Luckily they found a stream, and briefly changed direction so the water would throw off their scent. Gren heard the werewolves splash through the stream and off into the woods, so he knew his little trick worked. Switching direction to the north again, he helped Noira as best as he could, knowing she was probably freezing at this point. Fortunately, they were close to the Outpost. They stumbled into a clearing where a large cabin stood. The walls were made with thick oaken logs, and there were shutters similarly made that could be closed for protection. Gren half-carried, half-led Noira up the stone steps and through the front door. There was a spacious main room with wooden furniture and a brick fireplace. A female dwarf, wearing a grey cloak with the hood down, was sitting at a table, eating a plate of beans and cornbread.
“Annabelle! Thank goodness you’re here. My friend is hurt and we need . . . . “ Gren had led Noira to the fireplace so she could warm up, when the dwarf jumped out of her seat and stormed over to Gren.
“And WHAT do you think you’re doing barging into MY outpost at this time of night!” Annabelle raised herself up to her full four-and-a-half feet and planted her fists on her hips.
“Annabelle, please! My friend is hurt and there’s a pack of werewolves after us . . . “
“So you led WEREWOLVES here? To my outpost? To where I sleep? What is wrong with you?”
“We need your help. Okay? Please. Do you have any silver tipped arrows or . . . “
“How in the blue hell do you expect me to afford silver tipped ANYTHING let alone arrows? I’ve eaten beans for the LAST TWO WEEKS! Has Perrigan forgotten about me? I’ve been stuck in this godforsaken corner of the forest . . . “
“Annabelle, I swear I will get you some better supplies. You know how tight things are these days. Just please help Noira.”
Annabelle glared at Gren for a few long moments before she snorted in disgust. “Fine. Not like I’ve got anything BETTER to do.” She stomped over to a cabinet and withdrew a first aid kit, then knelt beside Noira to offer what aid she could. Gren hurriedly dropped the shutters on the cabin and stared outside the window on the door apprehensively
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