Turn 6
The Aftermath
The sun washes over the pine bed on
which Enchandra, Winsome and Korian lay. Tiny rivulets of light
seep through the forest canopy and play about one another on the
rolling bed. The Winter Wolves sleep, deeply almost magically,
scenes of horror still laid out around them, almost comical in
the bright light of day. As a light breeze blows through the
pines, several branches are pushed back, reveling a stunning
elvish maid, a maid that the Winter Wolves would instantly
recognize.
The slender sorceress soars and leaps, gliding from one tree
branch to another with practiced ease, her keen eyes scanning the
ground for any signs of disturbance, sapphire curls and batwinged
cloak flying behind. Important mission or no, Elorie is getting
bored. Beyond frightening some squirrels and driving birds from
their nests, squaking and chipping in outrage, she has seen or
heard nothing interesting, and she has better things to do.
Tramping about in the woods - alone - is not fun. His royal
majesty - her lips twist in a sneer - must be getting jittery in
his old age. And naturally, the mighty winter wolves are called
upon. Tell me again, why by the nine hells did I join up?
Light seeps ahead, through a break in the forest canopy. Leaving
behind her lighthearted musing, she focuses her attention, blade
sharp. Her teachers in magic had alway told her that if a wizard
would survive, he must hone his will to be sharper than a
warrior's blade - or such a blade would find a way past his
defences. Experience had taught her just how right they were. In
the most painful way. Clearings were always a place of special
danger, and she felt something, a darkness in the weave of magic.
Many were the dark places in the woods, and in all too many of
them the magic was twisted, darkened. Biting her lip in
concentration, Elorie's eyes open wider, as she stretches her
senses. She cannot note anything special - but there is a sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach. Leaping ahead, dark wings
spreading behind, propelling her aloft, her boots touch on a
branch, easily strong enough to bear her small form, and she
takes in the scene.
Hundreds of dead bodies, rotting in the early morning sun.
Enchandra is lying on the ground with no legs. She is scratched
and badly beaten. Camille is nowhere to be seen, but you see a
pile of picked bones with wavy red hair on it, and clothes that
look much like Camille's. Winsome and Korian are curled into
tight balls on the surface of the ground. They have not made a
fire, and they have not bothered to cover themselves. Then you
see it in the center of the group, an elvish head...black hair...cream
skin...White Feather.
Swallowing her bile, Elorie stares for a moment. While she had
seen many grisly sights in her short life never had she thought
that such would come to pass. Taking a pair of leaves from her
herb bag, she crushes them between her long, thin fingers,
pressing hard - as though she could break through the haze
obscuring her vision or change the sight before her by main
strength. The fresh scent replaces the deathly stench, and clear
thought is now possible. But by no means welcome... Avoiding the
bodies of the dead, Elorie advances toward her fellow winter
wolves, taking small steps, as though reluctant to advance. She
is somewhat shocked by the situation, and is not cognizant that
danger might still threaten. Or if aware, she cares not. The
princess, her most fey highness, beheaded. This is too much! The
king will be in a fury - and thinking of his fury, her own
awakens, shaking her from the lethargy brought on by surprise and
the scene of death and suffering. Whoever was responsible would
wish for death! She would personally cast the beast into the
abyss... unless a demon was involved? The need to know presses
upon her, and Elorie advances towards the survivors, wondering if
they truly are suvivors, and not mindless husks. She tries to
awaken them, and give them what care she can, bandaging wounds
and using her herbs to bring wakefulness and activity.
"Are you awake? Do you remember what happened? Can you tell
me? Who did this - that human she was seeing, or some dark
necromancer? Is there any way I can help? (this last directed at
the priestess, horror in her eyes)."
The questions follow one another rapidly, in a low voice. She
prepares food for them, and helps them in any way she can. But in
her mind's eye she cannot forget the sight of White Feather's
head, which she took upon herself to obscure, putting it away in
a small sack. The need to act burns within, and each moment spent
away from pursuit of vengeance galls her, as she feels useless.
Also, she is afraid. That her power might not, this once, prove
sufficient. Explaining her presence, she says:
"His majesty had a premonition. You know how he is. So he
sent me, and two more Wolves are behind. I only pray that we
shall be enough. What say you? What is to be done now? Enchandra
- are you capable of restoring your legs? If not, I can teleport
us back, to seek healing and comfort - and then we can seek
retribution!"
Her steely gaze is bent upon the others, urging them to shake
their weariness and the horror they have seen, electric blue orbs
glowing with suppressed emotion.
Wincing at his bandaged left shoulder, Winsome rises from his
fevered
slumber. Blurred vision and madness swimming his awareness in and
out of shadow. He blinks several times as he hears a familiar
voice. As Elorie begins to make a small campfire to warm her
remedies with Winsome holds out a weakened hand and croaks....
"No fire, please have mercy on us and make no fire."
Sitting up and using all of his ability to re-coup himself
Winsome tries not to look around at the carnage he knows is
there, instead focusing on Elorie's concerned face and actions.
At the mention of fire Korian looks up "No fire."
Korian says. " Eternal Cold... death." Then Korian
stares at the carnage around him. "Eternal death."
"I cannot go back to the Tree like this sister Wolf. The
shame is too great. I must track this foul beast down and end his
days so the White Feather's spirit may rest. I remember him
saying something about a kingdom... so hard to remember...
everything a blur... a red haze... and what I do remember... the
sun..."
Korian says, "Death black." Korian suddenly starts to
weep uncontrollably, wracked with grief and horror. He is unable
to continue for a moment. With the first gentle shake Korian sits
bolt upright, "NnnOOOOOOO!!!!" He rolls backward, and
falls on his rear. Looking at Elorie Korian exclaims, "No
Demon you shall not have my soul!! Away with you!" As he
pushes the elf away. Then recognition enters Korian's eyes and he
relaxes as tears flow freely down his face. "Thanks the Gods
it's you Elorie. Wh-White Feather..*sob* Dead. Damien..Demon..Camille.
W-we were powerless," and the rest is an unintelligible
babbling.
Hearing and seeing his old time companion's hurt snaps something in Winsome and he comes from his reverie into an apparent cold stone control. "Listen my friend, although our grief is great, and we have suffered wounds that no healer can mend... for I fear that some part of us is broken forever... we must rally ourselves and avenge White Feather and our fellow Wolf. We must not let this vileness go on its own," says Winsome.
Looking at Hawk, Elorie asks in surprise: "Why would I build a fire? Trail rations are eaten cold... What is wrong with flames?"
In his fevered mind Elorie's question runs over and over in a strange echo ...what is wrong with flames.... what is wrong with flames.... what is wrong with flames.... at the same time in his broken mind's eye he sees a wall of flame superimposed on it the grisly immolation of White Feather.... what is wrong with flame.... Blinking hard and shaking his head from side to side Winsome tries to gather his wits to him.
Looking back at Hawk, Elorie moves closer, and kneels by his side. Kissing him gently on the cheek, she urges him to lie down and rest some more. Then she replies, sarcastically: "Of course you can't go back. Just because the king orders it, that is no serious reason. You're incoherent, and hardly thinking. Yes, you might lose your head, but his majesty will want to know everything, and he is more likely to send you after the culprit. Reinforced in spirit and body, as the healers at High Home are peerless at their craft. And regardless, I did not ask you whether or not you wanted to go back. I was ordered to bring you back. So unless you want me to truss you up before we teleport, you'll co-operate. You're in no condition to go chasing anyone, as the first enemy you meet will be the end of you. No more argument out of you, boy!"
"Dishonor!!" shouts Korian. "That is what we face upon returning! Our heads on posts, our heads on posts.. kingy uses our brains to butter his toast! I like my brains where they are thank you!"
Violently breaking from Elorie's tender grasp. Winsome's eyes widen and his nostrils flair. In a fluid motion, as quick as a snake he picks his spear up and backs himself up against a tree, hefting the shaft in his one good hand. Fevered sweat soaking his masked forehead and dripping down the side of his jaw. He grits his teeth almost feral...
"Listen well sister... I will never be tied again. NEVER! You have your orders and we have our mission. The king has my love and loyalty, but in this I cannot obey him. I will go on alone it I must... but I will find Damien... and I will seek retribution on him," says Winsome.
Panting heavily, Winsome's lip starts to bleed again. The look of a beast upon him, he crouches ready to spring into action, "You'll get more than argument from me sister. Back off from me now. Enough wolves have suffered today. ENOUGH!"
Shaking her head in disgust, Elorie wonders
just how he's survived this long. "Listen, fool! If he could
toy with four of us, and leave hundreds of dead behind", she
gestures at the field of bodies, "all you can accomplish is
die. Die stupidly, that is." She starts pondering just which
spell to use to bind the errant Wolf, and adds: "that little
stick of yours will not help you, you know. Us great mages carry
protections against people with sharp things, especially the
nasty ones who think poking us to see what comes out is hilarious.
The survivors usually change their teeny-tiny minds." If he
actually uses the weapon, Elorie thinks darkly, glaring at him,
he just might live to regret it. Now let's see, bands of
Syrellyn, a spell of paralysis or... suppressing her desire to
use disintegration, or her favorite - the lightning bolt - is
difficult, but with a frown she sublimates her annoyance. Or at
least suppresses it sufficiently to ensure Hawk's survival.
Ignoring Windsong's prattle, she begins to raise her hands in
spellcasting gestures.
Enchandra is numbed with pain and shock as she awakes from her
dream state and tries to focus once again on reality. The words
of Elorie break into her pain filled consciousness and her eyes
focus upon the woman. "Enchandra - are you capable of
restoring your legs?" she asks. Enchandra focuses on the
blurred image of the woman speaking to her, and slowly she comes
into view. She opens her mouth to speak and can only mouth the
words at first, but initially she speaks, slowly. Pained. "No.
But I can heal the wounds." She closes her eyes for a full
minute and her arms reach to the grass and dirt around her. She
clutches a handful of the living things and dirt and rolls over
on her side. Bending over to her legs she mutters, "Oh. Oak.
Your servant beseeches you to heal these festering wounds with
thy Holy Rapture."
She places her hands over the disgusting stumps of her wounds and
the dirt mixes with puss and blood. Enchandra grits her teeth
hard, but does not mutter a cry at the massive wave of pain
shooting through her mind as she coats the wounds with the
substance of her God.
Holy energy flows with a crackle from the ground beneath
Enchandra, and a dark green glow surrounds the Priestesses hands
as she allows her God to make her a receptacle for His healing
might. Enchandra finishes, the stumps still blood covered but the
pain obviously lessened although the Lady is still pale as the
full moon behind a thin veil of clouds.
If anyone moves to help her Enchandra hisses, "Back, you! I
seek no assistance that you can deliver." She drags herself
to the nearest tree and leans against it, propped against its
soothing coolness. She listens as the Wolves debate whether to
return or not and her face is impassive. That does not last long
as a hint of flush enters Enchandra's cheeks, and she shivers
with the heat of the blood in her face. "SHUT UP! All of you!"
"Do we not obey the King? Are we to split up and be
destroyed like so many school children tormented in turn by a
bully?" Her eyes focus on each member in turn. "We were
beaten. That is fact. We live. That is fact." Her face gains
the stubbornness so commonly seen on the Priestesses face, "We
will hunt this 'man' down and have our vengeance, but now is not
the time. That is fact. A fool's errand is run by those who act
impulsively and alone."
"White feather is dead. That is fact. We failed. That is
fact. We will return home. That is fact. We will not be hung like
dogs. That is fact." Enchandra's eyes flash with anger,
"We will return. That is fact. And we will avenge our defeat
and the death of the King's Daughter! That is fact!"
Enchandra bellows the last words at the top of her lungs and
looks fatigued after the outburst. She sighs audibly and says
softly looking to Winsome, "Even if I have to be strapped to
your back Dear Winsome, I vow to return with you all to find and
dismember this creature that did this to us. To me. To White
Feather." Enchandra stops, her lips cracked and dry, "Now.
Would someone get me some water." Her face regains its
passive look, and she looks to be a hundred years older than her
actual fairly youthful age. Once given water she begins to mutter
prayer under her breathe, but the group can tell that she is
listening, her sharp tongue waiting to be unleashed again...
Ah! I always thought her sensible, Elorie thinks. Reacting
instantly to her words, distraught at her lack of forethought and
consideration, Elorie brings Enchandra some water, and
encouragement: "We'll be back at the royal palace in no time.
And you'll be whole again - then", smiling wickedly, "you
can start thinking about some fun. Disassembling certain people,
for instance. Could you by any chance recount what happened?
Their story was quite incomprehensible". Turning back to the
foolish males, she announces clearly and loudly, the tone of her
musical voice calming: "The king will not be taking any
heads - he needs us, all of us. And naturally, he'll send us on
this Damien turd's trail. Of course, a second failure might not
be so easily forgiven. And if you prove yourself useless, he can
always use you as an example. Pour encourager les autre".
Advancing on Hawk, Elorie grins, and chides him: "You are
too tense. You always were restless. Calm down, and think instead
of burning up with emotions. Hmmm, perhaps I can help you relax."
Moving close to him, brushing his spear aside, Elorie kneels at
his feet, and stretches her hand, exposing his flaccid member.
Her experienced fingers harden him in moments, and she leans
forward, using her lips, tongue and mouth expertly, her hands
grasping his buttocks and moving them rhythmically. He finishes
short minutes later with a heavy groan, and Elorie cleans herself.
She stands upright and walks to Enchandra.
Korian says, "The King has had wolves killed for less. That is a fact as well is it not Priestess of the land? The king has other warriors besides us as well, which carry no burden of Dishonor as we do. Is that not a fact? To be hung like dogs, to be hung like dogs. our remains fed, to the creatures of the bogs." Korian sighs, and stares in to the treetops above so as not to look at the carnage below. "Agree I do with you priestess, it would be folly to try to fight now. we need somewhere to go, somewhere to lick our wounds. Somewhere to lie in the darkness and let it's comforting cool quench the fires behind our eyes. it would be folly, I think, to see the king in this present state. I do not think I could even step throught the gate, to do so would seal our fate. Alas, for poor White Feather And Camille it is already too late. The king would have our heads, on his supping plate." at this witty little rhyme A small quirk of a smile appears on my face.
Winsome sees that the group is gaining momentum to return to the Tree. Grasping his chance while all are distracted from him he grabs his equipment and fades into the trees, as silent as an owl in flight. Korian follows Winsome into the thick of the Darkwood.
Distracted as she was, Elorie did not notice
Hawk or Korian slip away. Turning and seeing them gone, she loses
her temper, and begins cursing them in several languages [details
omitted]. "Well, if the king won't have their heads, I just
might. They are not getting away with this." Smiling grimly,
Elorie begins a spell of conjuration, a summoning aimed the plane
of air. Taking a block of incense from a hidden pocket in her
robe, she kneels on the clearing's soft ground, and lights it
with a cantrip. A crescent shaped piece of horn is in her left
hand, and she passes it through the smoke created by the incense,
chanting and gesturing with her right hand. The air in front of
her assumes a strange quality, seeming to swirl and curve,
similar to reflections caused by heat. As the stalker answers her
call and is bound by her will and magic, Elorie issues it's
orders - "Follow the tracks", she says in a voice of
command, "and seize the elf who made them. Bring him to the
throne room at the king's palace in Home Tree, with all of his
equipment. Do not harm him." As the Invisible Stalker
departs on the trail of the recalcitrant wolf, Elorie takes her
deep breath and drops to the ground. Such summoning were
exhausting, as the conjuror must face a war of wills - and win.
Such a victory did not come without cost, and she had to rest for
a while. So tired... but she could not forget her duty. Unlike
certain others. Grimacing, she rises, somewhat recovered. She
questions Windsong without looking at him, her voice sweet but
the anger behind it smoldering, "I do hope you're not going
to give me any more trouble? Shall we teleport away?" Noone
answers. Elorie turns and sees that Windsong is also gone.
Enchandra nods at the question, knowing that she needs the
healing knowledge that is only available in the High Home.
Elorie picks up Camille's remains and equipment, for the use of the Winter Wolves, and she intends to return the enchanted arrows to royal armory. Writing a small note to the two following Wolves, Elorie joins hands with Enchandra, and utters: "Silver path, palace infirmary." The bodies of the two elf women begin to change in appearance, as silvery sparks replace their flesh and equipment, swirling faster and faster. As the silver sparks seem to consume the female Winter Wolves, they begin to form a silvery whirlwind, the sign of house silverstorm, which gradually decreases in size, disappearing in a burst of light. And they are elsewhere...