Chapter 1

Snow drifted from black clouds overhead, the wind roaring through the canyon known as Rosen Pass. A line of fur clothed travelers braved the blizzard to find themselves praying to a deaf deity for warmth and comfort. A larger mound of furs stood farther ahead upon a rise, surveying the bleak landscape of bare trees and snow drifts of unknown depths. The top of the mound moved suddenly, shifting with a creak of leather and breaking ice. The mist found in the canyon still clung, and quite uncomfortably, to the skins. The smell was horrible and the after-taste was less than tolerant.

A wisp of warmth rose from a slit in the fur skins, carrying a curse of horrible weather and bad luck with it toward the heavens. The mound shifted again, this time proceeding as the line behind it made their way past. A smaller mound of furs shuffled beside the tallest of them all and grunted in greeting. "Are we there yet?" a gruff voice asked the taller mound.

"You said tha' about five miles back, Lad," the gruff voice added with another grunt.

"When the mages have mastered travel, I'll be the first to tell you," the lighter voice responded to the grunt and shifted once more. "Patience, dear Torrun. Patience."

"BAH! I'll have all the patience when I'm dead!" Torrun replied, smacking a portion of well rounded furs. A shrill nicker made him think better of trying that again. "How's the ol' stallion, eh?" he asked as an afterthought.

"Shadow's Keep is doing well...for a horse in the middle of a winter drift," the mounted man said. "All this sitting still is probably killing him. I know it's killing me," he added, lifting himself up from the saddle and rubbing at a sore spot on his rear.

"Ha! All this time and you're still not used to a saddle," Torrun shot at the mounted man.

"If you had your way, Torrun, I'd have saddled more pointy-eared mares. How do you expect the Lord of the Winterwards to manage his domain when you've got Elven ladies lurking in every shadow?" the mounted man asked, almost pleading.

Torrun chuckled as he trudged onward through the snow drift. "If I had my way, you'd be married and I'd be trainin' a few youngin's!"

The mounted man shook his head under the furs. There just wasn't any winning with Torrun. That dwarf had it out for him.

The gates of dwarven capital of Durzar rose in the eerie gloom of the blizzard as a thinly covered elf made her way to the gates. It had been quite a challenge tracking the old road that had once led here but was now buried in several feet of snow. The fields had been the worst. An almost complete 'white out' had the clouds not kept their black shade. Even now, Duina Faling was having some difficulty in locating the solid stone knocker on the door. The wind pelted at her bronze face and forcing her back with sheer force. She never did like the dwarven entrances. So hard to find and so ruddy difficult to enter.

A curse was lost to the winds as she found the knocker and clanked the right code for entrance. The line behind her waited rather impatiently, huddling together for warmth, save for the taller of the band. The door chinked open, drawn wide enough for the band to pass one by one, and opened a bit farther for the largest of the band to enter last. Furs were quickly shed and set aside in the unusually large guardhouse storeroom and kept under lock and key. "Lord Rhalis?" Duina began, shaving flakes of snow from auburn hair.

"We aren't in the Keep, you have permission to name me simply Rhalis," the now unmounted man said, running a hand through raven black hair. His ice blue eyes ran over the shivering form of his dappled-grey stallion. The poor thing was colder than an aristocrat on Crystal Sabbath. He gave his tracker a silent wink and turned to settle Shadow's Keep.

Duina sighed inwardly, rolling her eyes, and reiterated, "Rhalis...are you certain we should walk around Durzar without a local guard? I mean...you -are- a noble."

"My dear Duina," he began, setting blanks over his stallion, "In Durzar, I am no more than a customer at the Crouching Bard Tavern." He shot her a mischevious grin. "As the tourists say: 'When in Durzar...!'" he added with a grand shrug of both shoulders. He passed the chilled reigns to a squire-guard and started off into the grand, cavernous, underground city.

Durzar opened up to reveal a studded ceiling of luminous crystals giving off a soft blue light. It was well and enough to lend light to the streets. Various species of plants had been brought in to create a more 'surface' world design to the scheme of tall buildings, and hanging gardens seemed all the rage. Rhalis rolled his eyes. He'd never come to understand nobility. He turned down the main street, Torrun on his heels, and Duina behind him, including two other characters keeping an inconspicuous, gloved hand on their sword hilts. The city market was bustling with activity, sellers and buyers, traders and crafters, all trying to turn a coin or three.

Rhalis passed through a few alleys, traversing them as though he knew the layout by heart, which may not have been far from the truth. He passed by a few drunken beggars and came to a halt at the front of a noisy establishment. "Ah! Here we are, Duina. Yon Crouching Bard," he said with a boyish smile on his face. "And next to that, Yon Hidden Wizard. Thy loverly bed and inn," he added with a grin.

Duina rolled her sea-green eyes. "Just my luck," she muttered as she followed Rhalis inside.

Torrun had obligingly made his way toward the collection of bar wenches consisting of two elves, one half-elf, and one human; all claiming to be sisters of a sort and more than estatic to aid a poor, cold dwarf into a more comfortable warmth. Duina was bound to roll her eyes again, decided against it, and took a seat next to Rhalis at the bar. Her long, pointed ears twitched at the roar of noise in the confines of the tavern, although it was a rather large design, the sheer number of customers and wenches drew the walls far too close for Duina's comfort. She listened to the conversation passing between Rhalis and the Tender of the Bar. Old Rugar was a hearty dwarf of reasonable size, and one could easily see how he kept the peace by the small, portable cannon sitting on the counter behind him.

With the living arrangements made, Duina turned her back on the bar to enjoy the entertainment making its way onto the dais that acted as a stage in the establishment. A troupe of bards had travelled in from a small village near the Elven Wood. A long way from Durzar to be sure, but worth the effort it seemed. Duina mused that the first song to be sung that night dealt with the old story of a mythical, floating valley.

Ra'shah Tik'shir huddled over a rice alcohol, soothing his mind in a convoluted sea of noise. He liked the bards when they came. He'd been here for a few days and most of the bards that played certainly knew what they were doing. He'd been missing his friends and family in the temple, and he was currently in a slump. He knew that tomorrow he'd get moving to greener pastures.

For now, he sat up and waited for the bards to play. He shifted his jacket and seat to a more comfortable position and crossed his legs, taking another sip of the rice drink.

'It's been a year. I've learned much, too. I'm starting to get lonely, but... I chose this myself. I haven't learned enough of the outside world, there is still much more than I've already seen, heard, and experienced...' Ra'shah swished a small ammount of the drink in the rocks glass and his mouth. It was an interesting flavour.

"I hope I'm not getting drunk..." He felt a little lightish. Perhaps just a buzz. "It might be interesting to try sometime, but not tonight..." he said to himself.

Picking out the notes on his lute, Darien let himself drift with the melody. A song of long ago, in a forgotten land. A battle between a dark warrior mage and a chrome dragon. If it was true, it must have been a sight to behold. Even if it wasn't, it was a wonderful tale, that brought good response from crowds from all walks of life. And it was a considerable step between elven noble and dwarven commoner...

But as every song does, this one too came to an end, and Darien found himself with a bit of free time as two of the other bards performed a duet. He took the time to look around the tavern. His eyes lit upon the lord and his party. Could it really be? Only one way to find out...if he was wrong...wouldn't be the first time he had embarassed himself, and undoubtably wouldn't be the last. He headed over to where Rhalis was sitting.

"Excuse me, sir...but are you Lord Rhalis? Is it true what they say that you come from Rivervale?" he asked.

"Darien! What have I told you about bothering the patrons?" a female voice scolded, cutting off the torrent of questions.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Margris standing behind him. She had been kind to him, allowing him to travel with the troupe. Surely he tried her patience, but he couldn't help his curiosity. "Oh...sorry sir." he said, his tail drooping in admonishment.

Deep in the wilds he called his home Yelam crouched. He sniffed at the ground. The scent of man filled his nose, sweat... hair... and the stench of unclean living in general... how humans could not get the simple concept of not relieving themselves where they slept he would never know.

A single feral growl escaped his throat as he stood. In the shadows behind him was the form of another tiger, his fur shining the golden glow of a young Tiger in the moonlight. Yelam made a series of gutteral sounds intermixed with growls and the occasional chuffle (The equivalent of a Tiger purr as they don't purr... they chuffle... yeah... right). Behind him he heard a snort and another set of nonsense noises (to humans anyway)

Roughly translated Humans would percieve this conversation, though the actual meanings are far more metaphoric than literal, "Go away kitten, I have this territory, go suckle on a teat until you can find you're own." With a snort of Derision The young one replies "I will make this my territory, old cat, you are halfway to the graveyard. Let a real protector take over gracefully."

Yelam turned to face him, his claws and fangs gleaming in the moonlight "That nears a challenge insult kitten. You had best watch your tail, lest you find it in my teeth." Yelam sprayed his scent onto a nearby tree in a gesture of pure derision for the other's strength "You can have my territory when your scent is stronger than mine upoin the markings!"

He reached up, stretching to his full height and clawed deeply into the tree, ripping deep gouges of wood out. "And when your sign is higher than mine!"

With a roar the other leapt forward and snarled at Yelam, hishead lowered to avoid a full confrotation. But he too sprayed the tree, and reached as high as he could to rake the tree, sending only bark flakes and slivers of wood cascading, not the great chunks Yelam had produced.

On the air, masked only slightly by the scent of the younger tiger, Yelam's scent hung thick, pungent and reeking of his being. Well above the young cat's claw mark's were Yelam's deep gouges. With a derisive snort Yelam left, silently padding through the domain he knew better than any other. His golden tan fur reflecting the moonlight only slightly as it rippled over his muscles, satin over bands of steel.

The other simply stood and prayed for the strength to claim his chosen territory, so that he might be named. He wanted it so badly, but he could never overcome Yelam...not without a Miracle, or waiting more years than he could stand. In the darkness, one Tiger stalked bandits and poachers, another fumed over his fate.

Giuliani looked up in the night sky, examining the stars yet again before she took her time to rest. She was marking the positions of each of the constillations that she, or another, had named; if she ever got her hands on a map when she went to the larger cities. With one last inkdot on the thin parchment she was working on, she yawned and stretched, looking to the stars for her last good night.

But, then she suddenly remembered; she was going to head toward the Dawrfen city, Durzar within the week to catch up on the events of the world and to see if she could sell any of her starcharts or trade them for arrows or bowstring. She groaned. That would mean that she would have to get out her furs again to go there, and usually she didn't get any coustomers. She would spend as much as she earned, but she knew that there were other cities that she could go to that her work was respectes, and other Sylvan Centaurs came, and they would trade their starcharts with her. She walked into her 'house', though she knew that no other creature, with the exception of the wildlings would call the structure that she made that name.

She picked up some leather-covered baskets and put in many charts that she had created over the year, as she only went to the city once a year at most. She usually supprised most people, as they never thought that Centaurs would come in to cities, let alone to barter for things. She quickly gathered a few spare shirts and all of her furs that she used to protect her sensitive skin from the cold. She knew that she would take the Durgon Pass to Durzar, sine it was the closest to where she lived.

Seeing that everything was ready, she lay down on her grass and fur mat, and fell quickly to sleep.

Giuli enter the city with a snow-covered body and her human torso covered in furs. The stablehands were looking very confused when they didn't see any reins...or even a horses head to go with the hooves tha were cloping on the ground. Then he stripped off most of the furs, and recognition entered their minds. This was a Centaur, nat a woman riding a horse! They quickly looked away as she looked each of them square in the eyes, and then trotted off to find a place to stay for the night, and a place to get rid of the snow and ice that were packed in her hooves. She vaguely remembered that there was a tavern called "Crouching Bard" that she partictularly liked last time, as their wines wer spectactular and all the rest of their alcohol she could actually stand. Turning in the proper directions, as she remembered, to get to the tavern, she recieved many strange looks from the locals. 'Of course. They are probably wondering, "what the heck is a Centaur doing down here?!" Well, serves them right for getting a supprise.' she thought, finally spotting the Bard. She tried to go in as to not attract too much attetion, and thankfully almost everyone thgere was either too drunk to care, just didn't do anything when they spotted her, or they were paying attetion to the bard duet that was singing on the small stage up front.

she walked over to a corner of the bar where there were no stool or seats, and waited to be helped. While she was standing there doing nothing, she decided to enjoy a little of the bittersweet music the two-legged people of the world could create.

Delyth Misara loved to travel alone. She loved to take in the scenery and watch everything. She was a world-watcher, her father called her. If she was sitting by a stream, she would watch it. If she was walking along the path, she rarely looked ahead of her. Instead her eyes drifted to the sides, to what was going on in the here and now, and now what would come when she reached a certain part of her journey.

But the trek to Durzar was different. The snow was think and heavy, and Delyth sat astride her horse inwardly wishing to see more. To see something other than white. But that was not the case. Snow came as if from all directions, shortening her span of vision.

She had not chosen to make this journey. Her uncle had sent her. Well, he wasn't really her uncle but he was a neighbour. So she had with her something in a pounch to deliver to her uncle's friend. He ran a store here and was interested in this so-called relic, even though the ranger had not looked within. It did not bother her, for he normally sent small jewles or spices or a piece of jewelry.

Delyth straightened herself upon her horse. She wore a warm green cloak pinned at the neck with a broach in the shape of a leaf. Nothing else could be seen, expect her small, thin stature. And only to those up close, in this climate. But she was nearing the city, she could feel it.

Delyth entered the city as always, and decided to deliver the package in the morning. It was too late to do so this day, so she would relax and, more importantly, warm herself by a hearth of some sort. With, hopefully, some strong wine to warm her insides.

She stopped her horse outside the Crouching Bard. She had come here before for wine, and had never had a bad time, per say. So she dismounted off her horse and handed the reins over to a boy who ran out to meet her, saying he worked for the tavern and inn next door.

Taking all of her belongings, her bow, quiver, pack and saddle bags, Delyth headed inside the tavern. The bar looked quite full, so she moved to a table in a corner and took a seat, glad to be indoors. She pushed her hood off her head, revealing silver-streaked brown hair and green eyes. Though only the hair on her head could be seen, but it reached far down underneath her cloak. She ordered some wine, and waited for it to arrive, letting herself enjoy the entertainment of the bards.

Ra'shah stood and started to walk somewhat with a stagger out of the tavern, bumping into a horse of somekind on the way out. "Pardon me," he looked up, seeing a centaur. "Oh! Pardon me miss..." Ra'shah bowed and walked on his way out of the tavern and went next door to the inn, passing by a person in a cloak and bowed to them as well, letting them through the doorway before he himself exited.

He walked to the Inn and bowed. "God bless," he said to the owner and stumbled up his stairs to the second story room, where he opened the door and tripped on the way in. He gained his balance somewhat and closed the door, falling facefirst onto the bed and falling into a deep drunk man's sleep.

About a month ago, the troupe of bards had found Jimminee near the Elven Wood. He followed them for three days without saying a word to anyone. They all thought he was queer, how he wasn't wearing any clothes even on the cold nights and the way that he stared at people as though he was trying to hear what they were thinking. They days after they first met him, someone finally asked him a question and was astonished when Jimminee replied in his own language. He never told them why he hadn't said anything those first three days, nor who had taught him the ancient songs that even the oldest of those bards could scarcely recollect. They didn't really care once he began to sing with them.

And so it was, that in the city of Durzar, that Jimminee assured his troupe mate Darien that Margris meant no offense and then sang a song of ancient lore before Lord Rhalis. It was strangely arhythmic yet enchanting nonetheless, and even the most conservative music-lovers in that crowd could not affront its quality. Yet there was a strange hint of madness in the words if one listened not casually but intently. Their words seemed to recite an ancient history yet also to foretell things not yet passed, and the past and the future were woven with great difference for each listener according to his own history and wisdom. Some were frankly baffled by words and simply enjoyed the music, whilst others thought they might grasp some hidden and forbidden meaning if only they could have heard one final all-encompassing verse. But the music ended too soon for them, and Jimminee retired to the back of the troupe where he picked up a strangely carven flute and played for the song of the next singer.

Rhalis was pleased with Darien's curiousity. At least it wasn't some over-bearing idiot announcing his position in the world. He had taken a breath to reply to the woman when a seemingly daft wild elf decided it high-time for the vary song Rhalis regretted to have ever been made. The end of the song was accented by Rhalis's forehead slamming into the bar, only to repeat in recession about five times.

Duina stood beside him, shielding his identity as best she could, and shook her head as the elf walked away. "Genius. Absolute genius," she grumbled, a half-gloved hand fingering a dagger hilt.

"Easy Duina. We don't need a bloody brawl. Remember what happened last time?" Rhalis grumbled, surfacing for air.

Rhalis turned his attention over his shoulder to Darien. "I pray you are a clever lad. I would gladly answer your questions, if you'd be so kind as to do me a favor. Never do what that elf just did. You and I might be the better of friends," Rhalis said, throwing the wildling a wink. "Come! Sit! I'll buy you a drink and you can ask me what you wish," he added with a friendly smile.

He reached over the bar and took a stool being hefted over it by the Tender on the other side. "Here you are lad," Rhalis mumbled, setting the stool down beside him. "Speak what is on your mind."

Duina sat once more to Rhalis's right, a hand still fingering the dagger in her belt.

Yelam stood over his kill, the only sound the soft plink of blood dripping off his claws and landing into the spreading pool seeping from his kill. This one had been stupid, he had allowed himself to be seperated from the main group by simple greed. An old foxtrail with some fresh touch ups to make it look new and a simple minded poacher wanders off to get claim a simple fur.

One leap from a high treebranch and a quick slash of the claws and the man is dead before he had hit the ground. Yelam tore the clothes along their fresh claw rents and removed it from the bandits body. Then he gripped an arm and pulled. With a satisfying ripping noise the limb seperated from the body and Yelam began his feast. The blood covered his muzzle, viscera dripped from his claws, and the only leftovers were those parts he did not desire.

Those he would leave for the young one, as a message of Yelam's dominance in this territory. What was not eaten would be found by the brigands. To make sure they knew what had transpired Yelam roared. Blood and flesh spraying from his muzzle as his voiced challenge echoed through the wilds.

Knowing that the poachers would get the message, that they were hunted now, he left ot wash. He wove through the shadows and made his way to one of his numerouse lairs. Finding a clear flowing stream he washed that which he did not lick off. Upon returning to his cave he was shocked to find it defaced. Sprayed by the young cat and smeared with the leavings of his kill.

This was worse than a challenge insult. This was a death insult. Were this to be resolved and Yelam maintain his honor he owuld have to kill his younger opponent. No great challenge, but he did not want his charges left undefended when he finally had to go on his final hunt. That time had simply not come yet, but this upstart thought he could claim Yelam's realm simply because Yelam was stripeless.

Yelam roared his challenge to the night, but there was no reply. This was intolerable. He would have to find a way of dealing with this as soon as the latest band of brigands was dealt with.

Drooping from Margris's scolding, he was astonished when Jimenee marched on up to Rhalis, and launched into another of the songs that recorded the lord's past. Darien was agape. Not only was that being more rude to the lord than he had been, it had interrupted the duet on stage. He couldn't doubt the quality of the song...but Margris would have words for him next time he had a free turn.

Seeing Rhalis and Duina's reactions, he was about to leave as well, when Rhalis addressed him, inviting him to stay. He quickly perked up, and after a glance to Margris who waved him on, he hopped up on the offered seat. "Not act like the elf...my curiosity might get the better of me...but I do believe I have more discretion than that...not only was that rude to you, but to the other performers." he chattered on.

"Questions...there are so many...like Rivervale...it truely exists, right? What is it like? What of the dragon and the warrior-mage? And the battle of the gods?" Thankfully for Rhalis the barkeeper deposited a tankard of the fruit juice the wildling prefered, which brought a brief respite in the barrage of questioning.

Julie felt the drunk man run into her flank, but didn't respond to him when he said his apologies. She just shrugged, as her drink had finally come. She picked up her glass, swirled it a few time then took a sip. Perfect. This was one of the older brews, just like she remembered last time she ate here. She overheard a conversation between a Dawrf, an Elf, and one of the bards that had just performed...the wildling. The Dawrf, from the respect he was given, was most likely a Noble that didn't like to be thought of as one. Typical. When they get respect, they don't want as much of it, but when its gone, they want to horde it. 'Just like some other typical two-legged creatures I know,' she thought, turning her attetion back to the bards. She applauded polietly when the Bard was finnished, then decided to order something to eat. Afterall, the last time she had seen food was the previous day, and she was starved.

Jimmenee heard some grumbling in the audience and something hard banging on a table right after his song. He wondered at the audience's displeasure. It was a rough translation of a song he learned in the Elven Woods from a very old Tree. The oaks, pines, beeches, and willows all loved that song, for it talked of history and destiny in ways that were uniquely understood by each listener. But the Trees had long, slow lives, and maybe people here didn't like to be reminded of where they were from or where they were going, even if they were the only ones who heard it their own tales.

Jimminee considered another way to lighten the mood of the crowd when his thoughts were broken by the entrance of a centaur. Darien had gone to talk to the important-looking dwarf when Jimminee dropped his tune and waded through the crowd. One of his troupe-mates whispered at him irritably:

"You dastardly wilding, get back here this instant! First you sing that nonsense out of cue, and now..."

Jimminee heard the rest and ignored it. He had gotten bored of singing to irritable citydwellers, and it wasn't often that one saw a centaur in such company. He was instantly intrigued, so he approached her with his only worldly possession - his flute - in his hands. He greeted the centaur lady and introduced himself as Jimminee, formerly from the troupe of bards.

Just when Guli's food arrived, one fo the bards-a wildling- walked up to her and introduced himself as Jimminee. Though slightly annoyed that her dinner was being interrupted, she turned her head towards him, and smiled. "And my name is Giuliani Periaptor, but I allow most to call me Guli. It seems to be a lot easier to remeber." She took a bite of her salad with small chunks of chicken meat on it. She savored the first bite, knowing that it wasrude to eat in front of others, but she didn't care. She was _so_ hungry!

"You'll have to excuse me, for I have not eaten in a day, and this salad looks extremely appitising. But, if you wish to continue this conversation, please do so and I'll answer when my mouth isn't full." She smiled, taking another bite.

Rhalis smiled and nodded as the clever little fox started with the usual questions, in which Rhalis fervently replied: "Did. Don't know. What of them? Epic." He paused a moment to take a swing from his pint before adding, "Respectively of course."

Rhalis grinned boyishly, for an old man, and sighed. "I'll explain more in depth. The vale of rivers, as it once was called, used to float above Eseran and the oceans of the world. How I have no clue, it's said the dwarves once held the very know-how to do it, but the knowledge has indeed been lost," he animatedly explained.

"As for the dragon...it was chrome...or at least that's what I remember. I was a small boy then, barely older than five...maybe six years? That, of course was a long time ago, but I can promise one thing: I'll look this good." He paused a moment to chuckled and continued on. "The warrior-mage is different though. I'll never forget that one. Skin, black as night, and eyes, brilliant green and something unearthly. Everything else is a flash of power. I remember sitting among some elves during that time..."

His voice faded as he stared into the wood grains on the bar. "I don't know what happened to them. I know I was soon gulping salt water and praying to the Goddess I would live to tell the tale. Lucky me, she was listening that day," he said with more of a wince than a smile.

His ice blue gaze rose to take in Darien. "The battle of the Gods was worse I hear. No one knows how we got here, nor do we know where we're going. It seems to me that the war isn't over just yet. If a dragon is awake, you can bet that it's brooding somewheres...waiting for the most opportune moment to strike where it hurts. Right now, being Winter, it hurts to stand outside for long."

Rhalis rubbed his hands together, furiously fighting away the chill coming over him. "It's still out there, Rivervale. I hope one day to find it. Seeing how we've so many problems around the Winterwards, and various Baronies trying to take control of all Eseran, it's difficult to dream of such journeys. Neigh impossible, in fact," Rhalis finished with a deep sigh and a long swig that emptied his pint.

He stared down into the empty space, musing how it mirrored his heart. He waited in silence for either his tankard to be refilled or for the young bard to hammer him with more questions.

The night was calm and quiet. High above in the heavens, the stars shone brightly; no black clouds vainly blotting out their shining beauty on this night. The Loving Mother smiled down from her home of I'sys, which also shone extraordinarily bright on this peaceful night. It was a sign; good to some, bad to others. Then, Travan had never been any good at Astronomy anyways. He'd always preferred his plants and animals over the star-lit skies.

The occasional chilled breeze rustled through the leaves of the great old trees, their boughs groaning at the shrill touch of the cold zephyrs. In the distance, the mild sounds of a city could be heard. Here and there, people were talking. There were the soft sounds of footfall on the wooden walkways above. Off somewhere, a door clicked shut. The sounds brought peace of mind to Travan. At least the world still functioned normally. Some days, it seemed as though the very threads of life and stability were tearing apart.

Those days seemed to come all too often, it seemed. Tavan smiled, leaning back against a tree. It was an old oak, perhaps as old as some of the more elderly elves. He knew, of course, he could simply ask the tree its age, but to Travan, that seemed to remove the magic of it. A contented sigh escaped his lips. There was no place he would rather be on such a night. Unfortunately, he had to return home before it got too late. One could never be too careful when it came to one's own safety, even in a place such as Auro'nahrah.

He got up reluctantly and stretched his arms out, small bits of the cool nigh mist trailing out of the way of his hands. He turned and began to stroll through the trees. Unlike many of the homes here, his was on the ground, where he felt walking creatures belonged anyways. Elves weren't meant to live in the trees, else the Loving Mother would have given them wings.

His staff clicked rhythmically against the stone path as he strode down it, the light mist that had built up in the evening trailing behind him. It wasn't a very ornate staff, a simple piece of wood that had been inlayed with a vine pattern. Atop it sat a small green crystal which shone faintly in the night air. As he strolled down the cobbled road, his shoulder-length green hair flowing lightly behind him, he began to whistle to himself, a solemn tune that always seemed to remind him of happier days. He had learned it from his mother; she used to sing it to him to get him to sleep when he was still a small child.

The tune had always been stuck in his mind ever since, though he had never learned the full lyrics. He did, however, remember that the song was an epic journey painted in verse, supposedly the story of one of his ancestors. He sighed, interrupting his tune. He'd missed his mother since she had gone away. No one knew where, really, just that she had left on an errand of some importance and never returned. It was probably over seventy years ago, now. Simple years didn't seem so important to an elf. Since then, he'd lived on his own, and done quiet comfortably. His mother had taught him well the ways of the forest, and how to survive there.

He actually lived not far from the city, rather than in it. He always felt foreign spending an extended length of time in the city, though he tended to go there every day anyways. His home consisted of a well-crafted little hut, just over five arm-spans wide and two spans high. It wasn't anything of grandeur, but it served his purposes well enough. It kept him dry in the rain and warm on the nights when it grew cold. A small pile of furs served as a bed, and a small open-pit fire place in the centre of the hovel worked fine for cooking, though it lay seldom used and often in a state of disrepair.

The building itself was made of rounded river stones cemented together with hardened clay. The walls curved inwards slightly as they sloped up to the roof, which was thatch waterproofed with pitch, giving the whole building a look similar to a mushroom. A heavy wooden door, slightly bowed as to fit against the curved wall served as the only way in or out. The only other means of light or air were the three small, rectangular windows set near the roof, and the round-shuttered hole at the centre of the thatch that provided ventilation for when a fire was lit.

At length reaching the little cottage, he sighed happily to himself and pressed his free hand against the wooden door. He paused there for a moment, letting his fingers trace over the family crest carved there, a great tree within three knotted circles, and a small, humanoid figure in the centre of the tree, its limbs intertwined with the branches. Dwin'eplith, the Walkers in the Forest. This was his home; the forest. It always would be. He pushed hard against the door, and with a creek it slid inwards. Travan took a soft step into the darkened chamber. He carefully pushed the door closed behind him, then fumbled around in the dark until he found his flint and a candle.

The room smelled somewhat of smoke and holly, but Travan had always enjoyed that smell anyways. It added to his definition of "home". Striking the candle, the warm, familiar sights greeted him. Against the back wall, opposite the door, hung a large tapestry, tainted now from smoke, but it had once been a beautiful image of the sun rising over a mountain valley. Beneath that was his bed of furs, the soft strands glittering in the candlelight. They were bought furs, of course. Travan would never bring it upon himself to hurt an animal for the sake of claiming its skins. The fact that others did it even disgusted him. He had once commented to a skin-hunter that an animal should see fit to cut him open and wear his skin.

Still, he had bought the furs. He would rather see them in his own hands than around the neck of some stuck-up human - or worse, even, on the floor of their bedchamber. He shuddered at the thought, peeling his eyes away from the furs. He shuffled across the floor, mindful of the pot, dish, and cup that sat on the floor. The pot he used mainly for making stews and teas. It was an old steel thing that he had picked up somewhere, though the memory of where escaped him. The plate was made of finely crafted steel, as was the cup. He kept them in good care, and tended not to use them very often.

Next to them sat two wicker baskets, one of which he used habitually to gather fruits and leaves of the forest in, the other which he kept for the occasions when he went to fish. Stacked on top of one of them was an old oil lantern, which had so seldom been used that Travan doubted it would still work when he needed it. A familiar hooting noise dew his attention to the other side of the room, and a smile spread across his face as La'ryl, his Great Horned Owl and companion resounded her greetings. He smiled to her, nodding his head deeply to the Owl.

Travan had found her as a hatchling, sick and alone, and had nursed her back to health. She was old now, for an owl, at the age of 15, but she was as strong and graceful as the day she was five. Ever since he had cared for her, La'ryl had stuck by his side, each the other's best of friends. She had even mothered once, and Travan had helped her care for her little ones as best as one can help a bird care for their young. They had all grown now, and moved on to their own hunting grounds.

A warm, relaxed feeling settled over Travan as he crawled among his furs, nestling into their warmth and blocking out the slight memory of the cool winds. He tattered with La'ryl for a short time, asking her how her hunting had gone earlier, and what else she had done that day, before finally rolling over and blowing out the candle beside him and snuggling up against the wall.

A dim rectangular light swept slowly across the floor, coming from I'sys through the trees. As Travan watched it slowly sweep towards the fire pit, grazing on the corner of his dishes, he had one final contented sigh before drifting off into a gentle sleep. La'ryl watched silently as Travan slowly drifted into his dreams, pausing once to wonder what he dreamt about, before slipping precociously out through the largest of the three windows and soaring off into the night forest.

Before the sting of being brushed off with the brief responses could sink in, Darien was pleased to discover that the Lord had a sense of humor. He listened with rapt attention, save for the occasional twitch of his tail, as Rhalis answered his questions in deeper detail. It was hard to think of the neigh immortal one before him as a young boy.

"And quite the tale it is...though you likely get tired of the bards repeating it. A return to Rivervale...that would be another great story. If you ever find the time for it, I'd be glad to come along and write the story..."

"Of course, there's always going to be barons and their quarrels...some quarrel over wealth and power...and then you get ones like Barons Jerilasean and Mirareba...it was a sight to see, when they arrived at the tavern to learn that they were both there to see the same bar maid. There surely had to be some witchery in place for her to have survived the anger of two lords who had discovered that they were being played along. From the reports, the two lords still aren't talking to each other...Almost done writing the song about the situation...of course changing the names to protect the not so innocent...and my own hide if we ever travel through their territories again..."

Gulie was kind of disappointed as the Wild Elf left, saying that he was leaving the froup of travling bards. 'I hope he does well on his own.' she thought, taking another bite of her salad. She was starting to get slightly tired by the days excersions, but she wanted to see what contellations would be out at midnight in this place. They might very well be totally different at this time from the ones that saw at her home a week's travel away. Her internal clock said that it wasn't late enough to look at the starts and admire their beauty. Sighing, she moved her powerful but rfined and toned haunches away from the stage so she didn't have to crane her neck so fat to see who was singing. But, at the same time, she was still listening in on those two Elves and the Wildling's conversation. It was turning out to be rather interesting...

It was the dreams that kept him awake, kept him moving. Once his dreams had been his own, a peaceful escape from reality's cold grip. Those nights were long ago though, barely on the fringe of his memory. Now they were the same. Maybe it was the damn book, everything had started over that day. Another one of the costs it seemed.

That was what had brought him here, on the edge of nowhere, on the brink of freezing to death. He had traveled foolishly in the cold snow. A strange thing snow was, too cold, much too cold for his taste. And yet it fasinated him. As a child the tales of snow were just that, simply tales of a far off place. A faery tale of sorts.

He sipped his drink, a fowl thing that passed for ale around here. Much to bitter for his liking and it burned on it's way down. But at least it burned the cold away.

He caught himself drifting off again. How long since he had slept? A day? Two? His head felt like there was a little creature burrowing deep into his forehead. He would have to sleep soon, have to give in and accept the dreams. Two pains, but he could nolonger keep going with his head hurting this much.

Not even the music helped dim the pain, though it did seem to cheer up the crowd in the inn. He sat alone, much as he was accustomed to, at a corner table. His bag lay across his lap, it never left his sight, never left his touch. The Angeis Der was safely hidden within and although it had brought more bad then good so far it was his. He had paid the price, and was still paying them.

Costly the damn thing. It was the reason why he was here, half frozen in an town of strangers unable to remember what the hot sun felt like on his skin. The cold seeped into his bones and the old wound on his ankle hurt. A smile played at his lip at the memory of that night. He considered removing his hood but decided against it. Silver hair was rare enough but most who had it were in there late years. Draven was barely 17. Another one of those prices paid in full.

He had come here in hope that just maybe he would find something useful about the book he carried. He took another sip and found his cup empty. He massaged his aching head and leaned back catching sight of one of the serving girls. One more drink and he would find his bed this evening.

He pushed a silver to the girl as she replaced his mug, this time the smile came full upon his face though hidden by the hood. It was always one more drink....

Yelam waited, covered in snow, the only hting visible to all but the most discerning eyes would be the occasional puff of breath in the frosty morning air, and the harsh glint of golden eyes. He could smell their sour stench, all twenty of them had taken to not bathing in the cold, and while Yelam had been able to pick off a few of them, they had stayed together so tightly of late that he had been unable to make further progress.

Further frustrating him was the leavings he had found after a recent raid on a small wildling settlement the brigands had made. He had found the corpses of two of the brigands, all but eaten in the manner of a dominant male leaving scraps for an underling or an invalid. Of course that night Yelam had left his own leavings neatly next to the upstarts sleeping matt of dry grass... but it did little for his pride. He had managed no klls in that raid because he had been tending to another smaller band of poachers at the time. Now he was setting up to eradicate this bunch.

The muffled sound of hooves on snow and the rowdy voices of their riders drifted to him non too quietly in the vast stillness of the wilds. As the first horse approached he heard jokes about "The Lion" coming to get them. How they had scared him off last night.

Yelam was The Lion and he had been nowhere near them last night. The upstart must have tried something and been beaten off. At least this time it worked to his advantage. They were overconfidant and that would make this easier.

As the horse neared his waiting spot he let it pass, and then the next, and then the next. Attacking the front would only raise the alarm and alert the others. Attacking the rear too difficult. But the middle... the soft middle where they did not expect attack because the front gaurd had already passed was ripe.

In a burst of snow that blinded the nearest man Yelam leapt, taking the first horse by the neck with a vicious swipe it's horrible screa ended in an abrupt gurgle as blood burned the snow crimson. The rider was stuck in his traces as Yelam dispatched him, twisting his head around sharply. He pulled the corpse free of the wreckage and threw it hard into the next horseman who fell from his saddle in a horrified heap.

Yelam caught the horses reigns that were attached to the heavily laden supply wagon that held everything the brigands traveled with. In one fluid motion he was in the wagon and snapping the reigns, the horses tearing away at breakneck speed through the snow, hauling the wagon bone jarringly along. The bumps caused by the senseless brigand that had been knocked from his horse could barely be noticed as the cart ran over tree roots and rocks.

As he left Yelam roared his defiance, and hatred at the brigands. The elements should claim them soon. They had grown soft relying on a wagon. They had doomed themselves. The goods they carried should greatly aid the wildings in the area. Though it could only help those who had lost what could not be replaced. Eyes of emerald green watched him as he fled. Eyes that burned with anger and jealousy.

Guli was just about to pay for her food when someone ran into her hard, causing her to stumble off-balanced and make her starcharts fall off her back. She cursed in her own toung, and got down on one knee to pick them up. She noticed that a few had landed over where the Elf noble was sitting, and she appologised as she picked it up. "I'm so sorry, Milady and Sirs. I don't know who ran into me. I guess I should've been paying more attetion to my haunches than what I was. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tellyou my name. I am Giuliani Peraptor, but most just call me Guli." She said, taking a graceful bow onto one foreleg- or as graceful a one as she could manage. She felt so embarassed. "I...I guess I should leave you three to your conversation..." she mumbled, starting to back out of where she was in that tight space, putting the charts in her pack as she did so.

Draven glared at the now empty mug as if it was the mugs falt for being empty. It was always one more drink but now he realized that he was closer to his limit then he thought. It was too cold to stay drunk but his headache was throbbing worse then normal.

Lifting up his much to empty coin pouch he dropped a final silver to the serving girl. She shook her head at him, "I thought the last one was the last one?"

He shrugged, "It's always one more." he answered. He accepted the mug and glanced around at the patrons. An interesting group but none seemed to easy of a mark yet. Oh he was good but being full of oneself was not a good reason to get sent to jail.

The place seemed to be filling up which made him uncomfortable. He was enjoying the peace of a table by himself but he wondered how long that peace would last.

Rhalis sighed and ran a hand through graying black hair. His thoughts dwelled on his former home. It had been at least an age since then...and only an elf could understand the passage of time. "I have fond memories of my home, Young Bard. 'Twould be a shame to mar them," he said finally, banging his tankard on the counter for another fill. The Tender quietly approached, filled the tankard, and left just as suddenly as he had appeared.

"As for the barons..." Rhalis started, pausing to take a swig. He was 'interrupted' by a most proper centaur. "No need to apologize milady," Rhalis said, trying not to 'look down' at the centaur and returned a boyish smile. "Of all things, the one who caused this malady should be the one apologizing," Rhalis added.

Duina knelt down and picked up a star chart, taking a sideways glance at a small portion. She quietly handed the chart back to the centaur and returned to her seat with her back to the bar.

Rhalis would have said more had he the chance. A thudding sounded from outside the tavern. Loud and methodical steps found their way up the wooden planks on the veranda outside and made their way into the tavern. A halberd, as long as Guli, wrapped on the floor of the tavern to call for silence. A gauntlet held this halberd and was connected to a silver-armored soldier. A russet beard hid much of the face, but it was clearly a dwarf that stood in the doorway, scanning those in the tavern.

A deep voice called above the din that had not died, "A call to arms!! Bandits have been sighted in the Snow Fields! All able bodied men or women willing and able to fight must enter the Great Hall for drafting. His Lord Johanes prefers those who are well versed in weaponry or otherwise skilled in war crafts!"

The din was dead by the second sentence. The news sent whispers and mutterings across the floor. Two dwarves started out the door, following the silver-armored messenger, as well as a half-elf, a gnome, and two humans. Rhalis stood as well, draining his tankard, and nodded to the Tender. He'd just have to put it all on his tab. He took a glance into the crowd and called for Torrun. A little visit with this Lord Johanes seemed a grand idea. Rhalis sighed again and marched out of the tavern. Duina followed shortly after the disgruntled dwarf, who was in turn followed by two shadowed figures.

Delyth watched the scene within the tavern not paying attention to much. She ate a simple meal and drank a glass wine, then merely sat at watched the entertainment. She paid some attention to her arrows, sharpening them slightly. Her eyes continued to gaze to the pouch which she carried. She always wondered at the contents, but never questioned. Kane had learned the hard way not to question the packages.

Traffic flowed in and out, and Delyth found herself feeling tired. To keep herself awake she pulled a scroll, quill and ink out of her pack and laid them on the table. The noise around her did not bother her as she wrote her expenses, and her days travels. All of which she kept on parchment for a report to her father. Thinking this would keep her awake, she then realized she had been wrong and slowly placed the items back in her pack.

Delyth pushed back her chair and rose. She began gathering her things silently, thinking to head to the inn and get some rest before delivering her package. As soon as she had risen, however, a dwarf appeared in the doorway and began speaking of bandits, and looking for people to fight. Well, might as well be of use, she thought. This would be something to put on her record, for her father to be proud of considering all the exploits her brother had taken part in. Now it was her turn.

Putting her hood up once more to hide her face, Delyth shouldered her belongings and began heading gracefully through the door and then making her way to the Great Hall, noticing that she was following a fairly large group which had left just before her.

Gold. They would have to pay for these people's services to fight these bandits out in that demon darkness thing they called snow. Horrible fighting place. Draven wasn't a fighter, he was a man of questionable talents. A procurer of rare items, or sometimes he considered himself a financial distrubutor.

His coins were running uncomfortably low and although his talents could keep him paid for a time eventually the odds said he would get caught. At least by fighting some so called bandits he could earn some spending money, even better bandits had there treasures as well. Treasures that could be his.

A smile played at his lips as he finished the mug. There was a catch however, a fatal one at that. He still had a bounty on his head thanks to the kind folks of Illiara. The damn book again, always making trouble for him. His head ached worse then ever, he wondered if they would be stupid enough to head out tonight. That wouldn't work of course for him, whether he liked it or not he needed sleep.

At least this far north the bounty was such that it was barely worth the effort. After the expenses of sending him back to Illiara, where he was wanted alive, and waiting a few months for the golds to reach this far north, they might get lucky to break even. It was rather insulting that his mark was so low, but then they didn't want to let it known that someone had managed to break into their preciouse(sp?) Magic Library. The rumors spoke the truth but as long as they never acknowledged the theft then they would remain just that. Rumors.

He stood up slowly feeling disoriented more from his headache then alcohol he had consumed. After regaining his balance he headed for the door. At the very least he would end his boredom...

Yelam had deposited the cartload of goods on the outskirt of a settlement and had taken only a few haunches of meat and some blankets for his lair. It was thankless the way he had left the wagon, but the residents knew from whom the gifts came, and while they could not thank him directly he had found several fresh kills placed near his lair, as an offering of respect and thanks.

The blankets were really of no use to him, for he felt no cold, not unless it was the truly bitterest of winters and then it was only a discomfort, not the deadly freeze that humans would feel in this area. He did however hope to one day sire progeny, and that meant he would need a warm, safe place. He had collected furs and balnkets or a long time now and had a suitable bed for any young ones that he might produce. Unfortunately he lacked the vital component to producing progeny. A female that would have him. Right now he was stuck with bandits, the woods, and and uppity young MALE tiger that thought him unfit to protect others because he lacked the stripes of his brethren.

There had been little seen of the young upstart of late, the occasional trace duelly noted and mentally recorded, the few markings, quickly washed over and overidden by Yelam's powerful scent and high scrapings. But no sightings. Yelam knew he had been watched several times by the young one, but he had never caught him, at least not yet. But that was probably for the best because when he did he would have to challenge and kill the young tiger. And depsite the affrontry Yelam was still Loath to do that.

Besides he had other business to attend to. The last batch of Brigands had proven more resourceful than he had thought. They had carried some provisions and basic cupplies on their mounts with them, and while their numbers had dwindled they had set up a camp and were now sponging off of the land. While they were inlikely to make it through the winter, Yelam did not like them being here. They took to much and returned nothing.

He was planning a raid for this night. He would finish them off. And then he would be free to think on the youngling, for no other poachers should venture into his territory for some time.

Guli nodded as the dwarf came to the doorway and delivered his message. "Well, I do weild magics and can use a bow...I _guess_ I could be helpful..." she murmered, trotting behing the human that she had just met by accident in the tavern. "Um, hello again." she murmered to him, still trying to be as polite as what the two-legged standards were. "I'm sorry, but I never caught your name back there in the tavern. And, since you seem to be thie nicets Human that I have met for some time, I might invite you to a glass of wine or ale- which ever you prefer." Guli knew that she might be going a little overboard with this 'generosity' thing, but she didn't really care. She was outlandish, no? So they would just think that it was the 'outlandish ways' of her to be this way.

Warm air floated from Liya's lips as she looked down at the Dwarven city. The cloud of damp hair dispursed quickly, the warmth of her breath quickly taken by the cold air. Liya didn't like this city, it was too cold. She was covered by a thick lair of furs. Only a small slit in the furs allowed her to see. The only other part of her body that wasn't wrapped in furs was her arm. It was wrapped in black leather, normaly not enough to bind out the cold, but then again her arm wasn't normal. It hang at her side unmoving as usual.

Below the Dwarves were running about. There was cause for alarm. She heard whispers of an attack from a group of Dwarven warriors. She looked down at her arm and wondered if there was cause for her to get involved. So far her stay here had been uneventful, even boring. Maybe this was what she had been waiting for.

Yelam had been stalking the campsight all night, they had not left their supposedly protective circle of fire all evening. They had even resorted to defecating and urinating in their squalid little enclosure for fear of reaching the poorly dug latrine they had constructed before nightfall.

They were bleary eyed and near their wits end for every time they would begin to drift off from sheer exhaustion he would roar, or throw a lantern into their midst, or simply, on one occasion, run through, snag a victim and drag him screaming into the night. They never screamed for long.

It was almost time to finish them. Yelam was almost sorry, for they would be no challenge whatsoever now. But it was better this way, he owuld let one survive, deliriouse with fear he would goad the 'escapee" to the borders of a nearby town and allow him to spread the tale. If The Lion was to be known, The Lion would be feared. Poachers who dared to enter his woods would have knowledge of his prescence, but it would not aid them. for only the foolsih would come.

He had no great treasure only the creatures and wildlings he protected. Only seekers of glory would come, and they were always fools. He was waiting for them to nod off when out of nowhere another roar sounded. The men were blasted into full alert having not fallen deeply enough asleep to have been disoriented by awakening suddenly. Hoisting weapons they were semi prepared when the youngling bounded into their camp.

The fool. He had not been there all night, yet he saught to reap the rewards, and poorly at that. Of the 8 remaining brigands one was dead, but four were now bringing weapons to bear on the youngling. Yelam tore into the camp, cathing two of the brigands by suprise and removing from one his bowels and the other his throat. The third whirled but upon seeing the real lion fled, the distinct tinge of urine upon the air.

The youngling had dispatched another one, but had suffered several wounds to his arms, and a nick to his face. Yelam hit the remaining poachers like a tornado of claws and teeth. When he was done there was nothing left alive between himself and the youngling. They stared at each other in intent challenge. Yelam's eyes cold and calculating, the others eyes hot and full of hatred.

The paw reached out quickly at Yelam's face, but was blocked "You have no place in our society Lion! GO and leave this place to a true Tiger" The repost to the younglings blow sent the tiger sprawling and left a tear in his thick hide that was painful but not debilitating. "I am twice the tiger you are youngling. You will have to earn your name elswhere." And then Yelam delivered the most damning insult a Tiger could give another. He sprayed him. A full direct jet of Yelams scent struck the youngling in the face, coating him and marking him for weeks to come as Yelams property. Yelam left the dazed youngling alone on the ground, weeping in frustration.

Rhalis glanced to the side before he finally looked up. "Ah, yes, my apologies milady," he started and managed an oddly graceful bow for someone who refused to stop in the middle of the busy street. "Most call me Rhalis, preferably," he said as he rose. He dare not proffer a hand, Duina had already given him a warning glare for even giving the centaur a name.

It wasn't that she didn't like centaurs, it was the fact that she cared for him like an annoying big sister. He had been left in her care after all, newly washed onto the shore of Elven Wood, and barely alive to mutter his name then. Now he was far too liberal in giving it. Duina sighed and rolled her eyes as Rhalis continued the conversation...alway the one to pry. The boy's curiosity was bound to get him sooner or later.

"I quite admire the centaurs. There can much learned in the passage of the moons and stars. I hope one day the people of the world may understand their various meanings and silent prophecies. A hardy race I hear, though perhaps another time may be spent learning just how hardy that can be," he chattered on, winking and displaying a charming smile. It was shy of a challenge but as his thoughts centered on the bandit raid in the snow fields, he focused now on the situation. There were farm steads in the area, encased in rock and snow, but still easy targets for a band, if not an army, of brigands.

When the charts came flying onto the counter, Darien's attention was torn away from Rhalis to the centaur. A centaur...he had heard stories of them, but this was the first one he had actually seen. Gathering his wits about him, he helped her and Rhalis to gather up the fallen charts.

Before he could get a chance to barrage either of them with further questions, a guard came to the tavern, announcing the call to arms. As they were undoubtably great fighters, Rhalis and Guli went off with the volunteers.

He was about to follow when he was pulled up short by a hand on the back of his tunic. "Just where do you think you're going, young man?" Margris demanaded.

"Weren't you listening? They want those skilled in warcrafts...you're a bard, not a warrior. You'd just be in the way."

"If nothing else, I'd be another set of eyes and ears...and nose." he responded, pointing out the fact that his senses were indeed far sharper that most other races.

Margris couldn't argue with that. "Well...you take care of yourself...Don't go getting yourself hurt trying to be a hero. We need you for tommorrow's performance."

Draven watched carefully wondering if he was the only one stupid enough to sign up. He needed the money, and a diversion from the cold would be a good thing. But how much of a diversion would fighting in the snow be? A shiver ran down his spine.

Not to mention he was still a fugitive, one not nearly so sought this far north, but a fugitive non the less. He doubted that they would actually pay that much otherwise there would be plenty of people here already. The real prize was the bandits. He didn't really care for them that much, a thief had a bad rap already but to kill for money. That was heartless, he killed only when nessessary and stole only what he needed. Or would need eventually.

Obviously the bandits had made a name for themselves, otherwise they wouldn't be looking for recruits to ride out into the devil's heart of a storm to fight. He licked his lips at the thought of what they had taken so far. The treasures were blood coins, taken from the dead. But if he stole them from the bandits what harm would that do? The original owners were already long gone, cold and buried in the ice.

He had made some headway in his thoughts but the lack of others signing up made him still reluctant to go through with it. A thief versus armed bandits wasn't much of a fight. He nodded fishing out a silver mark. Leave it to chance then. Flipping it high in the air he snatched it, never needing to really look at the scratched side it landed on. Fate was having far to much fun with him, he thought to himself as he moved in to sign up.

Guli smirked. That was as close as a human had ever come to making a challenge to her without stating it in actual words such as. "I want to see how you fight...go kill those people over there for me." Usually it was the person who _asked_ that got killed, but she liked this man's...what wouls it be called? Subtleness?

"Yes...well, Sir, you shall soon see how powerful a Centaurian Sorceress -especially a Sylvan one- does in a true battle, no matter how small it is. As long as it is fgor the right causes, I will fight my strongest...and I recommend that you, too, do the same."

Guli had reached the table of sorts where there was a poiece of parchment and a basin of ink along with a pen to write down their names. In her flowing script, Guli wrote her name in small but clear letters. 'Guliani Peraptor- Sylvan Centaur' She admired her writing for a moment, then handed the pen over to Rhalis. "Well...are you brave enough, two-legger, to sign up, or are you afraid that your feet will fall out from beneth you?"

Ri'shah walked through a forest in a springtime sun, furry woodland creatures about his feet as they sensed his pure aura. The spring sun shown down upon his head, face, and neck, bathing him in its glorious energetic rays. Refreshing all life upon the world.

Gradually, as his eyes were closed, his mouth in a wide and open smile, face up in the clouds, the sky darkened and the sun was blotted out. Clouds of dark color came and washed the world over with their black rain. The Woodland creatures were changed into horrendous beasts and dragons circled in the air. The forest he was in melted with every raindrop of evil. It soon turned into a desert of black sand.

Those former furry woodland creatures were now vile demonic beasts that leapt upon him to tear him to pieces. And he, helpless against it. So is the change of the world. As one of the beasts pounced upon him and sunk its sharp claws into his flesh as it floored him, it looked into his eyes. Still those same little rabbit eyes. It didn't want to do it, but instinct made it kill. Its form was evil, its intent evil, but its soul was essentially still good and pure.

He looked at himself and saw that he too had changed. He was wearing dark armors with cultist runes and evil markings of all kinds. To his horror, he felt that his intent and aura had changed. The beast was killing him not because it was master to evil, but because it was eliminating the evil around it, namely Ra'shah.

As the beast reared its head up and came down, a mere centimeter from his demise, his world suddenly changed. He bolted up and threw up beside the bed the contents of that night's drinking. His forehead was sweaty and his heart racing.

Ra'shah thought a moment. "Ahm... Yes. I hear you quite well sir," he said a tad slurred, the alcohol still traveling through his veins. Ra'shah held his head and tried to calm himself. "Bandits, right." He remembered now the knocking and jostling of his door, and the speak of bandits while he was having his nightmare.

"I'd be of little good as a drunken Monk, but I shall see what I can do to aid this fair... town?" He rolled off the non-puked side of the bed and got as much of his balance as he could afford himself and unlocked the door, walking into the blaring light with a hand over his eyes. He stumbled down the steps, people rushing down past him and almost knocking him down.

He walked to where he and others were placed and saw the centaur from earlier that night, among a few other familiarish faces. The recruitment had begun and he signed his name, sluggishly and sloppily in a writing that few had ever seen, and even fewer understood. It was the writing of the Monks of his land. He knew other writings, but that was the most easily written for him, and he didn't feel up to anything less than easy at the moment.

Ra'shah shielded his eyes constantly, things slightly off focus... yet, still within focus... An odd land to live in. He stumbled and a fellow recruitment helped him keep his feet. How embarassing, a drunk monk.

Delyth followed others, not knowing where exactly they were meeting. She could find her way by daylight, seeing the buildings. But by night...yes her vision wasn't bad, but she just didn't remember the layout of the town very well. She'd hadn't been here for so long and the time had taken it's toll on her.

People were signing their names, and Delyth moved to take her turn there. She signed her name quickly, though she had learned to read and write growing up so her name was quite legible. She then moved away from the signing and took a place off to the side a bit, waiting for someone to organize the people gathering.

Draven peered at the others wondering what he was doing there. He grinned as he remembered, treasure. Money may not buy happiness but it sure helped find it. Moving forward he took the pen and signed his name. He frowned at the scribbling he put down, compared to the other signatures his was chicken scratch.

Draven had been placed on the streets at an early age and only by chance had learned to write his name as well as he could. At least it was legible. Sighing he took an empty place beside an elf. He nodded to her and began to play with one of his knives. It was boring to wait...

Rhalis grinned back at the centaur. Sylvan she may be, but oblivious to his rank and position. He admired that, especially her tenacity. "All and well, I do not sign what I have yet to read in full...and that usually deals with ordinances," he muttered, adding a nod of subtle rejection. Duina rolled her eyes.

Rhalis stepped up to a young guard nearby and muttered in what could only be the dwarvish dialect. Whatever was said sent the young guard racing into the bulk of the Great Hall, the towering archway above the table and gathering crowd. Rhalis looked back to Guli and smiled most friendly. "Sometimes I just love surprises."

No sooner that he had uttered the phrase, a white-bearded dwarf dressed in noble finery threw open the Hall doors and came huffing out in a flurrish of grunting and deep chuckling. "RHALIS! You ol' dragthen!" Lord Johanes of all Durzar cried in greeting, throwing short limbs wide to encompass the graying man by the a young elfling.

"Johanes! You ol' bastard of a hathak!" Rhalis cried back, exchanging the usually roughness of the dwarf with a good hardy smack on the dwarf's leathered back.

"What brings you so quietly to Durzar?" the dwarf asked, pulling away quite reluctantly.

"Ah, a pest, feeding on our good lands and hard-working people, of course," Rhalis answered, steering the dwarf toward the inner Great Hall. "Perhaps a discussion over a bit of whine might do well our time here? Hoy! Duina, bring dear Guli along for a glimpse into the workings of lords! I hope you don't mind the harsh dwarven wines of Durzar," Rhalis cried over his shoulder, directing each statement in turn to those subjected to them.

Johanes laughed heartily and walked on with a strong hand on Rhalis's belt. "You'll do well to keep a hand from my maidens, Rhalis. They may take it for a sign, you know," the White Lord guffawed and slapped his knee with his other hand.

Rhalis visibly threw his gaze toward the ceiling of the archway and quickly back to Duina. The pleading 'help me' look came and went as the dwarf lord led Rhalis inside.

Duina looked to Guli with a pained look and sighed. "Welcome to my world," she muttered and quickly followed the two men.

Within, the crowds had gathered, most in their own little bands, growing acquainted with those they may be fighting beside. Many looked to be fighters, with several cobra clan naga becoming the center of silent attention. Whispers and rumors flowed through the crowds of amulets keeping the snakes warm in this cold climate, but such gossip could not be proven just yet. No one had the courage to look at the naga that long.

Johanes led Rhalis into the great chamber, a path was formed out of respect for the dwarf that would pay each man and woman in turn. "Quite a good army you have here," Rhalis muttered.

"Pah! The army of Durzar marches within the dark caverns around and below the city. They're currently keeping the peace with all manner of crazed 'dwellers here," Johanes explained. "Hence this call to arms. I need men, not just those I can pay, but those I can trust to carry out this plan of mine."

"Wait...you have a plan?" Rhalis asked, a hint of mockery in his tone. "You? The great White Lord of Durzar created a plan of attack again Bandits?" he asked, half disbelieving it possible.

Johanes huffed. "Well, maybe I didn't come up with the idea but it's better than running off into the middle of a snow storm to fight these brigands," the dwarf admitted, coming to sit on his 'throne'.

Rhalis sat in a chair next to it, provided by the astute cast of servants and maids. A bottle of the proferred wine sat on a small round table between them with four wine glasses set. Rhalis took the liberty of pouring for the both of them, and a third for the centaur no doubt more than anxious to deal out her justice to his challenge. With that thought, Rhalis smirked.

"What of your elven companion, hey?" the dwarf uttered shortly, waving a callused hand at Duina. She was standing beside Rhalis, ever the alert guardian of her Lord. "She's on duty...always," Rhalis answered, sending a warning glance at the dwarf lord. After a moment of silence, Rhalis took a sip of the wine and suppressed a grimace.

"The wine is awefully strong this winter," Rhalis murmured, looking into the rich scarlet swirl that was the Durzar wine.

"The farms aren't yielding as succulent grapes as possible. Takes more of 'em to fill a bottle. The winemakers can't seem to adapt well to the changes in the weather patterns," Johanes explained, watching the crowd's growing excitement.

"You speak as though you know what you're talking about," Rhalis shot with a jesting smile.

"I've a centaurian in my service. One of those...those..." the dwarf lord paused a moment, clearly trying to remember something that he forgot. "Blast this mind of mine. I can't seem to focus on one thing before something else starts vying for my attention," Johanes said, a weary look passing across his wrinkled visage.

"Ah, years are catching you off guard. As I have seen you have plenty of able sons to carry on your work," Rhalis said and momentarily seized the eyes of a fair elven woman across the way to the left of the throne dais. It had to be the fair Lady Yedema, Johanes's latest consort. Rhalis sent a curt nod in her direction and thankfully returned it with a silent curtsey befitting a reluctant lord. She was almost more understanding when it came to the Rivervale Lord.

He gave her a silent thanks as she turned to tend to a dwarf with much the same features of Johanes. That would be the bull-headed Throdin, and next to him, his short-tempered brother Thorodin. Twins, if Rhalis wasn't mistaken. They might prove difficult if they were to lead a squad, much less a battalion, into the waiting bandits.

"You know me to be a curious lot, Johanes. Where did you get the information about this band of brigands in the snow fields?" Rhalis asked, his ice-blue gaze sweeping the attendence.

"A scout of mine came through the gates just a couple hours past," Johanes answered. "Why?"

"I passed through that field earlier today," Rhalis started in reply, "and I saw no sign of any bandits."

Johanes locked his deep, earthen brown gaze with the icy gaze of Rhalis Rivervale. "That poses a dilemma," Johanes rumbled in mild surprise.

Rhalis leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "Sometimes..." he started, glancing up to Guli with a frown. "I just loathe surprises."

Guli followed the threesome to a room where all the soldiers were lined up. She looked appraisingly at each group, noticing the size of the forces. When offered the wine, she couldn't wait to try it...she had never had any wine from this area of the world before, but took her first very cautious sip. The taste was strong, nothing like the Elven wines that she usually drank. She liked it.

Then her mind was pulled back to the conversation that the two lords were holding. But what did rank mean to her, one that lived out in the Plains without anyone higher than herself?

She had to smile at the Lords appearent discomfort at this latest...supprise. "Sometimes supprises are what make life interesting. Otherwise why be here today, alive and well just to live in a world with no supprises? HWew would the variences of sorrow, joy, and anger come from?" She crossedher empty hand in front of her so that it was hanging from her other arm, with her other hand swirling her glass of the Dwarven wine.

He watched the comotion die down. He had never worked for any group like this. He wasn't exactly sure what to now. Was he supposed to go back to his inn and sleep? Surely they had no intention of riding out in the night in search of the brigands.

The blade continued to dance on his fingertips faster and faster. If that was the case then he was in for trouble. His head still hurt and as much as he hated to admit it, three days was about his limit without sleep. A prick snapped him out of his thoughts. He caught the blade just before it hit the ground and stashed it back up his sleeve.

He shook his finger, the cut wasn't deep but it was still bleeding. "Cursed damn cold..barely feel the blades..." he muttered at no one as he sucked his injured finger. He gave a faint grin at everyone, "Anyone know what we're supposed to do now?"

Rhalis sighed once again, nodding to Guli's remark about such events. "What say we get this started, hey?" Rhalis muttered with a sly glance to Johanes.

The dwarf lord "Grumph"ed and stood stiffly. "Listen up! We've got word of bandits and you're here to give em a reply. The Lords of the Winterwards is 'preciative of you for volunteerin' and I'll be certain to give rewards to those who survive...err...whatevers," the Durzar Lord announced over the mutterings of the gathered crowd. "Onward to the raiding party!"

Johanes marched off toward the Great Hall doors and down toward the gates where horses would be waiting for all those who deemed to ride with him. Rhalis hesitated in his chair, gulped down what was left of the Durzar wine, and stood with a deep breath. "Well...off to the party!" he said with a wide grin and strode after the old Lord.

Duina hung her head a moment before following after. The disappearance of Torrun ended abruptly as he joined to march heavily beside her, and the two mysterious guards followed shortly behind them, still hooded and shadowed by darkness.

Chittering laughter broke the silence of the wind-blown snow fields. The blizzard was dying down now, although it would still be rather difficult for the approaching hireswords to show themselves.

They'd be ready though. They'd pounce and strike hard, then fade into the snow beneath their feet and strike again when they least expected it. They're queen had told them what to do, and they'd do it...with a vengence. The gold one would command them. They respected him. They feared him.

A gold plated warrior stood at the entrance to a cavern. The cold did not phase him for he was tainted by a hellfire that ignored the laws of the world. His gaze fell upon the field of white. Odd how it seemed so pure on the surface, but once it touched the dirt of the ground, it was tainted and never again the same as before. Odd, indeed, how snow could so emulate the touched and the tainted of Eseran.

A pale, exquisite hand slammed painfully onto the arm of a dull, silver throne. Why was the key not in her hands?

Crimson eyes flashed with a hellfire born of death. The screams of wrath's victim echoed through the halls of the stronghold, bringing a cruel smile to a deadly beautiful face. Shreva shrieked at a servant scuttling into the room and barked an order in the burning tongue of infernals. She felt her control over them slipping and fretted that the one who could re-establish the bond was half a world away. Where was he anyway?

Her thoughts soon dwelled on the golden warrior she had placed at the head of the invading army. Bandits, they were called. Well, Eseran would soon know they were nothing of the sort. Yes. Those horrid surface dwellers would learn just what they truly were.

Shreva's crimson eyes suddenly flared with new life. She would find the key and soon...soon her master would return to the world He had been cast from. He would return and build the paradise He promised. She would see that He had not lied to her. She did not favor liars.

Draven sucked on his injured finger as the group headed out. At least he was going to get a horse. Though traveling around in this cursed cold was going to kill him if the bandits didn't. He yawned dismissively. His head still hurt but not as bad as before, but he was tired. Three days without sleep did that to you. Soon he might start hallucinating, if he wasn't already.

That would be a sight, to wake up to learn that all this bandit stuff was just him fighting a statue or something in the middle of the bar. No the cut on his finger was real enough. Not to mention if he was dreaming it would not be about bandits, it would be something much more...entertaining...

Guli rolled her eyes and set down the glass in order to catch up with Rhalis and the Elf woman.

Delyth heard the dwarf call those gathered to move out towards the raiding party. The female readied herself for a battle and headed out after those ahead of her.

Through the snow and distance a roaring can be heard, a roaring that has an unmistakable quality to it, the quality of intelligence, the sound of a very large, angry wildling. And mixed with the roarings are curses of pain and various derogatory distinctions of breeding that seemed quite improbable. The words were jumbled and often didn't make sense, but one thing was for sure, this creature knew how to curse. And it seemed to be in some sort of trouble.

If you approache you will see Yelam, all 500 pounds of him, trapped in a very nasty leg trap, cursing and bleeding, and generally, stuck.

Rhalis mounted his stallion and nodded back to Johanes. The old dwarf inclined his head in gratitude before turning to deal with the gate guards. Rhalis had formulated a plan that required the cooperative efforts of the Naga. The snow can be a warrior's friend or his enemy. Duina led the first wave to the snow fields. As commander, she would have to listen closely to Rhalis's signal.

Rhalis sat upon his fur-lined steed in the tree line two hundred yards from Duina's current position. She was slowly creeping across the snow fields toward the camps, in broad daylight, to draw their attention away. Meanwhile, to the south and north, a company of volunteers trudged through the snow and stark trees.

The rogues came to meet them. Growling and howling at the on coming squadron led by Duina. "Set yourselves," the elf ranger ordered to her squad. Three dwarves set pikes before them, hoping in vain to stop the on rush of nimble rogues.

The two squadrons clashed as three lumps of snow began trailing toward the next wave of rogues. By the time the first wave had been dispatched, the lumps of snow erupted in the midst of the second wave as Cobra clan naga hacked and slashed at ankles, knees, and rogue bodies. The rogues scattered, flailing wildly, many screaming for aid, but it would not come.

Goddimus sneered, signalling the third wave to pour out of the cavern into the snow field. He only needed to hold them for a few hours. Long enough for the others to complete their mission.

Alliah looked up at Rhalis questioningly when she caught up with him. She had gone to great care to wrap herself up in white furs that blended well with the snow around them, and had even had people attach some furs to her brown and black legs. "What do you want me to do, Rhalis?" she asked, not knowing what he had planned.

Rhalis kept his gaze on Duina's squadron. "We wait until the other two squadrons are in place. When they charge, we run in as quickly as possible to overtake them. If we can reach from whence they have come, we may be able to capture or kill the brains behind the bandits. Sever the head to kill the beast," Rhalis replied. "All you need to do is try not to die."

Alliah nodded. She didn't have to try not to get killed, all she had to do was do. She had quick enough reflexes for a battle, tho the worst she had been in was a bar brawl, and she wasn't even drunk...it was the man that thought she was a horse and wouldn't leave her alone or stop throwing ropes on her...but she didn't count that. So far, she had never seen bloodshed,and partictularly didn't want to, unless she had to.

Kafax steped out into the cold. He was bundled up trying to keep warm. Zanther was standing up, looking warm.

"How did we ever get convinced to do this job?" Zanther looked at him with a slight glare. "Ok, how did I get us here. I did agree to do this and we are almost out of money. Not much choice. At least you are warm. I'm still freezing and I have this on." Zanther almost looked like he was standing pround about the fact that he had fur and feathers to keep him warm. He was told to attack with the last wave aginst the rouges. "Well, I hope this spell works. Kafax begain to prepare for the spell.

Through the battle, Rhalis caught sight of the third wave. "Now then..." he muttered with a bemused smile on his face. He took a deep breath of the cold air and called, hefting his battle axe toward the pale sky, "CHARGE!" He kicked Shadow's Keep into a dead run as the other squadrons across the field took flight into the rising tide of the third wave. Rhalis had seen their entrance, had even expected it. Whoever was behind this operation didn't think too highly of these rogues.

Upon reaching the ranks of the third wave, Rhalis cleaved through them toward the cave entrance. He dropped from Shadow's Keep, the warhorse taking the opportunity to bite and kick in the midst of the crowd, tossing rogues left and right (and far behind). Rhalis ducked into the cave, hoping to staive off the flow of rogues. His eyes didn't adjust quick enough. He felt a sharp thudding pain in his head as he lost consciousness.

Goddimus mused at the brash old man. So many years and the 'boy' thought he could handle rogues...in darkness no less! Courageous, but stupid. He signalled a couple rogues to start hauling the unconscious body of the Lord through the tunnels. They knew where to take him. The cells were nice this time of winter, thanks to the lava flow down the hall.

Duina was tiring, but the third wave had almost been broken. Rogues were starting to retreat into the cave, the Cobra clan Naga's were happily chasing down stragglers. A few rogues were being bound or knocked into a deeper state of unconsciousness. "Collect the wounded and start bandaging them up! Looks like a victory for the Winterwards today! We can celebrate when we return to Durzar!" she called across the battlefield.

The two hooded guardians actively picked equipment from the field and started piling up the refuse the rogues had used during the battle. A couple dwarves, including Torrun, were picking through the pockets of the rogues, piling up coins and other treasures on a heavy woolen blanket to be distributed to those who had aided them.

Duina noted Shadow's Keep standing at attention before the mouth of the cave, snorting and nickering urgently. She knew something was wrong. She cursed at herself for not keeping an eye on Rhalis. The 'boy' had a way of getting himself into trouble. A trait he must have picked up from Torrun. She trotted to the cave and cautiously slipped inside. She waited, guardedly, for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness and hissed a breath as she found only his battle axe lying near a small pool of what looked to thick to be water.

Duina hefted the axe and strode outside. She looked around the field and sighed somberly. "Torrun!" she called, and waited for the dwarf to lumber over. "We've a problem..." she started and looked down to the axe resting before her.

"This isn't the problem. The problem involves the owner of this," Duina said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh...well yes...then that IS a problem, isn't it?" Torrun said. "He's probably just knocked out from playing 'hero'. He'll be fine."

"No, Torrun, that isn't the problem either. This axe is all I found," Duina growled, her patience growing thin.

"Oh...kadek*!" Torrun spat a reply. (*kadek: similar to crap but means something much worse)

Duina let lose a sigh of regret. "Right. Tally! Cory!" Duina called and waited for the two hooded guardians to arrive.

"Head to the Keep, tell Ashten Rhalis has other business in Illiara. Torrun and I will be joining him. Go, quickly," Duina ordered and waited for the two to head off out of ear shot. "I will gather a band of the best volunteers we have to go searching for him," she started.

"Yes, but you'll need supplies. Pops will give you what is needed, and you can trust he won't mention you're losing of our Overlord to the thieves," Torrun interjected.

"My losing..? Excuse me for not having a leash on him. You know his tendency for heroics! Don't be putting blame on those where blame isn't due. You want blame, throw it on those be tainted thieves for dragging him off to the underground!" Duina hissed, trying desperately to keep her voice down. She did have to agree with Torrun about supplies. There was no telling how many days it would take to find him.

As soon as they gathered the needed supplies from Durzar, she'd set up the team and set off on the expedition.

Seasons of Time(All Links will open into new windows.)

Created by huntess
The Omnipotent.
AIM: keyotay
E-mail: [email protected]
*poke*

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

~* CHAPTER 1 *~