Young Writers Society

Priestess ofDeela


"And where are our guests?"
The tall figure of the Priestess looked like a dark statue of the goddess she served. Her long, pitch black hair hang to her feet, in sharp contrast with her pale skintone. Even with her back tuurned to the two giants, she could still sense the expression of failure that was on their faces.
"How long have you served me and my Mistress?" the priestess asked the giants.
"Du Jinder eers," the officer said., bowing his head low.
"Speak plainly, Lieutenant!"
"Two hundred years, my ladee," he repeated with evident difficulty.
"I see. And how many times have you failed me and my mistress."
"Unce, my ladee."
"I see," turned around, a large part of her sapphire-blue dress still staying in place, "So why is it that you, my most trustworthy giants, fail to bring a werewolf and a vampire to our city?"
"Day had too wizzards, a troll, a cat, a..."
'Two wizards you say?" A hint of interest showed in the Priestess' voice.
"Yes, my ladee."
The priestess turned around again this time walking up a few steps up to the shrine of her Mistress. She took one Deela's onyx arrows and puunctured her hand before letting her dark blood drip into the offering bowl.
A female voice spoke in the Priestess' head. Ah, my most dedicated servant, the voice said, You come to me at a late hour.
[iMistress,[/i] the Priestess replied in her head as well, I require your guidance in a matter
And why do you, my most powerful and oldest servant, need guidamce?
We have guests outside the city who are reluctant to enter.
The goddess was silent for a moment before continuing, Yes, I can feel them. Eight guests, two of which are my cursed children. A werewolf and a vampire, no less
There are also two wizards, Mistress, the Priestess said.
I can see that. And an Ollemcrat, a troll, a Greenwalker and a untainted Human.
I have bothered you, Mistress, to ask permission to send out the Daughters.
Do not overthink it, Jania, the godess said, Send the "young" Messenger, Kylin. She will be able to persuade them to come. If they refuse kind words, she will be able to withstand these wizards' magic and bring them by force.
The godess' voice stopped then, leaving Priestess Jania in silence for a moment. She then turned to the two giants who were still stamding at the foot of the shrine.
"Send word to the Messenger called Kyli," she said to the giants,"Tell her that Mistress Deela demands that she bring our 'guests' to the city, using any means necessary."
"Yes, my ladee," the giants said before clumsily trotting away to the House of the Messengers.

~Renalf~

The next morning when everyone woke up Roco spotted a man making his way toward them swiftly. He tapped Renalf on the shoulder and pointed toward the approaching figure. Renalf furrowed his brow and squinted. At the approaching figure. For few moments he was silent before turning to Dominic and whispered something in his ear. The other wizard turned toward the figure. As he did so his eyes widened.

"A Messenger... this is worse than I thought it would be! I can only hope that they are just here for the werewolf."

"Don't worry." Renalf said. "It won't be! I am sure it will be quite angry at us for hurting those giants you know... not to mention the fact that I am always followed by ill fortune. I guess we should better start riding right away, right Dominic?"

"I have a feeling that it will overtake us pretty quickly. Maybe we should just stay here and wait for it to come to us. We might not have enough power to ward it off, just so long as we stay together."

"What if it wants us to do just that?" Renalf said gripping his gnarled staff tightly.

"Look, if we flee it will only come after us. We won't be much good scattered. Remember that we have Sarris and the werewolf too. The pony and the werewolf are slower than our horses."

"Sarris can ride on your steed and the werewolf can ride Annete's horse," Renalf argued. "She can fly, or whatever she calls it."

"Come on," Dominic reasoned. "We can't spare the time to convince Sarris to ride with me. He would have a fit. Now will you please just listen to me?"

"Fine. Roco and I will take our steeds and flee by ourselves. You are welcome to join us if you wish, but you will have to make your decision right away." Renalf took a step toward his horse, but Sarris confronted him with an arched back.

"I will not stand for this cowardice!" he shouted in his high pitched voice. "We came to your aid and rescued you from peril, but now when you find yourself faced with a foe not your own, you decide to abandon us? I protest this vile action of yours!"

"Come my dear Ollemcrat, you do not know what peril faces you! If you did, you would flee too, just so long as you had the means. Now clear out of my way whether you take my advice or not. I have no time for all of this nonsense!"

"You are right in saying I do not know what peril faces me, but Dominic does. I do not see him fleeing do I? No! That means that you shouldn't be fleeing either!"

"Dominic does know, but he also knows that he might die if he resisted the Messenger! My task is to protect humans, not you. That is my calling and what I was trained for by... well I can't say."

"Fine..." Dominic agreed reluctantly. "Let's get on the move now! I would rather stay here and fight, but I can't have dissension in the ranks of our company. Renalf is right though... he isn't here to protect us."

"No, I was wrong. I do owe you something. You did help save me. I guess my mission has now changed. Now let us be off in a hurry. The Messenger is approaching swiftly. Everyone to your horses!" In less than a minute they were in the saddle.

Dominic

Something was amiss.
They had been riding for three minutes when Dominic's sapphire amulet started glowing. He had not told the others, but this amulet was a very special amulet. That was because it was actually the Star of Istar, who was Dominic's patron god, and he was the Guardian.
Guardian, a deep voice sounded in his head, I can sense that you are in distress.
Dominic searched for the right words. There is a Messenger of Deela after us, Master
I know, but you cannot escape her. The god of creation sounded troubled.
I realise that, Master, Dominic replied, but this company is relying on me to lead them to safety.
But you must also remember your duty as Guardian, Istar said, sounding like a father scolding his son.
Is there not something you can do, Master?
You have forgotten that I am powerless in lands that don't believe in me.
At that moment, a deafening scream sounded across the Plains. The horses started acting wildly, trying to throw of their riders.
The Messenger has arrived, Istar said, Do not resist. I shall try a discern what are Deela's true intentions, but do NOT let her Priestess get the Star.
The voice fell silent and the amulet stopped glowing. Around Dominic his fellow companions were screaming frantically, trying to calm their steeds.
"I told you we should have stayed in the cave!" Sarris shouted at Renalf, his claws digging deep into Dominic's back.
"She's coming!" Roco's voice sounded distant, eventhough he was a few feet from Dominic.
"Don't resist," Dominic said as the child came closer.
"Don't resist?!" Renalf exclaimed, "That, child, is going to murder us all!"
"Trust me!" Dominic said.
At that moment the Messenger was standing in between them all. The horses had stopped fighting, and were actually moving closer to the Messenger.
"My Mistress summons you to her shrine, " her voice sounded like five people speaking at once, each soundi ng different yet similiar, Do not try to run again, or I might become leass kind toward you."
Renalf wanted to say something, but the way the werewolf stared at him kept him, and everyone else, silent as their horses started walking back to the place they tried to flee just a few minutes earlier.
Now we're in trouble, Dominic thought, and he was certain the exact words were running through the others' minds as well.

Debt, Kevin had decided, was a lot better than this. Aye, he had escaped a hefty tab, but even that had a lower death risk, and it was no-where near as spooky.
They were being led by a maiden. Other than that Kevin could say no more about her. Every time he looked at her, he had no memory of her appearance when he looked away. She seemed blurred and incomprehensible, like a fine art portrait; you could see what she was meant to be, but Iit was if she were fifty different versions of that thing at the same time. It did Kevin's head in.
The Maiden lead them down a flight of steps at the back of the cavern, but about halfway down Kevin felt a sideways jolt, tugging right from inside his chest, which made him tumble like a topheavy tower.
And all of a sudden everything was different.
They no longer had their horses, and they were standing in a market street. Only it seemed familiar, almost exactly like the one back in his home town only... it wasn't. The whole world around him flickered like an amateur illusion, and he couldn't look at anything properly without getting a headache. The whole group stood in amazement, including the wizards. All save the werewolf, who looked terrified.
And then as one they all started walking.

Annette Morris

I fed from a brown bear. I had no idea there were even bears in this part of no mans land. I sighed with relief, blood was amazing and it made me tingle inside.

All of a sudden I had this huge feeling that something wasn't right. I went out into an opening and noticed Kevin, Dominic, Kollek, and others were all going exactly the same way that some other female has been going. I was in shock, it felt like something big was or is happening. When I looked at the girl, she didn't look human. She turned and spotted me.

I couldn't stop staring. Join us. Do not argue. a voice had said inside my head. I instantly listened, not in my control.

I tried to pull away but it was like my feet wouldn't let me. Tears begin to pour down my face.

I know you are up to no good. I say in my head. I heard a type of chuckle laughter and nothing else.

-Caioliss-

The men travel, and every day at sundown, I am sure to inform the queen of what I do, and answer her questions. Neither the human, nor the dwarf sees me. One day, the queen bids me to steal a ring from the dwarf's beard, which I do as they sleep, cutting nimbly through a lock of hair without even tugging on the strand. I hold back a hiss of pain at the feel of cold iron on my flesh and plunge it into a pocket in my cloak.

Every night, I sleep until I hear the men wake, and then I get up and ready myself for the day's journey silently, without ever cracking so much as a twig. They walk far, and over the next few days, I learn to drop back further when they set up camp-at their most vigilant, and drop closer, from the trees when I must listen to their conversation. I ration my food, but I have plenty of wine and water from the drinking horn. I dare not drink nectar, for the men are more vigilant than most, and even a slight addling of the mind could result in being caught.

Three days after leaving the town, the men pause for a midday meal. They seem to be getting tired, so I sit, too, laying my quarterstaff but an arm's length away from me. Suddenly, a twig cracks in the distance. The men, whose names I had learned as Jorgen and Kollek, look toward the noise but make no moves as to approach it. Instead, they stand, gripping their weapons.

"Who's there?" The dwarf calls it into the wind, and I press myself further into the shadows of a tree. The breeze picks up, with no interference from me, and with is comes a scent- one that I had smelled my entire life; a mixture between honey and jasmine- the scent of a faerie.

If these faeries are here to kill me, I stand no chance. Still, leaving my charges behind, I ghost towards the scent, letting my instincts carry me. I lose their trail quickly, so I stand and wait. I feel the wind change on my left and duck- and just in time, too, for an arrow flies through the spot where my head was and lands on the ground somewhere to the right. They all emerge then, a dozen in all, and I curse. I may have had some hope of besting them had there only been one, or perhaps even two, but with a dozen, I would die. And quickly. They attack me then, and I raise my staff in defense. With a quick motion no mortal eye would have caught, I slam the weighted silver into a man's head. It makes him fall to the ground, but he picks himself up.

Luckily, Jorgen and Kollek come charging through the trees, drawn by the sounds of battle. Jorgen and his bull with his iron and steel weapons drive the fey away from him like he has the plague. I resume my fighting, my hood falling back from my face. It is too late to construct a glamour- these men have seen me already. I concentrate on fighting- and perhaps identifying these soldiers. None of them are familiar to me, but then, through the flash of metal and the dark mask underneath, I catch the eyes of the leader. They are purple, with gold streaks through them, his skin fair and his hair golden. My heart sinks. I jab one of my daggers into one of my attackers, and turn to meet the next foe- but there are none. Most of them are dead or dying, on the ground, and the dwarf, Kollek, lunges towards the leader with his weapon, but I leap forward.

"No, don't kill him!" My voice rings out high and commanding in the cover of the trees, and both turn to me. I take a deep breath and continue. "Please, don't harm him. Could I- may I speak to him for a moment? Alone?"

"It wouldn't be safe to leave you here, alone with a man like this." The human, Jorgen, studies me.

"As you can see, I can defend myself. Now leave us." With a nod of assent, both leave- the dwarf muttering something about cursed elves.

As soon as they are out of sight, the faerie removes his helmet-mail and unties the black mask underneath. "Well met, Caioliss. You've improved."

I study him for his purpose, but then sigh and give up. If he wanted to kill me, or hurt me, he would have by now. "Well met, Killian. May I ask your purpose to that demonstration?" My voice is cool- there is no sign that we were once the best of friends.

"Her Majesty Queen Maeve tells that you have passed your first test." A flash of understanding runs through me; this was only a test, to see if I would use my wits and spare my friends in times of chaos. Yet I was still lost on what this proved.

"The Goddess's blessing stay upon me then." The formal words have barely been uttered before my lip twitches, and we both burst out laughing, heedless of the fact that we had been fighting not two minutes ago.

"Wickedness, Lish, when did you get this stately?" Killian laughs again. "I remember you to be a wild and mischievous little devil-girl."

"And I remember you to be a self-obsessed little runt of a boy, always following around his great father, Captain of the King's Guard. Though I'd never dreamed you'd grow up to be like him, of course."

"Dear Lish, is that a compliment I hear in your tones?"

I smile, but then I remember where we are, and what has happened. "Let us talk seriously, Killian. I have guessed what virtue the queen was testing me for, and I am sure you cannot tell me why I am being tested thus- if you even know. But what were you thinking, attacking me like that? You could have been killed!"

"You underestimate me, Lish. I would not have died- and besides, I was willing to tae the risk."

I glance down at the bodies surrounding us, and snort. "And what about your men! What did they do, to deserve such a fate?"

He smiles. "They're not actually my men, Caioliss. They're criminals and traitors that would have been executed anyway- but they were simply given a choice- they could choose the execution, or they could take up this task, and if they emerged from it alive, they would be free to run."

That dulls my temper a bit. "Oh." I grope for something to say. "How is Isenor? Is our kingdom doing well?"

"Aye, that it is. Lish, I wish I could stay, but I must leave. I'll talk to you through the scrying glass if I can- look for me at sunrise!" A whirlwind of dust covers him for a moment, and then he disappears.

I sigh, and go back to Jorgen and Kollek. "Thank you for your help."

The dwarf speaks first. "We didn't mean to help an elf."

I snort, taken aback. "You believe that I am an elf? I am no elf." Drawing myself up to my full height, I let my otherness show. "I am a faerie. Well, mostly. There's some human in me, too."

This time, Jorgen speaks. "Truly, you are a faerie? I hadn't know your kind existed."

"Not here, we don't. I come from a far away land."

The dwarf hasn't decided to trust me yet. "Prove it. Do some sort of magic, or something."

I am unwilling to let them see my glamour or my weaknesses, so I summon the wind instead. It whips around me, pushing my hair back and making me shiver. I let it go after a moment and arch an eyebrow towards Kollek. He grumbles, and then goes over to pack their belongings.

Jorgen says, questioningly, "Are you in some sort of trouble, my lady? You should travel with us; we would protect you."

I start to retort that I hardly need protection, but then bite my tongue. I would gain more information this way, so I school my expression into one of hope and fear. "Oh, I could not burden myself upon you..." I let my voice trail off- desisting before uttering the lie and convincing Jorgen at the same time, knowing what his response will be before he opens his mouth.

"No, you must come with us. Which way are you going, lady?"

"North. I wish to keep my business a secret, so do not bother yourself with asking."

He nods graciously, and then says, "Do you have everything you brought, or must you still pack?"

I had put everything back in the pack and retrieved my cloak and weapons while speaking with Killian. "I have everything."

"Then let us leave."

It was three hours after the sun had set when Diánterrus strode back into Alonza, a brown bag in hand. He made for the sheriff’s office, approached the sheriff, leapt onto his desk, and dropped the bag in front of him. The sheriff peered inside, but recoiled slightly after seeing the contents.

“They never do keep their heads when fighting you,” he commented.

“For some strange reason, they always panic when they see me.”

‘Tell me,” the sheriff asked, curious, “do you decapitate them before or after they are dead?” He handed Diánterrus his thirty brass coins.

“Become wanted and find out,” Diánterrus said before leaving the office. Inside, the sheriff shivered.

The Ollemcrat then headed for the tavern. Five minutes after he had exited the tavern that morning, he had discovered the missing husband in the arms of a woman who was most definitely not his wife. He had literally dragged the poor soul to his wife, and Diánterrus found he actually pitied the man. Who wouldn’t run away from a woman like that? Still, she had given his due payment, so he was content.

He was a street away from the tavern when four burly men encircled him – or rather, one burly man and his three henchmen.

“Aww, does the little kitty want to drink some milk?” the leader taunted, much to the amusement of his companions.

“It is in your best interests to leave me be,” Diánterrus replied, bored. “Rejecting my advice could prove bad for your health.”

“What’re you gonna do, pussy cat?” the leader jeered. “Meow at me?” He and his brutish friends burst out laughing.

Such wit… Diánterrus said to his amulet. Perhaps I should speak in a language they actually understand?

Shouting at barbarians makes you as uncivilised as them, came the reply.

Fair enough. How about chain-lightning?

Whereas Yon Martek is crude and barabaric, Darc Leventius is just plain amateurish. Besides, why waste so much magic on swine? Firing a stunning spark at each of them is more than adequate.

“Hey, cat, I’m talking to you!” the leader of the thugs yelled.

“Please,” Diánterrus scoffed, “don’t flatter yourself; you are incapable of intelligent conversation.” The ringleader looked like he was about to kick him, but Diánterrus merely said, “Inza Numeri,” and watched as four sparks flew from his amulet, stunning the group. He deftly leapt across the leader’s body and continued to the tavern.

The Drunken Dwarf was as rowdy as it always was at night. Diánterrus avoided the staggering patrons and instead leapt onto a barstool and ordered a pint of wine.

“Who’s in dire need of a drink?” he asked the barkeep.

“That miserable bastard over there.” The barkeeper nodded towards a depressed dwarf who sat alone in a booth.

“He looks like he wants to talk with someone…” Diánterrus mused. The barkeeper chuckled. Diánterrus was about to jump off, when he turned back to the barkeep and asked, “Do you recall another Ollemcrat passing through here recently?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” the portly man responded after a moment’s contemplation. “He was grey and black, with light brown eyes – he even wore spectacles! Looked like he came from a snowy region.”

“Inmarsia has its colder regions,” Diánterrus confirmed. “Did you catch his name?”

“It was impossible not to! He’d have told his life story to everyone in the tavern if we’d have put up with it. ‘Sarris Rombollon Fringlepuff, Archiver and Collector of Magical Items for the House of Trumpleton’ he called himself.”

“Trumpleton…” Diánterrus murmured. “As I recall, that’s the name of a noble family residing in the city of Mikol'a Ollemez.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I thought Ollem Town…?” the barkeep began his question, puzzled.

“It was a town – four hundred years ago, when humans first laid eyes on it.”

“Hmm… Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much else about him, since his friends kept to themselves mostly.”

“I think I shall go visit our friend over there then,” Diánterrus said and walked towards the dwarf’s booth.

“What do ye want?” the dwarf snapped when the Ollemcrat joined him. Obviously, the dwarf was far too sober for his liking.

Diánterrus waved the barkeep over. “I simply fancy a conversation with you,” he replied, turning back to the dwarf.

“I ain’t talking to no…” the dwarf trailed off as a very large mug of beer was placed in front of him. “My Grandmother’s Beard!” He lit up and downed the mug in one go. “My feline friend, I haven’t tasted something that good in ages!”

“Well then,” Diánterrus said, smirking, “have another.”

By the time the fourth mug was drained, the dwarf was properly intoxicated. “Wha’ can I do for ye, m’friend?”

“Stating your name is a fine place to start.”

“Pittorik. And yoursh?”

“My name is of little consequence to you. Do you recall seeing another Ollemcrat dine approximately a week ago in this tavern?”

“An Ollem- what?” the drunken dwarf asked uncomprehendingly. “Oh! You mean another walkin’, talkin’ cat! Yeah, I shaw ‘im. Rombottom Pringlefluff, I think ‘e shaid hish name wash.”

“Do you remember what he was doing here?”

The dwarf’s countenance darkened. “Yeah. ‘E wash gonna go to the ruinsh of Gzomriflt. Lookin’ for the Dwarven Quill of Torag, ash if ‘e hash anythin’ ta do wit’ it.”

Academic sabotage, eh? Diánterrus’ amulet commented.

Hush! For all we know, he could [/i]actually have stolen someone else’s research and has gone after the Quill himself. I have encountered many who claim they wish to possess powerful artefacts merely for “academic purposes”, when the contrary is true. As for this Quill, who[/i] wouldn’t want an object that grants immortality?

Yet you would have a different use for it, were you to possess it.

Diánterrus ignored the amulet’s last comment and once more focussed on the dwarf who was holding the mug upside down above his mouth, hoping for a few more drops. “Oh, don’t be so desperate.” He gestured for another beer. “Now, what do you remember of his companions?”

“Umm… well, there wash thish funny grey thin’. Round and ugly. A Movin’ Troll ‘e called ‘imshelf.”

“A Moomin Troll?”

“Yeah, that! Hish name wash Kevin. Told me all about how he wash kicked straight into ‘em cat and pointy-eared dude.”

“This ‘pointy-eared dude’,” Diánterrus asked, his interest piqued, “was he fair, or dark?”

“Well, hish hair wash shilver, but hish shkin wash a light brown.”

“Ugh, a Wood Elf.” He spat the last two words. “Did he perchance show any signs of magic?”

“Damn right ‘e did! When I dishcovered where they were goin’, he shaid shome shtrange wordsh and everythin’ went black. When I woke up, it wash already mornin’ and them buggersh were nowhere to be sheen!”

Diánterrus pondered the dwarf’s words. “Very well, thank you mister…?”

“Pettorik.”

“Right. Enjoy your drink.”

The dwarf realised his mug was refilled and happily took another swig from it. Diánterrus scanned the room and froze when a human’s head jerk down. Suspicious, Diánterrus approached the skinny man’s booth and slid into the seat opposite him. Concentration showed on the man’s brow as he inspected the grain of the wooden table.

“Something interesting?” Diánterrus asked casually.

The man looked up briefly, then continued his inspection, so Diánterrus stacked a tower of brass coins and slid it across the table. When the man glanced at the tower and looked at him expectantly, Diánterrus produced a stiletto and placed it beside the tower. The man gulped and slowly drew the coins closer.

“I heard you talking about that Ollemcrat that was here last week,” he said.

“You might as well not have known that before you eavesdropped,” Diánterrus said dangerously.

The man was now visibly sweating, even though he had to look down at Diánterrus. “There are now four people in that group, and not just three.”

“How do I know you speak the truth?” Diánterrus asked with narrowed eyes.

“You’re that famous bounty hunter, right? One of the Three?”

“Three?”

“Yes. If you or the other two take on a wanted person, few others dare to do so as well.”

“Fair enough. Who’s the fourth member?”

“A vampire. Late that night, some crazy old woman accused the girl of being a bloodsucker. The crowd would have torn her to pieces, was it not for that moomin who had claimed she only suffered from pontart-something-itis, a rare type of tooth decay which left the patient’s teeth sharp.”

“Rubbish.”

“Exactly. The crowd believed it though, and old Helga is well known for her episodes, so they left her be. The moomin invited her to their table, and she left with them. The next day, she was nowhere to be seen.”

That vampire-repelling potion finally seems to be paying off.

Hush! Diánterrus picked up the stiletto and played with it, further unnerving the man. “Anything else?”

“Y-yes! There was a man and a dwarf here the night before the Ollemcrat’s arrival. Jorgen and Kollek. Perhaps you have heard of them?”

“Jorgen Bull-Rider and Kollek Grudge-Bearer? Yes, I know them – they are legends among warriors.”

“Well, they were also headed for Gzomriflt. They left that very night.”

“Why did the drunken fool over there neglect to tell me this?” Diánterrus seethed and indicated with his head towards the snoring dwarf.

“He’s a dwarf himself.”

Diánterrus was still peeved, but moved on. “Is it possible that they would join the foursome?”

“Well, they would have conflicting interests, but that Elfish Wizard is a cunning one – he’d probably keep the Ollemcrat’s mouth shut and hope that the duo would join them.”

“Do you perhaps know the names of the Wizard and vampire?”

“Sure. The vampire’s Anne Morris. She hangs out here quite often. Well, used to, obviously. Many suspected her vampirism, but none of townsfolk ever went missing, nor were they found sucked dry, so people left her alone. I don’t know the Wizard’s name though. Like I said, cunning – he kept to himself throughout the night.”

“Could you describe him for me?”

“I suppose… I remember him wearing robes, but not the colour. He was obviously very old, as he had silver hair and looked like he had already seen half the world’s history, but he was still very tall and lean. He had no beard… Oh! I just remembered, he was wearing white robes which were tied around his waist by some green belt, as well as a pointed wizard’s hat. He also had this strange staff with him… It was long and gnarled. I couldn’t tell from what kind of wood it was made.”

“Any other accessories? Rings, pendants…?”

“How should I know?!” He quailed under Diánterrus’ icy glare and immediately adopted a submissive pose. “S-sorry, I d-didn’t mean to raise my voice. He wore a ring with some dark stone on it, but I wasn’t particularly interested in his hands, so I wouldn’t know what kind. He also wore a sapphire pendant with the symbol of Istar – the sun in the embrace of the crescent moon – engraved on it.”

“From whence had they arrived?”

“The north. From the forest bordering the Kingdom of Poranne – the Forest of Darpor.”

Diánterrus abruptly picked up his stiletto, slipped it into his boot, and slid out of the booth. With a nod to the barkeep, he headed up the stairs behind the bar and followed the corridor to his room. His quarries were surely resting on their journey, so he might as well do the same. They did not know they were being hunted, after all, so he would be free to track them at his leisure.

Jorgen Holdt

The journey had grown unnervingly quiet since the arrival of the Faerie. Kollek didn't speak to Jorgen, only communicating with looks that spoke of his distrust for her. Jorgen hadn't asked her name, and didn't mean to break the silence. From atop his bull, he eyed her, and caught her once or twice studying he or Kollek with an inconspicuous scrutiny. Many time Jorgen was tempted to speak, and many times he decided against it.

Finally, it was the faerie who broke the silence. She turned to Kollek. "Why do you have so many rings?"

Kollek grunted, and for a moment Jorgen thought he would ignore her. Then he spoke, albeit grudgingly. "These," he held up his massive arm. "Are taken from dead enemies. They are precious to a warrior. These..." he put his left hand, which bore a single iron ring with his name on the index finger, on his beard. "Are taken from dead comrades. They are graves, and I their cemetary. I am known by my people as Kollek the Grudge holder, the Dwarven Render, and the Keeper of Sorrows. It is my pennace to carry these rings, and with me are the souls of my fallen friends." He spoke softly, and grimly. His voice wavered between cold anger and sorrow. Again he grunted, and turned to face front.

The faerie seemed at this a bit empathetic, or perhaps it was guilt? She hid her expressions well. What Jorgen marveled most about her was that she could wear such a revealing dress. This thought crossed his mind once or twice for every time a cold wind made him shudder. Finally, not wishing to get used to another silence, Jorgen spoke.

"What is your name?" Jorgen asked kindly. The faerie faltered, evidently conflicted. Quickly, he changed the subject. "Have you no horse? Or cloak? Are you not cold or weary?" He caught a look from Kollek. She's slowing us down, it said.

"I am used to traveling on foot. And these winds don't really have an effect on me." She said, her voice heavily accented. "I have some power over winds..."

"Come." he said, extending a hand, surprised at his own gesture. The faerie seemed confused. "Get on the bull." he elaborated.

"That won't be necessary..." she began. "I can walk."

"Yes, but not as fast as we can ride." Jorgen said bluntly, smoothing it over with a winning smile. "Come. I'll offer it only once more."

"And after that?"

"I'll lash you to Kollek's pony." Jorgen said, raising his eyebrows as if the answer were obvious. Kollek shot him another look. A smile threatened to surface on the faerie's face. She hesitated again before taking Jorgen's hand. She looked very lithe, but she weighed even less then that. He lifted her up easily onto Brutus's back, and nodded to Kollek. Kollek understood, and leaned forward with his reigns.

"Caioliss." She said. "My name is Caioliss. But you can call..."

"Nice name." Jorgen said. "Hold on!" He dug his heels slightly into Brutus's sides, and he broke off into a run, Kollek following suit. Caioliss grabbed awkwardly around Jorgen's waist. No doubt she'd rather have walked, Jorgen thought with a grin.

Before too long, the form of a small but formidable burr came into view. As they neared the gates, he pulled Brutus to a walk, and finally a halt. A dwarf called from a parapet. "The company you keep speaks ill of your reputation, Jorgen Warbull!" he called, referring to Caioliss, who shifted in the saddle. Jorgen recognized the voice. He looked up to see a large, red haired dwarf leaning against a large shield.

"She's no elf." Kollek said. "Open the gates, cousin!" Kollek, too, was grinning slightly.

The dwarf grinned, tapping a large hammer against the stone wall. "What's the magic word?" he taunted.

Jorgen grinned. "Khoggar," he said, "drinks are on me."

"Drink up for the fight!" Khoggar called in reply. He called something in dwarvish to someone behind the wall. Jorgen recognized the words "Jorgen Warbull," and smiled to himself. The gates opened. "Welcome back to Khaz Dal Ko'or, Kollek the Render, and Jorgen Warbull." there was a brief pause. "And guest." his smile was more mischievous this time.

~Renalf~

"I think it's time that we got out of here," Renalf whispered to Roco.

"I agree," Roco replied. "That Messenger is a creep! I don't think I like all this talk of cursed cities either!"

As the party walked through the dark tunnel all was silent aside from the padding of their feet, occasional dripping water, and the sound of bats flapping their wings. There were torches along the walls every ten paces, but more than one set was unlit. Renalf waited until they came to a spot where almost all the torches were unlit before tapping Roco and slipping into the rear he halted almost at once and waited for the company to pass out of earshot.

"Well, I suppose the next thing that will happen to us is that we will be attacked by a band of goblins. It wouldn't surprise me after all the trouble I have had ever since I left home," Renalf complained in a low toned voice, still wary of being so near the cursed city.

"You know, I am still not convinced that you are a wizard and not a prophet. It seems that every time you say something bad will happen it does!"

"Well, I just may have a bit of prophet blood in me. The Sage who trained me was a prophet after all. It is hard to tell what abilities are, now that the Third Age has begun. My task was a guardian to the humans in the first and second ages, but now... I have no clear task.

"Well, either way, we had best prepare for trouble with goblins pretty soon." Roco drew his sword and made sure that it was loose in his sheath.

"You actually expect to kill goblins with that flimsy piece of scrap metal?" Renalf asked.

"Uh, no. No it is not scrap metal. It is made of iron for your informa—"

"As I thought! The steel weapons made by the elves and skilled human craftsmen is made not of iron, but of thick steel sharper that than dagger... scimitar thingamabob of yours!"

"Are you insulting Roqē? If you are, I think you are making a grave mistake!"

"Let me show you what I mean when we are out of the tunnel," Renalf said.

"Oh bother! We don't have time for such foolish nonsense. The goblins don't have weapons that are better than mine. They aren't even as skilled craftsmen as humans for heaven's sake!"

"Hush. The only reason I said anything about it was because I noticed one of the giants dropped a "dagger" that that was as large as a broadsword. They probably forgot about it as to them it was an unimportant weapon, but I had a keener eyes than they, or even Dominic! It is really an elvish blade! Now let us quick our pace. We are too far to be heard by the Messenger now and we will want to have a good lead on him now that we have lost our horses."

"Really?" Roco asked. "In that case I will take it. "Elvish blades are reported to bless those who wear them, at least that is what the legends say."

"Well, this blade must have run out of it because those giants were hurt pretty badly!" Renalf said as they walked out of the cave at long last.

"Don't speak of what you do not know." A deep powerful voice said from behind Renalf.

"Gamleor?!" Renalf asked, inclining his head toward the voice.

The Forest of Darpor stretched from far north of Alonza to the west of Eisentower. It was infamous for playing host to several wild and dangerous species, but these mostly resided in the northern part. It was nevertheless perilous for travellers to pass through it without caution, as Diánterrus had himself been ambushed by predators and bandits on various occasions (they had regretted the encounter more than he had, though). He estimated the tree line to be a few hours or so away, so he would probably reach it by dusk.

Diánterrus had made good time. He had left town approximately an hour before dawn, preferring to rise before his quarries did – sleep would be a luxury in the coming weeks, especially if he was to catch up. Fortunately, the Ollemcrat and his companions were oblivious to the shadow tracking them, and best of all, they didn’t even bother to keep their presence or goals secret. Their carelessness had been emphasised even further when Diánterrus had made an interesting discovery that morning…



Why do you have to get up so early? Everyone else is still asleep.

That’s why I rise so early, you twit, Diánterrus told his amulet, annoyed. You know that already.

The amulet laughed – how that was possible was beyond Diánterrus. You’re right, I do; I simply like to annoy you.

Goal achieved.

Diánterrus passed the Shrine of Obad-Hai on his way to the palisade gate leading out of town and was about to leave, but then he doubled back to the shrine. As far as shrines went, it was rather unusual; it was not a pavilion, a statue, or even a fountain, but a flower.

When one wanted to make an offering at the shrine, one took the coins which were to be offered and dropped them into the “mouth” of the flower, almost like how prey would drop into the mouth of a carnivorous plant employing a pitfall trap. The average amount of coins offered determined the health and colour of the plant: If offerings were generous and frequent, the flower’s petals were a golden yellow. If offerings were frequent, but modest (or if generous offerings were made occasionally), the flower’s petals were a silvery white. Finally, if the offerings were few and modest, the flower’s petals were a coppery brown. However, everyone made sure that the flower never turned an unhealthy brown, withered and died, as then immeasurable bad luck would be upon everyone who had passed the shrine by without making an offering, not to mention the inhabitants of the settlement where the shrine was located.

The flower in Alonza was a healthy coppery hue and even had white specks here and there. Therefore, Diánterrus was not all obliged to make an offering to avoid the displeasure of Obad-Hai – he was, however, obliged to do so because of Lakadeema. After all, the Goddess of Magic and Luck was a kind deity, but a fickle one no less; if any of her followers did not pay their proper respects to another divinity, she would punish them severely. Diánterrus already preferred not to risk the disapproval of another deity, but risking that of his patron goddess? He produced a few brass coins and dropped them into the flower, just to be safe.

You could hardly be any stingier! the amulet admonished.

Hmm, you’re right. Diánterrus searched his pockets for a silver coin and dropped that into the flower as well.

Immediately, the flower shivered and turned bright, almost luminescent silver. Pleased, Diánterrus proceeded back down the street.

Superstitious, much? the amulet teased.

Diánterrus scowled.

Don’t fret, the amulet reassured him, making an offering – especially a generous one – to a god almost never goes unnoticed. Obad-Hai is kinder than most gods, so I’m sure he’ll reward you properly.

The God of Nature. Kind?

Well, he and Lakadeema are supposed to be friendly, so I’m sure she’ll put in a good word for you.

Are you mocking me again? Diánterrus asked, suspicious.

Don’t be so judgmental. If I were–

“What the fungus?”

Lying in the gutter, Diánterrus had spotted a glass jar containing an emaciated rat.

Okay, now I’m mocking you. You know that most people say, “What the f–”

Oh, shut up! I can say whatever I want.

Diánterrus approached the jar, bent down and picked it up. Scrutinising the sleeping (or was it already dead?) rat, he asked, Why would someone put a rat in a jar?

Maybe it causes a plague, the amulet suggested jokingly. Or maybe it even cures a plague…

Or perhaps…

Diánterrus twisted the lid off and turned the jar upside down. Despite its gaunt features, the rat made a swift attempt at scurrying away, but not before Diáneterrus could mutter, “Revemorphius.”

The rat was embraced by flash of white light, and where there had been a rodent a moment before, there was a goblin instead. Thankfully, the thin, ugly… well, goblin at least wore clothing, albeit in the goblins’ distasteful style.

“I am in your debt, my feline friend,” the goblin said with his rasping voice and bowed low, “but I am afraid I must be off.”

The goblin once again attempted to leave, but once again, Diánterrus prevented it. “Not so fast.”

The goblin turned around, but it was impatient that time. “What do you want?”

“Some courtesy, firstly. After that, the answers to a few questions.”

“Listen, mister pussycat, I don’t–”

Diánterrus spoke an incantation which froze the goblin on the spot. “Actually, you will answer my questions, and you will do so thoroughly. Understood?”

“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” the goblin replied dryly.

He has a sense of humour, the amulet commented. How delightful.

“Why were you transformed into a rat?”

The goblin sighed. “My band of warriors and I were searching the Northern Forest of Darpor for easy targets. We found one, an Ollemcrat like you, but he was far more defenceless. We were simply roughing him up, seeing whether he had valuables on him, but all he had was books and scrolls. He even had wee glasses! Anyway, then came this Wizard. Like a right coward, he fired off three arrows into some of my best men. Before we could react properly, he blasted another two away and threw a fire bolt at the last. I dangled the Ollemcrat in front of me, but the bloody elf had the cheek to fire another spell at me anyway. Turned me into a stinking rat, he did.”

After considering the information he had just learned, Diánterrus asked, “And who decided to put you in the jar?”

“The Ollemcrat, oddly enough. When he had picked me up, I thought I was a goner for sure.”

A look of disgust appeared on Diánterrus’ face. “Why would anyone want to do anything so revolting?!”

“Aren’t you technically cats?” the goblin asked, puzzled.

“No! That is one of the many differences between cats and Ollemcrats.”

“Whatever. Listen, can I go now?”

Diánterrus looked thoughtful. “You want to get back at this Elfish Wizard, yes?”

“Damn right, I do!”

“And the Ollemcrat?”

“I get the feeling you want him.”

“Your feeling is correct. How about I make you a deal: If you assist me in finding the Ollemcrat, I shall help you take revenge on the Wizard.”

“Why do you want my help?”

“You are a goblin – goblins are everywhere. You’re like weeds.”

“Hey!”

“You can assure my safe travel through goblin-infested areas, and I can aid you in your hunt for the Elf. And then there’s your current predicament…”

“But that’s extortion!”

“You are a goblin, so extortion is no strange term to you. Besides, was it not for me, you’d still be in a jar.”

The goblin grudgingly agreed. “Now can you release me?”

“Actually, I cannot be seen travelling with a goblin. It’s bad for my reputation, you know. So…”

Despite the goblin’s protests, Diánterrus turned him into a rat once more and dropped him back into the jar. After replacing the lid, he tucked the jar away in his satchel.

Don’t repeat Sarris’ mistake, the amulet warned.

Don’t worry; unlike him, I know the importance of keeping your friends close…

Annette Morris

We had walked for what seemed like ages. The place we were headed was very far away. I couldn't handle being with people much longer.

I needed my space, after all, I am a vampire. Neither Kevin or Dominic had talked to me in the past few hours so I was getting quite bored.

"I am bored." I say aloud. The girl in front with the "many" faces just looked to the side and chuckled but did not say a word. I sighed to myself and I was on the brink of losing my last bit of patience but then I saw a big gate.

"That is beautiful." I utter to myself. Everyone looked up when they heard what I said and we were mere miles from it. I couldn't wait to finally arrive.


(Sorry everyone, I am clueless on what to write, at least until we get into the city.)

Caioliss

I wrap my arms around Jorgen's waist as the thing flies into the woods, somewhat uncomfortably due to the iron aura surrounding him. Finally, I dismount with his help when we near some sort of dwarven camp. I can't help but shudder as I walk through the iron gates. From all around, I get suspicious and curious stares. I glamour myself a bit to make myself appear less noticeable, and the stares decrease, although I can still feel some eyes on me.

After we get inside, I'm offered a drink, and I accept a glass; I wouldn't be overhearing any conversations or working tonight. Besides, the iron around me drains the magic from my blood, and I nearly sway on my feet. I can only imagine how pale my face is, but have no energy left to create a glamour. I sink into a chair in a corner thankfully, and carfully sip at my drink after adding a liberal portion of nectar to it. At least if I was drunk, I wouldn't feel so weary.

Finally, one of the dwarves works up his courage and asks me a question. "If you're not an elf, exactly what are you?"

I sigh, putting down my cup. "Mostly faerie. Why?"

He shrugs. "Just curious." After a pause, he speaks again. "Can you do anything? Magically, I mean."

Our conversation has gathered a bit of an audience, and I sigh to myself. "Aye, I can."

He looks expectant, but I don't elaborate any further. "Alright then, what's your name?"

"Caioliss." My voice is short, and I long to be outside.

Jorgen pushes his way through the crowd, as if he can sense that I'm on the verge of breaking. "She doesn't need to answer all of your questions. Let her be."

I want to yell at Jorgen, tell him that I don't need his help, but that wouldn't help me gain his trust. Instead, I settle for standing up suddenly and nearly running out the door. The crowd gives me a wide berth, and I relax as I get outside, no longer fighting to stay on my feet. I edge as far away from the iron-infested room as possible. Slowly, my strength returns to me, but I'm still too weak to do much more than stand without falling over. I sit down on the ground and wrap my arms around myself, pulling my cloak tight as I shiver in the cold.

A sound from the door startles me, and I turn to look at who approaches.

Dominic

"Where are we?" Sarris asked, fear evident in his voice.
"You are in the City of Deela, Ollemcrat," the Messenger said in a voice that could not be defined by maturity, tone or species. In fact, you couldn't even discern it were a male or female speaking.
They were making their way down a broad street, buildings crammed against each other either side of the road. There were people leaning on windowsills, if they could be called people. There were vampires, trolls, half-trolls, wolves, men that were half-goat, half-man; even the occasional witch or hag flying through the subterrenean cavern, cackling maliciously as they raced on broomsticks. The air was extremely dank, and a strange purple-blue light seemed to be illuminating the city.
After walking in solemn silence for several blocks, Dominic spoke. "Where are the horses?"
"Do not worry about your steeds," the Messenger said, "They're safe."
"Where are you taking us, little girl?" Fennik spoke from the back of the party, "And what slell did you place on our bodies that they don't do what we want them to?"
The Messenger giggled slightly. "Little girl?" she said, "I'm older than even you, Greenwalker." She said the last word with so much contempt, but did not seem to be angry. "As to your second question; I placed no spell on your bodies. Your flesh is just answering to my Mistress's silent call."
They had reached a market square of moderate size. On the opposite side Dominic could see a bridge lead to the foot of a large staircase.
As they passed through the square, all the stall vendors and their clients turned to look at Anette and thir werewolf companion, who had oddly not told them his name yet. He seemed not to notice the dark stares that were fixed on him, but Anette surely did.
"Why are all these, people, staring at us. At me?" she asked.
"It is because they sense one of their kin, Anette," the Messenger said, leading them on tjrough the square.
"How do you know my name?!" Anett asked, confusion slightly revealing itself in her tone.
"Mistress Deela knows all the names of her children. Even those who have gone astray, Xande Smalle," the Messenger cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the werewolf.
The one called Xander looked up for the first time since thet had entered the City. "I did not go astray as you put it," he said, "I leftfor a very good reason."
"Wait, you've been here before?" Dominic asked in a loud tone.
"Not out of free will, lplease understand," Xander said.
"He lies to you, Wizard-Elf," the Messenger spoke, "He came here shortly after his his former Master was killed. He wished to gain my Mistress's favour to avenge the Man-bear's death."
"That was a long time ago. And I regret ever coming here to ask the Trickster she calls Mistress for aid."
"Silence!" the Messenger tone changed completely as the reached bridge. Dominic could now see that the bridge actually led across a fast flowing river, its waters a black as night.
"We have arrived at the River of Vl'oaki (a ancient word for curses). Beyond lies the Sanctum of Deela. The Priestess is waiting for you at the Shrine."
Five robed creatures appeared from the shadows and fell in behind the party.
"Yhis is not good," Kevin said. Dominic could suddenly feel Sarris taking his hand, his body shaking wildly out of fear. But so too could he feel as a weak surge of power flowed from the necklace.
Have faith, Guardian, the voice of Istar sounded distant, And trust in the werewold and vampire. They are the only two who can get you out of this foul place

Annette

I felt the stares of a million people eyeing me. My distrust in everyone was visible. I couldn't help but feel like I actually knew some of these people whom stare inside me. I searched peoples faces as we walked, trying my hardest to remember.

Suddenly there was an ache in my chest. I saw a glimpse of someone I know I had known somewhere and sometime before now. Annette? A voice inside my head questioned.

I looked around and that is when I noticed someone from what felt like a past life. Jacob? I ask, inside my head of course. I saw his face and I shed a tear. What are you doing back here? he asked. I sort of laughed, yeah, like I would ever come here on purpose.

I've never been here before, my love. I say. No reply. Please talk on your own time. And Jacob, leave her be. She will never understand. They never do. The female messenger said.

I rolled my eyes and I became my confident self again. I knew with every power vested inside myself, that I would escape, and it will be soon.

~Renalf~

I have a message for you from Dorn the Sage. Gamleor said later that day.

Various shades of pink, orange, and blue were smeared all across the horizon. Renalf sat silently on a lone fallen tree reflecting on life. It was almost as if he ignored the transmit across his brain waves. After a minute he replied.

I had guessed as much. And don't tell me it has to do with goblins!

Gamleor didn't react physically, but Renalf sensed a shock wave pulse into his brain. He smiled wryly and glanced at the elf sitting next to him.

How did you guess? You haven't been searching my brain have you?

No! I can just tell whenever something backs going to happen, and that has been taking place quite often in the past week or two! Ever since I went to see that Lord YellowFeather! Or rather was summoned by him and was ambushed by a colony of spiders. Ever since then things have been going downhill. I met Oqrol and would have had more trouble if it hadn't been for another wizard, this one an elf, named Dominic. After that I was relatively safe, that is until I had a run in with a Messenger! However I was able to slip away with this human here while we were in a tunnel leading to the City of Curses. That was when I found you.

I see well in fact, I do have a task for you and it does have to do with goblins. I want you to head back west to avoid the Moors of Rorawn and the Fell Caves of Posh. Then you are to head along the road to Gzomriflt until you come to the Pass of Géor. Head up it with your companions and any others who are willing to travel with you, including me, and we will enter the goblins' city there. It is heavily guarded at the pass, but I know of a secret entrance on the other side of the mountains. The key is timing. We must get across the pass sometime after the Feast of Human Flesh, which takes place in autumn, and the snows of winter. We'll also have to cross the pass in daylight.

When do we leave? The journey will take several days if not a week on horseback. If I remember correctly the feast of flesh begins tomorrow and ends five days later. We will have to make good time if we are going to make it on foot! I almost doubt that it is possible.

I am not that foolish, my friend. We simply have to travel until evening to the camp of my men. There we will get two mounts and ride on with my guard and close attendant, Farwë. I'm sure you remember him in that on fight we got ourselves into with the cave trolls of
Ice Mountain, do you not?

I do! In that case we will be in good shape. The snows shouldn't be too much of a hindrance, should they? Only a bad storm at the right time will be able to stop us now. We carry the power of Dorn behind us now. Only a powerful god would be able to conspire and make the weather turn against us. I can't remember what the god of weather is, but I don't think he is powerful has a reason to send a storm against us. We can only hope. However, we mustn't delay further!

"We are leaving now, Roco," Renalf said aloud. "Gather any of your belongings right away. We must make haste to head to the pass of Géor! Now let us be off."