Post by fladnag on Sept 1, 2005 20:18:57 GMT -5
An Evening In Dereth
by Sarch
Not even his Alluvian nose could miss the acrid smell emanating from the dark forest just ahead. Sarch smiled as he thought of the verbal barrage his friend and co-vassal Vladinator would hurl at having to endure this insult to his sense of smell.
The dark earth was wet and everything was damp to the touch as Sarch slowly moved forward. His breathing slowed as did his movements as he tried to become one with his surroundings.
Sarch could nearly hear the gravely voice of Fladnag, his friend and Patron, "You want to blend in with the trees? Then think yourself to be a tree. Move as if the wind were the only force causing your movement. Attracting undo attention is a quick way of signing yer own death certificate. Maybe that will keep yer sorry arse from becoming critter bait before you've even gotten dry behind yer ears."
Sound was not as much a concern as movement, for the Mosswarts were making enough noise to wake the dead. Very slowly parting the leaves in the middle of some surrounding brush, Sarch gazed upon what appeared to be a celebration. The fire lit up the night in an almost cheerful glow. Five Mosswarts were roaming around the camp drinking and talking. To anyone's eye it would look like a small party was being held.
"Yep, this has got to be the ones who got the ring," thought Sarch as he slowly circled around to an area of forest that would allow for a better shot from his trusted bow.
Fladnag had taught him many things that had "kept his hide from becoming critter bait" over the last few years. This training came into play now as Sarch drew a mental picture of the surrounding landscape. He knew there were cliffs a short distance off to the west. The fall probably wouldn't kill him, but the broken leg and 5 mad Mosswarts tearing at him certainly would. The forest got thicker to the North, that would slow his progress if he were in need of retreating. South or East would work with the flat terrain due south being best. That would allow him to get his stride going. Not even these Mossies could catch him if he was in a flat-out sprint.
Sarch studied the scene before him. In reality he didn't much like the odds. Five Mossies against one archer. Hmmmmm, this must be thought through. What would Fladnag and Vladinator do in this scenario? He could see that the party consisted of a Barker, a Feeder and three Creeper Mosswarts. The ring was currently being held by the Barker, who was nearest the fire, using its light to study the ring more closely. A strategy began to form in the Alluvian's mind.
Circling around to the east, Sarch found a spot where he had an unobstructed view between the forks of a tree. Reaching back over his shoulder he found one of his "greater" arrows. Fire was the natural inclination here, but the flames of the arrowhead would surely draw attention and the whole party would be upon him before he could even draw his bow. A greater arrow was called for, as Sarch had no room for error. A mere flesh wound to his intended target could end with Sarch's death.
Slowly standing, Sarch brought his Yumi bow up and notched his arrow to string. The bow was a prized gift from his Patron and had served him well. Drawing the string to chin, Sarch slowly breathed out and began to envision the arrow entering the Barkers head. As he felt the tension leave his body it was replaced with the familiar warmth of the Blood Drinker spell that was imbued upon his Yumi at its creation. A greater arrow with Blood Drinker III cast upon it was a deadly weapon and he knew it was capable of doing a lot of damage. Even on an enemy as tough as a Barker Mosswart.
At the proper moment Sarch let the string slip from his fingers. He watched the arrow fly true to its mark, entering the Barker's head with a satisfying "thump". The Barker never knew what hit him and dropped immediately where it stood.
The resulting confusion masked the movement and any sound Sarch made as he ducked and circled back around to his original southern location.
Fitting another Greater arrow to his bow, Sarch rose once again from the protective covering of the brush. Sighting in this time on the Feeder Mosswart, he let go the deadly projectile. This shot was not quite as true as the first and entered the Feeder's chest. The resulting screech assaulted the archers' ears as he quickly fitted and let go a following arrow. The Feeder dropped without ever seeing his assailant. The keen-sighted Creepers finally managed to find the location of their attacker and began their loping run, screaming in fury.
Sarch easily dropped one with a single shot and managed to put another arrow into the closest oncoming Creeper. The third Creeper had stopped and was pulling throwing blades off of a rough-made belt tied around its waist.
"Oh great, just what I need," Sarch thought as he quickly drew his dagger. The wounded Creeper was upon him and dispatching the disgusting vermin was easily accomplished with the slashing of the sharp blade across the screaming Mosswart's throat.
A searing pain hit Sarch as one of the final Creepers' throwing blades found its mark in his left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Sarch quickly flipped his dagger in his hand and hurled it at the beast. A screech of pain exploded from the Mosswart as the dagger sunk to the hilt in its stomach. The time it took to look down at the handle protruding from its body gave Sarch time hurl himself at the disgusting creature. A violent twist of the head and the Creeper ceased to make any sound.
Dropping the Mosswart to the ground, Sarch turned and surveyed the camp. The silence surprised him as it always did after such a battle. Grabbing the throwing blade by the hilt, Sarch gritted his teeth and yanked the bloody blade out of his shoulder. That would definitely require a healing kit. Bending to the fallen Mosswart, Sarch pulled the rough belt free and used it to temporarily bind his wound.
"Ahh, the ring!" he thought as he turned and his eyes fell upon the body nearest the fire. The Barker had fallen while still holding the ring and Sarch had to pry the prize from its fingers. Placing the ring upon his finger, a strange green glow surrounded the archer before dissipating like a mist into the night. "Good, it still has mana" he whispered as he placed the ring back into the pouch on his belt.
Retrieving his dagger from the fallen Creeper, Sarch headed out of the encampment and began the journey back to his own camp. He hoped he could make the two-mile hike before the throbbing in his shoulder became too much more severe.
"That will teach those fool vermin to rob a man's camp while he's out hunting himself some dinner." The thought had barely left his mind before he suddenly realized that he was absolutely exhausted. The weight of his armor, a Mattekar Coat and a good pair of Yoroi leggings, began to feel twice as heavy as usual. Each step became a burden as his mind began to fog and his thinking became disoriented and confused. He shook his head to clear his mind and a thought began to nag at him. What was it he was trying to remember? He was so tired, if only he could just sit for a moment. The thought abruptly came to life. A spell; a "Leaden Foot" or "Exhaustion" spell of some sort had been cast on him. A Shaman! Of course! There had been no Shaman in the group of Mossies he had just destroyed. No group of ignorant Mosswarts would have been clever enough to steal that ring from his camp without a Shaman to guide them! How could he be so foolish?
Sarch knew the Shaman had to be within casting distance and that was much too close to allow him time to defend himself. He began to run. Every bone in his body protested as he threw one leg in front of the other. His lungs burned with the effort to supply enough oxygen to his rapidly cramping muscles. He could hear the Shaman now in pursuit crashing through the forest behind him.
.
Continuing to run, Sarch slid the bow from his shoulder. Lifting his leaden arm he was able to pull an arrow from its quiver. It was a regular arrow, but Sarch knew he had no time for choosing another.
Knowing his strength was almost gone, Sarch suddenly ceased his retreat and turned toward his attacker. The Shaman, hell-bent on exacting its revenge upon the murderer of its followers, continued on in a headlong rush. Grunting with the effort of drawing his bow, Sarch let loose his arrow just as he dropped to his knees in utter exhaustion.
The arrow hit the Shaman dead center in its chest. Skidding to a stop in the wet underbrush, the Shaman's crazed eyes slowly lowered to the shaft protruding from its body. Raising its head once again, eyes closed, the creature began a low chant-like murmur. After a moment the arrow smoothly slid out of its chest and fell to the ground.
Too weary to even raise his arm to draw his dagger, Sarch watched from his knees as the milky green eyes of the Mosswart flicked open. With a grunt the Shaman snapped out of its healing trance and turned its sickly gaze upon the archer. Its fangs glinted in the moonlight as a smile of victory slowly spread across its ghastly features.
With a squeal that pierced the night, the Mosswart ran for its victim. Sarch, barely able to stay on his knees, could only stare his attacker in the eye in an effort to meet death with as much dignity as possible. Diving through the air, the Shaman slammed into Sarch as they both rolled and came to rest against a fallen log. The first thought in Sarch's mind was of how surprisingly heavy the Shaman was as it lay on top of him, followed immediately by "Why am I not dead?"
"Even though yer no longer wet behind those oversized ears, you keep trying to be Critter bait!" The booming voice came from a figure that emerged from the dark of the surrounding forest. Sarch was amazed and overwhelmingly relieved to see that the voice belonged to no other than his beloved friend and patron, Fladnag.
"Well quit standing there dripping water and get this stinking beast off of me! I'm too tired to lift a finger, let alone this heavy piece of beastflesh!"
With a chuckle Fladnag bent and with rippling biceps, lifted the dead Shaman off of his vassal, throwing the Shaman's body to the side as if it were no more than a sack of wheat.
"Problem with hitting these hardheaded Mossies in the skull is you lose a perfectly good arrow." Sarch wasn't sure if his Patron was bragging on a good shot or truly complaining. He finally settled on it was a little of both.
"Thank you Fladnag. You saved my life. That Shaman had cast some sort of exhaustion spell on me and there just wasn't anything left to fight with." And with a small smile Sarch added, "I don't think he cottoned to me wiping out his entire group of followers."
Throwing one of Sarch's arms over his shoulder for support, Fladnag started off towards Sarch's camp. "I came out here hoping to meet up with you and do some hunting together. I came upon your camp and could tell you had made a hasty departure. Following your trail I came upon the camp of those Mossies." At this Fladnag once again began a deep chuckle. "Guess you didn't care much for something they did."
"No Sir I didn't. They decided to help themselves to my Acid Protection ring while I was out hunting for some dinner. A ring of that quality isn't easy to find, so I followed their trail and caught up with the thieving beasts at their camp. I figured five of 'em wasn't too much for a good archer so I commenced to teaching them a lesson. Figured I had evened the score once I got my ring back. Unfortunately I was too thickheaded to figure out that there should have been a Shaman among them. Guess he came running when he heard the commotion. He ambushed me with the spell as I was leaving to return to my camp."
"You shoulda figured that out when you knew they were smart enough to abscond with your ring."
Nodding at the rebuke Sarch replied, "Yes Sir you're right about that. It nearly cost me my fool life. If you hadn't come along when you did that is."
"Well, I heard you running through the brush as I was following your trail. I came up on you just as you turned and shot at the Shaman. I could tell from the way you drew your bow that something wasn't right. Good thing you hit him too, or else he might have sensed me walking up in the trees. I think he was concentrating on healing himself and getting you dead as quickly as possible. It left me plenty of time to ready myself to finish him off."
"You let him come at me on purpose you old goat!" Sarch was smiling as he rebuffed his beloved friend.
Smiling Fladnag glanced at his vassal, "Yeah, but you needed a good pounding for not using your brains and figuring out there should have been a Shaman around."
"Point taken, lesson learned." Sarch could only shake his head and thank the good Lord for a Patron such as his.
by Sarch
Not even his Alluvian nose could miss the acrid smell emanating from the dark forest just ahead. Sarch smiled as he thought of the verbal barrage his friend and co-vassal Vladinator would hurl at having to endure this insult to his sense of smell.
The dark earth was wet and everything was damp to the touch as Sarch slowly moved forward. His breathing slowed as did his movements as he tried to become one with his surroundings.
Sarch could nearly hear the gravely voice of Fladnag, his friend and Patron, "You want to blend in with the trees? Then think yourself to be a tree. Move as if the wind were the only force causing your movement. Attracting undo attention is a quick way of signing yer own death certificate. Maybe that will keep yer sorry arse from becoming critter bait before you've even gotten dry behind yer ears."
Sound was not as much a concern as movement, for the Mosswarts were making enough noise to wake the dead. Very slowly parting the leaves in the middle of some surrounding brush, Sarch gazed upon what appeared to be a celebration. The fire lit up the night in an almost cheerful glow. Five Mosswarts were roaming around the camp drinking and talking. To anyone's eye it would look like a small party was being held.
"Yep, this has got to be the ones who got the ring," thought Sarch as he slowly circled around to an area of forest that would allow for a better shot from his trusted bow.
Fladnag had taught him many things that had "kept his hide from becoming critter bait" over the last few years. This training came into play now as Sarch drew a mental picture of the surrounding landscape. He knew there were cliffs a short distance off to the west. The fall probably wouldn't kill him, but the broken leg and 5 mad Mosswarts tearing at him certainly would. The forest got thicker to the North, that would slow his progress if he were in need of retreating. South or East would work with the flat terrain due south being best. That would allow him to get his stride going. Not even these Mossies could catch him if he was in a flat-out sprint.
Sarch studied the scene before him. In reality he didn't much like the odds. Five Mossies against one archer. Hmmmmm, this must be thought through. What would Fladnag and Vladinator do in this scenario? He could see that the party consisted of a Barker, a Feeder and three Creeper Mosswarts. The ring was currently being held by the Barker, who was nearest the fire, using its light to study the ring more closely. A strategy began to form in the Alluvian's mind.
Circling around to the east, Sarch found a spot where he had an unobstructed view between the forks of a tree. Reaching back over his shoulder he found one of his "greater" arrows. Fire was the natural inclination here, but the flames of the arrowhead would surely draw attention and the whole party would be upon him before he could even draw his bow. A greater arrow was called for, as Sarch had no room for error. A mere flesh wound to his intended target could end with Sarch's death.
Slowly standing, Sarch brought his Yumi bow up and notched his arrow to string. The bow was a prized gift from his Patron and had served him well. Drawing the string to chin, Sarch slowly breathed out and began to envision the arrow entering the Barkers head. As he felt the tension leave his body it was replaced with the familiar warmth of the Blood Drinker spell that was imbued upon his Yumi at its creation. A greater arrow with Blood Drinker III cast upon it was a deadly weapon and he knew it was capable of doing a lot of damage. Even on an enemy as tough as a Barker Mosswart.
At the proper moment Sarch let the string slip from his fingers. He watched the arrow fly true to its mark, entering the Barker's head with a satisfying "thump". The Barker never knew what hit him and dropped immediately where it stood.
The resulting confusion masked the movement and any sound Sarch made as he ducked and circled back around to his original southern location.
Fitting another Greater arrow to his bow, Sarch rose once again from the protective covering of the brush. Sighting in this time on the Feeder Mosswart, he let go the deadly projectile. This shot was not quite as true as the first and entered the Feeder's chest. The resulting screech assaulted the archers' ears as he quickly fitted and let go a following arrow. The Feeder dropped without ever seeing his assailant. The keen-sighted Creepers finally managed to find the location of their attacker and began their loping run, screaming in fury.
Sarch easily dropped one with a single shot and managed to put another arrow into the closest oncoming Creeper. The third Creeper had stopped and was pulling throwing blades off of a rough-made belt tied around its waist.
"Oh great, just what I need," Sarch thought as he quickly drew his dagger. The wounded Creeper was upon him and dispatching the disgusting vermin was easily accomplished with the slashing of the sharp blade across the screaming Mosswart's throat.
A searing pain hit Sarch as one of the final Creepers' throwing blades found its mark in his left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Sarch quickly flipped his dagger in his hand and hurled it at the beast. A screech of pain exploded from the Mosswart as the dagger sunk to the hilt in its stomach. The time it took to look down at the handle protruding from its body gave Sarch time hurl himself at the disgusting creature. A violent twist of the head and the Creeper ceased to make any sound.
Dropping the Mosswart to the ground, Sarch turned and surveyed the camp. The silence surprised him as it always did after such a battle. Grabbing the throwing blade by the hilt, Sarch gritted his teeth and yanked the bloody blade out of his shoulder. That would definitely require a healing kit. Bending to the fallen Mosswart, Sarch pulled the rough belt free and used it to temporarily bind his wound.
"Ahh, the ring!" he thought as he turned and his eyes fell upon the body nearest the fire. The Barker had fallen while still holding the ring and Sarch had to pry the prize from its fingers. Placing the ring upon his finger, a strange green glow surrounded the archer before dissipating like a mist into the night. "Good, it still has mana" he whispered as he placed the ring back into the pouch on his belt.
Retrieving his dagger from the fallen Creeper, Sarch headed out of the encampment and began the journey back to his own camp. He hoped he could make the two-mile hike before the throbbing in his shoulder became too much more severe.
"That will teach those fool vermin to rob a man's camp while he's out hunting himself some dinner." The thought had barely left his mind before he suddenly realized that he was absolutely exhausted. The weight of his armor, a Mattekar Coat and a good pair of Yoroi leggings, began to feel twice as heavy as usual. Each step became a burden as his mind began to fog and his thinking became disoriented and confused. He shook his head to clear his mind and a thought began to nag at him. What was it he was trying to remember? He was so tired, if only he could just sit for a moment. The thought abruptly came to life. A spell; a "Leaden Foot" or "Exhaustion" spell of some sort had been cast on him. A Shaman! Of course! There had been no Shaman in the group of Mossies he had just destroyed. No group of ignorant Mosswarts would have been clever enough to steal that ring from his camp without a Shaman to guide them! How could he be so foolish?
Sarch knew the Shaman had to be within casting distance and that was much too close to allow him time to defend himself. He began to run. Every bone in his body protested as he threw one leg in front of the other. His lungs burned with the effort to supply enough oxygen to his rapidly cramping muscles. He could hear the Shaman now in pursuit crashing through the forest behind him.
.
Continuing to run, Sarch slid the bow from his shoulder. Lifting his leaden arm he was able to pull an arrow from its quiver. It was a regular arrow, but Sarch knew he had no time for choosing another.
Knowing his strength was almost gone, Sarch suddenly ceased his retreat and turned toward his attacker. The Shaman, hell-bent on exacting its revenge upon the murderer of its followers, continued on in a headlong rush. Grunting with the effort of drawing his bow, Sarch let loose his arrow just as he dropped to his knees in utter exhaustion.
The arrow hit the Shaman dead center in its chest. Skidding to a stop in the wet underbrush, the Shaman's crazed eyes slowly lowered to the shaft protruding from its body. Raising its head once again, eyes closed, the creature began a low chant-like murmur. After a moment the arrow smoothly slid out of its chest and fell to the ground.
Too weary to even raise his arm to draw his dagger, Sarch watched from his knees as the milky green eyes of the Mosswart flicked open. With a grunt the Shaman snapped out of its healing trance and turned its sickly gaze upon the archer. Its fangs glinted in the moonlight as a smile of victory slowly spread across its ghastly features.
With a squeal that pierced the night, the Mosswart ran for its victim. Sarch, barely able to stay on his knees, could only stare his attacker in the eye in an effort to meet death with as much dignity as possible. Diving through the air, the Shaman slammed into Sarch as they both rolled and came to rest against a fallen log. The first thought in Sarch's mind was of how surprisingly heavy the Shaman was as it lay on top of him, followed immediately by "Why am I not dead?"
"Even though yer no longer wet behind those oversized ears, you keep trying to be Critter bait!" The booming voice came from a figure that emerged from the dark of the surrounding forest. Sarch was amazed and overwhelmingly relieved to see that the voice belonged to no other than his beloved friend and patron, Fladnag.
"Well quit standing there dripping water and get this stinking beast off of me! I'm too tired to lift a finger, let alone this heavy piece of beastflesh!"
With a chuckle Fladnag bent and with rippling biceps, lifted the dead Shaman off of his vassal, throwing the Shaman's body to the side as if it were no more than a sack of wheat.
"Problem with hitting these hardheaded Mossies in the skull is you lose a perfectly good arrow." Sarch wasn't sure if his Patron was bragging on a good shot or truly complaining. He finally settled on it was a little of both.
"Thank you Fladnag. You saved my life. That Shaman had cast some sort of exhaustion spell on me and there just wasn't anything left to fight with." And with a small smile Sarch added, "I don't think he cottoned to me wiping out his entire group of followers."
Throwing one of Sarch's arms over his shoulder for support, Fladnag started off towards Sarch's camp. "I came out here hoping to meet up with you and do some hunting together. I came upon your camp and could tell you had made a hasty departure. Following your trail I came upon the camp of those Mossies." At this Fladnag once again began a deep chuckle. "Guess you didn't care much for something they did."
"No Sir I didn't. They decided to help themselves to my Acid Protection ring while I was out hunting for some dinner. A ring of that quality isn't easy to find, so I followed their trail and caught up with the thieving beasts at their camp. I figured five of 'em wasn't too much for a good archer so I commenced to teaching them a lesson. Figured I had evened the score once I got my ring back. Unfortunately I was too thickheaded to figure out that there should have been a Shaman among them. Guess he came running when he heard the commotion. He ambushed me with the spell as I was leaving to return to my camp."
"You shoulda figured that out when you knew they were smart enough to abscond with your ring."
Nodding at the rebuke Sarch replied, "Yes Sir you're right about that. It nearly cost me my fool life. If you hadn't come along when you did that is."
"Well, I heard you running through the brush as I was following your trail. I came up on you just as you turned and shot at the Shaman. I could tell from the way you drew your bow that something wasn't right. Good thing you hit him too, or else he might have sensed me walking up in the trees. I think he was concentrating on healing himself and getting you dead as quickly as possible. It left me plenty of time to ready myself to finish him off."
"You let him come at me on purpose you old goat!" Sarch was smiling as he rebuffed his beloved friend.
Smiling Fladnag glanced at his vassal, "Yeah, but you needed a good pounding for not using your brains and figuring out there should have been a Shaman around."
"Point taken, lesson learned." Sarch could only shake his head and thank the good Lord for a Patron such as his.