The dark corridor, painted a blood red and illuminated by Continual Light, ran far into the hillside. A figure turned the nearest corner, stalking quietly but purposefully down the hall. Natural light intruded from another corridor ahead, dim but unwelcome in the thick, blood scented air. He preferred the subterranean air but business was business. He waited there, near the entrance to the complex, only a few minutes when he heard the unmistakable clanking of armored footsteps from the stone floor. A moment later, and the large steel-blanketed man entered the hallway to see the robed one waiting.
"Greetings, Bloodedge," the dark figure hissed with a nod of welcome, "By your pose and expression, I trust you bring good news?"
"Yes, Nabu-Nisir," the armored warrior nodded, "I am surprised, but you were right about the gnolls. They held the task force together and in the end the monsters preformed exactly as you wished. They killed Silverblade, destroyed or captured roughly half the force, and brought Silverblade's force to a point where it will not recover. I did not think the beast-men would work so well together."
Nabu-Nisir smirked within the cowl of his brown robe. "You do not have my experience with the humanoids," he stated strongly, "Many of them will work together if they are rewarded properly. As long as we don't mix the orc tribes or put the bugbears in charge of the goblins. They will eat the goblins without remorse or consideration of their mission."
"So what is next," Bloodedge asked.
"We will wait for a few days," the robed one replied, "We well watch and see how the keep reacts. The bugbears and gnolls should have plenty of food with the prisoners they have taken. We do not have a strong enough force for a frontal assault, but we may have a way of getting inside the walls when the time comes!"
Tauron Barador, tall and strong, stared up into the grey autumn sky. 'No sun today,' he thought, 'but it doesn't feel like rain, either.' He jogged through the treescape keeping an eye out for any signs of bipedal life. He stopped dead, catching a faint scent in the air, and then sprinted a half mile to the edge of the tree line.
In the distance, he saw the orange smoke column rising into the sky from the direction of the keep.
'Orange', he mused, "That is the signal for an attack, with injuries. I need to find Cobb.' With that, the young huntsman sprinted towards the older hunter's shack in hopes that Cobb had not ventured forth yet today.
Arthos saw the orange smoke as well from his station at the main gate of the Keep, and very quickly he watched the rider urge his horse as fast as it would go up the road to the fortress. "Open the gates," Arthos shouted, "It's one of ours!" The Guard Captain ran down the steps to the gate even as the drawbridge lowered and the portcullis lifted out of the way and the horse trotted into the entryway. The horseman slid off the steed, landing unsteadily and dropping to one knee. A heavy weight seemed to descend on Arthos' soul and he asked, "What happened?"
"No time," the guard said through gritted teeth, "We were hit hard. Many wounded. We need to alert the hospitlars."
Arthos examined the man and realized that he also carried a wound on his leg. 'If he is the one to ride ahead, what condition are the others?' Arthos waved to the other gate guards. "Help him back onto his horse. I'll escort him to the temple. You watch the gate for now, close it only if you see attackers approaching. I'll send additional guards and runners." Arthos led the hurt soldier away even as word started to spread in the little community.
Brother Martin, Curate for the Temple of Pelor, stood at the door to the temple as he often would in the early part of the day. His smile beamed and warmed the spirit of all who viewed it as they passed. "I am merciful, as the sun shows its mercy upon me," he intoned. He was fit and somewhat strong, wearing a simple leather vest and tan shirt with plain loose trousers, a sun emblazoned vestment adorning his neck being the only religious item worn. It was important for him to dress with the people of the keep, not above them. As leader of the only temple at the castle, he stood above the others for his deeds and service to the community, not his dress, his possession, or especially his attitude or arrogance.
When Martin saw Sergeant Arthos leading the mounted horse toward the temple, he secretly hoped that this man was the only wounded the temple would see. Martin had been alerted that there may be fighting this morning and had prepared his church for the injured. "Acolytes, attend," the Curate shouted before walking out to meet the two guardsmen.
"Are there more," Martin asked hopefully. Arthos gestured to the mounted man, who cleared his throat.
"I'm not sure," the man stated, "At least 15, maybe more. We had not looked at everyone before they sent me ahead."
Martin's face hardened. 'We do not have enough magical healing for this,' he considered. When two of the temple's pages arrived to help the injured man in, Martin quietly stopped one of them. "I will assist our guest," Martin told the teenaged boy, "Please go and find Silva Barador, tell her the Brother Martin respectfully requests her assistance in tending the wounded. State that her presence may be…critical today."
"That must have been grand," Aseneth gushed to Eluthera at the tavern. This was their third meal together, both of them finding some comfort in the other's knowledge of the mystical world. As the youthful sorceress had mentioned, "It is not easy finding a kindred spirit out here in the borderlands. Magic is not in high demand."
"Some assume that, because I have the Fey in my blood, I know everything about Fey creatures," Eluthera groused, "I still only know what I've been taught or what I've experienced."
Aseneth opened her mouth to speak when they both heard something from outside the tavern, muffled voices that sounded alarmed. With a glance toward her companion, the forest spirit stood and walked quietly out the door.
The scene outside assaulted her many senses. Dust and blood stabbed into her nose, sounds of shuffling feet, horses clomping by, rattling of armor, and creaking wood from an old cart pierced her keen hearing, and her eyes fell on the procession of horses and men as they turned the corner from the communities main street toward the inner gate…and the temple. Eluthera did not immediately understand, but her eyes caught one woman standing to the side as she burst out in frantic sobbing, rushing to a particular horse only to be held back by another guardsmen and escorted away. Then it hit her.
The horse was led by a guard, and carried a fallen man. Eluthera's spirit fell just a bit.
"I must go, Aseneth," she muttered, and her friend nodded in response. Eluthera jogged toward the line of soldiers and bandits, and she found what she searched for in the wooden cart. One of the guards acknowledge Eluthera's presence but did not stop her as she walked beside the cart where Laur-Q sat calmly, her arm and neck wrapped in makeshift bandages and blood caking her fur.
"I should not have jumped in," the rodent girl said tiredly, "There were too many of them, and I could see that before I attacked. I just hoped one more might make some difference."
Laur sighed sadly as Eluthera watched, her face lined with concern.
'I've never actually been inside these walls,' Karle Blackdirt mused from his perch atop one of the guard horses. His arms were tied behind his back with several other surviving members of Silverblade's group. Orm had survived, although despite his injuries the guards were forced subdue him. Karle had remained uninjured during the battle, using his abilities to conceal himself once he realized the fight was lost and surrendering to the guards when the fight had ended. Karle was not the best outdoorsman, and attempting to fend for himself with no supplies likely would have ended with his death long before he made it to a town or city. A decision was required, and the Keep at least provided protection. The mystic just was not sure what would come next.
And chaos descended upon the Temple of Pelor, the kind of mess the little chapel had not experienced. Injuries hampered almost all of the survivors of the battle, and many of them should not have been exerting themselves as they were. Luck had brought them a local farmer with his horse and cart which transported those who could not ride. Guardsmen who had not ridden out in the morning arrived to help the church personnel bring the injured in, with Eluthera helping out as well. The infirmary did not have enough beds, and several of the young acolytes carried their beds in to accommodate those in need. The young adepts followed Brother Martin and the two temple acolytes as they examined each man or woman briefly, trying to decide who needed healing the most and who (hopefully) would survive until the next day, or perhaps not require magic at all. The additional guards also helped to remove the armor of their wounded comrades to make the examinations easier for the medics. Once all of the wounded were in a bed, all but two of the extra guardsmen left (the remaining duo there just in case). Eluthera sat on the floor near where Laur-Q rested. The aeralena's wounds were not immediately dangerous, so the attention of the healers moved to the most injured humans.
Arthos remained as well, requesting a chair from the adepts and sitting with a man who also was not mortally wounded and who was also conscious and able to speak.
"Report, whatever you can remember," Arthos said softly.
The man nodded and accepted a drink of water before beginning. "It was so sudden, Sergeant," he rasped, "Kobolds, gnolls, and I think bugbears, but I've never seen one of those before. One of the other might recognize what the big ones were. We were focused on Silverblade, but the monsters attacked out of nowhere. They started with magic and a bunch of us just fell down. Those of us that were still awake fought hard, but too many had fallen to the magic, and the monsters seemed to follow a plan. Once they did what they wanted, they stopped fighting and left."
"And you are all the only survivors?"
"No, sir," the man said sadly, "I do not know how many were dead or dying, but I do know that the big creatures and the gnolls took some men with them, and some of the men were the ones knocked out by magic. I know those men were alive before they were carried off."
"I do not see Polisin Staff," Arthos stated, "Was he carried off?"
"No, I'm sorry, Arthos. The monsters targeted Silverblade and Corporal Staff specifically. They could have killed me, but didn't seem to care about me once I was incapacitated. The leaders were killed outright. I'm afraid Polisin is among the dead we have brought back."
Arthos had to sit for a long moment to keep the anger from exploding from him. The Sergeant had good working relationships with a large number of people in the Keep, but only a few real close friends. Polisin had been one of the closest. "Rest, let the clerics tend to you. Castellan Devro will arrive soon, and I'll report to him directly."
The Sergeant did not realize that Eluthera, quietly sitting with her own new friend and totally inconspicuous, listened in to the conversation with her keen hearing. Suddenly, her attention diverted to the front doorway of the temple as two figures appeared just outside the entrance.
"Where is the Curate," a stern woman's voice called out, "I need to speak with him now."
An acolyte rushed to the entrance. "Silva Barador, blessings to you for coming. We have someone that needs more than what we can provide. I'm afraid that, without help, he will die."
"Which is why I need to speak to the Curate," Silva said.
The acolyte, a young woman barely adult, cocked her head in confusion. "Time is important, Miss Silva. I'm sure the Curate would approve."
Silva Barador stepped forward, just in the threshold of the doorway where she could be seen. She was a young human girl as well, with almost shining silver hair down to her shoulderblades and crystal blue eyes. She must have dressed quickly, wearing a simple one piece royal blue dress that fell down to her knees, fur footwear, and a leather belt around her waist. In fact, she did not wear anything that would block the chill in the air. Silva shook her head slightly at the acolyte's insistence.
"Young one, I am not a worshiper of Pelor. In fact, I'm nearly the opposite. Are you saying I should walk into Pelor's blessed room and then call on Bahamut for his intercession before gaining approval? I applaud your urge to help your patient, but you must study harder about the Planar Powers. You do not needlessly anger them."
"Perhaps that is a wise course," Brother Martin stated as he rushed across the room, "And welcome Silva. I have prayed to my liege already, you may proceed as long as your benefactor is willing."
"He is," the silver-haired woman answered as she fully entered the temple. The flustered acolyte led Silva toward the wounded guardsman. Tauron the huntsman followed them.
From her position, Eluthera watched the two newcomers. While Tauron was tan from his outdoor lifestyle, Silva was strangely pale, as if she never ventured forth into sunlight. Eluthera wondered if the woman cloistered herself indoors most of the time or if there was something else that cause the pale skin. In their faces, though, the resemblance was obviouse, and the half-dryad had heard the acolyte refer to Silva as 'Barador'. Silva and Tauron were family, likely brother and sister.
As Silva tended her first charge, Tauron simply stepped in anywhere he saw a need, and his tall stature and strength proved useful to the clerics when moving those who could not walk. Eluthera watched him for a minute or two when the Castellan Devro arrived. Arthos quickly approached his commander and they spoke quietly in the forward corner of the temple's infirmary. Quietly, but not quiet enough to keep neither Eluthera or Laur-Q from hearing.
Arthos informed Devro of the guardsman's report. "Sir, if we can move quickly, we can track the monster's back to their lair and attack. Some of our men were taken alive. We must try to get them back."
"I'm afraid we cannot attempt a rescue, Arthos. You should know this."
"But our men…"
"Yes, I know," Devro grunted sadly, "but firstly, we don't know how many of the monsters there are or what kind of lair they live in. We do know there have been attacks by goblins, hobgoblins, and orcs as well. We would need to know where they are, how many there are, and how many types of creatures we are looking at. And we just lost eleven men, Arthos. If we send an assault force, we leave the Keep under-defended. We cannot do that. I will consider tactics, but we are now undermanned and may need to wait for the reinforcements to arrive. Unless the humanoids have separate camps and we can attack them one at a time, we simply do not have the capacity for a pitched battle. And Arthos, you must realize that, in order for the monsters to be there at that time today, they must have known that we would be there. Someone told them we would be there, and they had a plan to deal with our force and Silverblade."
Arthos clenched his fist, and a strange spark ran up the light purple skin of his arm. "Devro, sitting here waiting does nothing for us. I must find a course."
Devro regarded his Sergeant. "You are a different type, my friend. I've seen it before. You are a true warrior. I do not know what you might be able to do, and I cannot grant you any of our guardsmen to support you, but if you do decide on a course of action and find the resources, you have my permission to take leave of your position and post. It will be difficult to work around your loss, but I must rework everything about our defense force after today's tragedy."
Arthos stood, stunned at his Commander's words. The Sergeant had not yet made that leap of deduction, but Devro's age and experience saw it coming, and he was probably right. Arthos would have chafed with total inaction. "I can't say what I will or won't do," he said to his superior, "but I thank you for your understanding."
Devro smiled, though it was not a warm, cheerful smile but a forced one. "I've been around for a long time, " he said, "I've seen wanderlust and I've seen those who need action. It is bad practice to stand in the way of someone who really needs to do something, can end with bad results. I never expected you to be here permanently at any rate. You are a traveler, and eventually you would here the call again. At least this way, you do not need to go far. Now I must go to the deceased, learn who we have lost and inform their loved ones. It will be a long day for all of us, my friend."
Devro left the building and Arthos stood along for a long moment. Devro's words had soothed him somewhat, but he still seethed at what the humanoids had done, that Polisin was dead. His mind raced and would not slow.
"Sergeant," a soft voice said.
He turned to find the smaller, brownish-red haired forest girl standing nearby. "Yes, Eluthera," he replied.
"Laur-Q and I heard your conversation," she began, "I'm sorry, but I wanted as much information about what happened as I could learn. Your idea, tracking the creatures back to their lair is sound, but instead of a force of soldiers, I would suggest a small team combining stealth and fighting skill. Ten people or less can move quietly and get into places that a large fighting force cannot, and we can bring back the information that the Castellan needs to act. Laur-Q and I both will join such a group, and I know of another, a magician, who may also join up."
Arthos thought about the woman's statement. "The same idea that we hired you for, but with the ability to do more in the field. They used magic to weaken our force, and the keep does not traditionally use it. That might take any opposition by surprise." He turned fully toward Eluthera. "I make no promise, but we should meet later to discuss the possibility. The only place to meet would be the tavern…"
"My quarters are large enough if we have ten or less, and more than that would be too large for a mission like this. I'll show you which place I'm renting, and I'll bring my friend there later today."
"Yes. I'll make some inquiries, see what I can do. Devro won't let me bring any guard personnel, but I can think of a few that might like this chance to strike at the monsters."
Arthos escorted the forest girl to her door, and then they both rushed off on their individual missions.