Masterpoet was tired.  He had spent the day stocking his guild’s vendor, pricing items, overseeing production of an order for some merkite chainmail armor, and hunting orcs in his spare time.  He was now making potions.  If anyone had been there, they may have noticed that he was making Heal potions.  If they had asked he would have told them he only used Greater Heals himself.  Masterpoet liked to keep the younger members of his guild well equipped for the rigors of exploration and combat.  He prided himself on being a good Guild Highlord for his Hands of the Divine.  He always felt he had an unusual connection to them Suddenly that connection blinked crazily in his vision.  His bond was calling him.  “Eye Seek You”, was its hypnotizing call.   He could not ignore it.  His vision told him a story.  One of his members was in serious trouble.  He was nearing death’s door and once again called to his Highlord to help him.  Masterpoet could never refuse. They were his charges and he was responsible for them.  Cifra, a squire of some reputation, was surrounded by orcs.  He could easily handle an orc, orc captain, even an orc lord or mage if alone.  But he was assaulted on all sides while death’s ghost was near and looking for blood.  Masterpoet grabbed his bag of reagents, and his warhammer as he flew out the door.  Leaping upon his trusted forest ostard he removed a rune from his pocket and yelling out Kal Ort Por, he vanished from sight. Masterpoet met Cifra on the outskirts of town.  He was battered, bloody, and barely conscious.  He soon lost all connection with Britannia.  Masterpoet summoned his youngest warrior Jason to help him gain a measure of vengeance on the hordes for the damage done to their guild member.  The battle became a fury of magic and mayhem as no less than five orc mages cast their fury in a series of energy bolts, flame strikes, and paralyze spells.  Armed with only his mind and magic, Masterpoet leaped into the fray with a series of fire fields, poison attacks, and a blade spirits.  Blood and orc screams flew into the night. “Tell again what happened,” said an excited Cifra.  “Well,” Jason began, “ there I was, surrounded by orcs over thirty strong.”  Cifra leaned into the table and purchased another round of ale for the two of them.  He was disappointed he’d missed this.  “Orc mages fell in droves from my trusty sword of ruin!  Orc lords begged for mercy before I struck them down in great numbers!”  Cifra was mind boggled.  “And Masterpoet? Where was he in this? Surely he was holding his own?”  “He was running for town like a little girl,” Jason smirked, “with his purple cape waving behind him!”  Cifra was shocked.  “You can’t mean that! After all, he IS our Highlord!  He’s faced the orc hordes on his own many times.  You’ve seen his stack of orc helm trophies!”  Jason took another drink and motioned for the barmaid.  “Makes you wonder where his trophies come from.  I hear they sell those at provisioners for 40 gold!”  Jason continued as if he’d never stopped, “so I was clearing the area and they were scattering in all directions from my fury.  I would have finished them all, but I was nearly overweighed by all the gold and jewels I’d wrested from their piggish hands in triumph!”  Jason accentuated his last statement with a pouch of gold that jingled like music.  Cifra looked at a spot just behind Jason and said in a quiet undertone.  “So, is that 100% true?” “Yes,” came a deeper voice behind Jason, “ is that 100% true?” Jason stiffened like he was hit with a poisoned blade.  A gauntlet of valorite rested on his shoulder from behind as he slowly exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he’d held.  “Well, maybe not 100% true, but close”, he stated.  “Masterpoet killed maybe an orc or two…

Little ones.” Jason said into his ale, “with the butcher knives.” Cifra and Masterpoet laughed until tears overwhelmed their vision.  Jason eventually joined them. After a while… But he meant to anyway… At least a little…

To HoD