Chapter 1
"The trouble with traveling companions is actually bothering to make the trip once you have exhausted yourself finding them!"- Soandso Kiran, Explorer Extroardinaire
Gwen sighed as she led Arwyn away. Yet another dumbfounded knight to blush and stammer over her. Few men comprehended the length and breadth of her soul, and those that did were not those who were impressed by her wings. She fought her way through the crowds, trying to avoid the throngs eager to congratulate their victorious defending champion of the joust. The satisfaction of the crowds did not ease her soul.
From nowhere, Gwen got jostled nearly off her feet. She quickly picked the boy responsible up off the ground, recognizing the red-headed youth instantly. He was the assistant of Gwen's superior, Commander Krostarn Markenis. "Fair morn, Lirah."
"Same to you, Gwen," Lirah said with a grin. She had long since stopped making the freckle-faced child address her by rank. "Great job today! You were fantastic!"
"Thank you, Lirah."
The boy's face fell, as though he remembered something. "Markenis wants to see you, Gwen."
"About what? Does it have anything to do with the campaign next moon phase?"
Lirah's face grew unusually somber. "I think so, Gwen. He got a message from the sergeants about something, and he scowled when he read it, then immediately sent me to get you. I hope you aren't in trouble."
"So do I, Lirah. So do I." Gwen thought for a moment, then added, "Tell Markenis that I'll come as soon as I've seen to Arwyn."
* * *
Gwen walked briskly through the field, which was already being set up to become the marketplace. She did her best to ignore the stares from those new to the stronghold who had never seen her before. They cannot help but stare, she reminded herself. Blue skin and violet eyes were rather uncommon in Dallorn. Even those features would be easy enough to overlook if she did not have wings. They were not true wings, not large enough for her to fly, but those silver feathered two-foot stubs sprouting from her shoulder blades gave her the ability to glide somewhat, as well as making her stand out incredibly. Her appearance was only heightened by her mithral full plate mail, specially crafted to allow her wings to fan out behind her.
Fortunately, only those who had never visited the keep before were unfamiliar with the most exotic of the Dragon Army's lieutenants, and the regulars at the fortress only gave her a polite nod and a friendly smile as she passed. She smiled warmly back, for many of those people had known her for years. Eight years to be precise, for that was when Castle Tarintor was built. A large goblinoid horde, calling themselves the Blackblood, had been stirring in the Black Woods, a tract of forest west of the nation of Dallorn, separated only by the Grumdekgrim mountain range, dwarven territory. The Grumdekgrim dwarves and Dallornish knights decided together that a fortress must be built to keep that evil out, as well as foster relations between the two. Lady Gwendolyn had been among the first knights to inhabit Castle Tarintor. Even so, with eight years in one location, there were still those who stood mouth agape when they saw her.
Lady Gwendolyn quietly slipped into the main castle. This was the pinnacle of Castle Tarintor. The rest of the fortress was simply a walled- in village with barracks instead of homes. The stone walls seemed comforting, away from the noise and the stares and the twin hot suns, both of which had already risen this day. Without pause, she went straight for the second floor, where the private quarters of the true knights and war wizards were.
Gwen paused outside the door, collected her thoughts. Rarely did Commander Markenis call a lieutenant to his office. That he did now, with scant days to go before the big campaign, a series of attacks against known Blackblood hang-outs, could not be a good sign.
Gwen sighed quietly, putting her right hand over her heart for a brief prayer to Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love and Gwen's patron deity, before adjusting her open faced mithral helm over her silver hair and flexing her wing stubs. She knocked on the door, once, twice-
"Enter," barked the brusque voice of Krostarn Markenis, a Dragon Knight and her superior. Lady Gwendolyn saluted and stood before Commander Markenis. Cmdr. Markenis was a lean man, with dark brown hair and a thin mustache. The scar of three long claws cut from forehead across his left eye and cheek down to his chin, supposedly from the claws of a were-tiger. He wore simple mithral chain mail, typical of a Dragon Knight off duty, as he read a pile of papers on his desk. He looked up briskly, then went back to shuffling papers, speaking without looking up. "Lieutenant Sarnah, I have a task for you. A force of creatures, the least of which being goblinoids, all wearing black armor, have turned up far from their known locations."
"The Blackblood, Sir? Where?"
"The borders between Dallorn and the elfin lands to the south." Faelaeri, she thought excitedly. The fabled elf home had always been appealing to her, with its wonders far beyond any she had ever seen. Lady Gwendolyn was brought back to the real word with a jolt by his next words, "You must assemble a small unit to take care of this potential threat to our allies. You must interrogate, if possible, and then kill every member of that party. They are highly dangerous, and must be stopped at all costs."
"Permission to speak freely, Sir." No way in the Dark Realms of Hades she was going to allow anyone, even Markenis, from taking away this fight! Lady Gwendolyn had been preparing to fight the ugly little goblins for the past six moons, and she was not going to back down now.
Markenis nodded, and Gwendolyn rushed on, before she lost her resolve. No one questioned the orders of Commander Markenis, not without repercussions. "Sir, with all due respect, this would put myself out of the upcoming campaign, would it not?" He nodded again, which encouraged Gwendolyn further. "I am unbested with the lance sir, as I demonstrated yet again today," she began.
"Yes, good job on yet another jousting victory." He still did not look up.
"Ah, thank you, Sir. As I was saying, I am undefeated with the lance, and few can beat me with the sword. Why am I being sent, instead of another who is more expendable? Why not send me out in the campaign against the Blackblood, where I will be of more use?"
"Because, Lieutenant Sarnah, I have assigned you." He sounded impatient, angry.
"But Sir-," she tried to respond.
"Gwendolyn, listen to me." He never used her first name. Never. The surprise was enough to keep her mouth shut while he spoke. She scarcely noticed that he put down the papers and actually bothered to make eye contact while he spoke. "I am sending you because you are the best for the job. You have certain qualities that will aid you much more out there than in that campaign. You have a tolerance for other races beyond what most in Dallorn have. Yet you will need more tolerance before this is through. The group you must lead is not a platoon of the Dragons. You must organize them yourself, for I would never command such men and women to come with you as you will need. I really couldn't command them, for you may well be the only Dragon there. You need to understand what they have. There is at least one drow in the party, as well as some of at least partial fiendish heritage. One or more intelligent undead are also in their ranks. They are not members of any of the good races, or even common races."
Lady Gwendolyn shivered inwardly. A dark elf, walking dead that can still think, and at best a tiefling, at worst a greater demon or devil. What was she being dragged into? "Who am I permitted to enlist on this mission?"
"Anyone you can convince to go with you, but no one above your ranking. All officers above you are needed in the upcoming campaign."
"Anyone equal to or below my rank, Sir?" Would he allow her to cull supporters from outside the Dragons? "What about those outside of the Dragon Army, Sir?"
"Anyone, Lieutenant. If you can persuade them to come."
"When do we depart?"
"First thing on the morrow, Lieutenant." Commander Markenis went back to his papers, and Lady Gwendolyn left his office quietly, with a grim smile. It sounded like a challenge. Perhaps she would enjoy this new mission after all.
* * *
Lady Gwendolyn ignored the stares as she stepped back onto the crowded marketplace, and began to focus on who she would need in this mission. She herself, with the holy power of Lolania, could handle the weakest of undead, but the true undead were never weaklings. For such power, she would need a cleric.
* * *
Music in the language of the divine wafted through the air as Gwen neared the little chapel to Paladus, the supreme god of all that is good. She had been in there many times for spiritual purposes during her years at Castle Tarintor, but each time the sight took her breath away. The temple to Paladus was not imposing, not mighty, but it nonetheless possessed an aura about it that was pure holiness. The closer she got, her senses filled to a pleasant overload. The gleaming white building was almost blinding, the sweet, clean scent of holy water drifted lazily about her, the chiming of bells and singing in the celestial tongue made her heart cry out. Lady Gwendolyn was practically compelled to the small structure.
She thought quickly but carefully about who to take with her. Brother Laurence was too inexperienced, Brother Culver too old, and Sister Agnes was both blind and deaf. How she communicated with the other priests was a mystery to Lady Gwendolyn, and she had no real desire to find out. All the other acolytes were unknown to her, except for one.
Brother Maynard would probably be the only possibility. He was closest to her ranking in the Purple Dragons, albeit in a different branch, which meant he had the best ability against undead she could bring. In addition, she knew Brother Maynard to be swift and deadly with his mace, and he wore armor as easily as a true warrior. However, she had had several altercations with the brother in the past, mostly over the merits of their respective deities. Lady Gwendolyn preferred Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love, over Lolania's father Paladus, who represented every good under the sun. Despite this, Lady Gwendolyn had no problems worshiping her patron in a temple dedicated to Paladus. Sadly, Brother Maynard considered the chapel property of Paladus and Paladus alone. He seemed a rather stern and somber man to Gwen. Still, he was the only person available.
She walked with as serious a mien as she could muster to the back of a man, clad in the purest alabaster robes. Sandy greying hair, loosely braided, was flung over one shoulder. A decorated golden cuirass, obviously ornamental to Gwen's trained eye, adorned the man's tall, lanky frame.
Without turning, Brother Maynard sighed deeply. "So the infamous Lady Gwendolyn has returned to blaspheme yet again."
Biting back a harsh word, Gwen forced a smile. "Not this time, Holy Brother. Instead, I come to you with a quest, appointed to me by Commander Markenis."
Still the cleric did not turn. "Forgive me, Lady, I must return to the duties of the temple. As you well know, the campaign will begin in a matter of days, and I must be ready for that conflict."
"Brother Maynard, I come to you in need. The people I am currently recruiting, not all of which are within the ranks of the Purple Dragons, will in all probability die without such skills as you possess."
"Take another cleric. I am needed here, now."
"Respected Brother, no one else is in a position to come along. Those of your temple are either of abilities unknown to me or unfit for the position. Only you remain."
"I respectfully decline. If you'll excuse me," he commented brusquely, before beginning to walk away. Still he had not once turned and faced her.
Gwen felt a flush of deep purple across her blue cheeks at his total disregard of her request. Locking her jaw and flexing her wings, she moved to stand in front of Brother Maynard, forcing him to acknowledge her presence. Her silvery blue-violet eyes, flashing with impatience and anger, met with brown eyes filled with equal disdain. "Brother Maynard." It was a statement, a demand for him to at least listen to her. He reluctantly acquiesced, and she pushed onward.
"I must lead a unit to the south, all the way to Faelaeri's borders, and farther if I have to. A group that is in all probability part of the Blackblood has been sighted near Faelaeri's borders, and we must contend with that evil. They have at least one intelligent undead among them. We know not what. My holy powers can do much, but I have devoted as much of my life to battle in Lolania's name as I have to prayer and servitude. I cannot hope to turn such foul creatures. You can, and your healing prowess will save many lives along the way. I need more strong fighters beside, though I am making the assumption you still have access to that suit of plate you wore into battle years ago, and that your arm still remembers how to swing a mace." The last was an insult, a way to provoke him to come along. Brother Maynard had always prided himself on being a war priest, though he had not risen to a battle in Paladus's name in a few years.
Brother Maynard glared at Gwen long and hard, before gruffly asking, "When do we leave?"
"On the morrow." She started to turn, even as he had already spun back to his work. Gwen paused though, for just a moment. "Brother Maynard? Thank you." She saluted, spun sharply on her heel, and left, leaving the holy brother alone in his confusion.
* * *
Though Gwen knew her worth in battle, and that Brother Maynard could hold his own with that mace of his, they would not be enough. Sorting through the possibilities, she found two likely prospects. Her recruits were not limited to the Dragons, so long as she could find them this day. Two who were able in a fight sprung to mind immediately, and she knew she could find them both in the same place.
Thus, with a bewildered smile at the thought of finding her help in a tavern, Gwen set off.
* * *
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting of the Inn of the Last Stand, which Gwen took as a good omen, as every head turned when she entered. The regulars at Tarintor paid her no mind after they noticed her presence, recognizing the lady knight instantly, but, as everywhere else, some stared impolitely.
Such staring actually worked to her advantage, as she noticed one of the men she was looking for, a dwarf actually, in the center of the room. He was arm-wrestling with a knight, and fighting hard, and a large crowd was watching and cheering. The two had probably been evenly matched, but the knight was obviously new to Tarintor, probably transferred from some post near the capital, judging by the crest on his breastplate. The knight saw Gwen, and his jaw and arm slackened. The brawny dwarf seized the opportunity, slamming the human's hand down with a roar, bringing him back to his senses. A dozen coins exchanged hands, and the dwarf smirked merrily as Lady Gwendolyn got close, even as the knight slinked off quietly. He did not dare explain why he lost, not with Gwen so near to the dwarf.
Gwen laughed merrily as she sat down next to the brawny, squat figure. "Greetings, Dolarth."
Dolarth Micah Strongarm just laughed, his full curly black beard shaking and showing off remarkably his complete set of false teeth, alternating adamantine and gold. The firelight made his deep mahogany skin glow and caused his dark eyes to shine. His armor was a savage mismatching of boar's hide, adamantine chain, and long bands of darkwood. The harness on his back held a gold and adamantine maul, the giant two-handed warhammer so common among dwarves. His cheeks were tattooed in black with symbols of strength and bravery, and four bone needles, carved from the vertebrae of his most revered ancestors, pierced the bridge of his nose. Dolarth looked every bit the savage fighter, and Gwen knew that he deserved that image in battle.
"Mayhaps I should have you enter this tavern more frequently at opportune times," he pretended to whisper conspiratorially as he flagged down a tavern wench and got another bottle of dwarven spirits. Gwen noticed three other bottles lying in front of him.
"Mayhaps, good dwarf. Or," Gwen added with a cocky smile, "mayhaps we could do better for ourselves than simple barroom betting."
Dolarth had begun pouring her a small keg of the strong, bitter brew, but her words stopped him cold. He looked up at her over his thick bushy eyebrows. "Speak in plain Dallornish, lass! What do you mean?"
"I mean," she replied coolly, trying to sound nonchalant, "that I have need of a fighting companion. You are my first choice." She quickly downed the keg, trying her hardest not to gag on the foul-tasting stuff. Conducting business with dwarves required their trust, and not sharing a drink with them implied deceitful intentions, which would swiftly end any encounter. "We journey far into the south, all the way to Faelaeri. We may need to pass through Grumdekgrim, and having a dwarf along will prove invaluable, as would a stout fighting companion such as yourself."
"We? Who else travels with you?"
"Only Brother Maynard, but I have asked no one else to come yet."
"When do we leave?"
"At sunrise." Gwen allowed herself a smile. Dolarth had not refused; he would go. Instead, the dwarf had gone quietly back to his drinking. She nodded politely to him and left a silver piece on the table to pay for her drink. Dwarves as a whole were very caught up in their money, and Dolarth had never actually said he was paying for her drink. She rose and looked around the smoky room.
After a moment's searching, she found the other person she was looking for. A giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall, with silver hair and bronze skin, was sitting at a corner booth, ignoring everyone around him. He had on well worn leather armor, dyed in varied shades of green. A simple, unadorned longsword was strapped to his hip in an old scabbard. Gwendolyn quietly and respectfully made her way to his table, the boisterous feeling she had had when talking with Dolarth having vanished. She could feel her insides lurch a little as she got close to her old friend. "Hello, Brueyan."
The proud and intimidating face, which always reminded Gwen of a celestial in search of vengeance, broke into a friendly smile. "Fair day, Gwen." He gestured to the empty seat opposite him, and Gwen sat. He poured her a glass of elf wine, then took a long sip from his. It gave Gwen a chance to study his features, which she never tired of doing. Brueyan Owlen was famous everywhere, though not totally for his own exploits. He himself had spent over a decade working tirelessly and thanklessly in the Black Woods, trying to root out the evil goblinoids. The Owlen family, though, had quite a reputation anywhere. The family was made up entirely of aasimars, those with a celestial in their ancestry, like Gwen, and the number of were-owls in all of Aristhar could be counted as easily as the members of the Owlen family. Were that not enough to earn a family reputation, the fact that every member of the large family was either still a child, actively adventuring, or had fought evil for several decades before going into a well-deserved retirement would make up for it.
Those who knew of Brueyan's family would easily recognize it in his appearance. His hair was pure silvery-white, the color of the plumage of the snowy owl he could become at will. He always had it pulled back into a short-cropped ponytail. His eyes were golden in any form he took, and his nose looked handsomely beakish, if such a thing was possible. His skin was tanned to a bronze from his constant patrolling of the Black Forest. He was the first ranger to welcome the presence of Castle Tarintor, despite its civilized tone, simply because the fortress would aid in keeping the people in Dallorn safe from the goblinoid hordes.
The two sat together in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. Finally, with a soft smile, the ranger began to speak. "So, Gwen, from what I hear, you and the dwarf are running a scam."
"Oh?" Gwen could not help but smile and feign innocence, realizing instantly what Brueyan was getting at.
"Yes. It seems to me that the dwarf gets into arm-wrestling competitions, and you provide a diversion, a clever one at that," he added with a wry grin, "so that the dwarf wins. Then you split the betting money." He calmly sipped his wine, in what seemed to be an attempt to hide his chuckling.
Gwen laughed genially, then answered sweetly, "I should know not to scam my fellow knights in your wise presence."
"How do you handle all the attention?" Brueyan asked seriously. The ranger's aasimar blood, as well as his family, made him the center of unwanted attention far too frequently, giving him a certain empathy with the lady knight.
"I pretend that there is not any," she replied with a sigh. "But it's not easy to do when you are bright blue with wings." Sighing again deeply, she took a sip from the glass Brueyan had poured her. "I didn't just come for the camaraderie."
As always, Brueyan's beautiful golden eyes seemed to see into her very soul. "I know," he said quietly.
"I am supposed to lead a team into Faelaeri. There has been sighting of some kind of Blackblood elite unit down there. They definitely have goblinoids among their ranks, and no one knows those foul beasts like you do." She took another long sip from her glass. "We leave first thing tomorrow."
"I will be ready," he replied with a smile. "You know I don't like those big campaigns." Gwen smiled her thanks, downed the last few sips of the elf wine in her glass, and stood up. She patted her friend on the shoulder, and turned to go.
"Gwen?" She turned, and there was something in Brueyan's face she could not read. "I'll see you in the morning." Gwen just smiled again and left quickly, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"The trouble with traveling companions is actually bothering to make the trip once you have exhausted yourself finding them!"- Soandso Kiran, Explorer Extroardinaire
Gwen sighed as she led Arwyn away. Yet another dumbfounded knight to blush and stammer over her. Few men comprehended the length and breadth of her soul, and those that did were not those who were impressed by her wings. She fought her way through the crowds, trying to avoid the throngs eager to congratulate their victorious defending champion of the joust. The satisfaction of the crowds did not ease her soul.
From nowhere, Gwen got jostled nearly off her feet. She quickly picked the boy responsible up off the ground, recognizing the red-headed youth instantly. He was the assistant of Gwen's superior, Commander Krostarn Markenis. "Fair morn, Lirah."
"Same to you, Gwen," Lirah said with a grin. She had long since stopped making the freckle-faced child address her by rank. "Great job today! You were fantastic!"
"Thank you, Lirah."
The boy's face fell, as though he remembered something. "Markenis wants to see you, Gwen."
"About what? Does it have anything to do with the campaign next moon phase?"
Lirah's face grew unusually somber. "I think so, Gwen. He got a message from the sergeants about something, and he scowled when he read it, then immediately sent me to get you. I hope you aren't in trouble."
"So do I, Lirah. So do I." Gwen thought for a moment, then added, "Tell Markenis that I'll come as soon as I've seen to Arwyn."
* * *
Gwen walked briskly through the field, which was already being set up to become the marketplace. She did her best to ignore the stares from those new to the stronghold who had never seen her before. They cannot help but stare, she reminded herself. Blue skin and violet eyes were rather uncommon in Dallorn. Even those features would be easy enough to overlook if she did not have wings. They were not true wings, not large enough for her to fly, but those silver feathered two-foot stubs sprouting from her shoulder blades gave her the ability to glide somewhat, as well as making her stand out incredibly. Her appearance was only heightened by her mithral full plate mail, specially crafted to allow her wings to fan out behind her.
Fortunately, only those who had never visited the keep before were unfamiliar with the most exotic of the Dragon Army's lieutenants, and the regulars at the fortress only gave her a polite nod and a friendly smile as she passed. She smiled warmly back, for many of those people had known her for years. Eight years to be precise, for that was when Castle Tarintor was built. A large goblinoid horde, calling themselves the Blackblood, had been stirring in the Black Woods, a tract of forest west of the nation of Dallorn, separated only by the Grumdekgrim mountain range, dwarven territory. The Grumdekgrim dwarves and Dallornish knights decided together that a fortress must be built to keep that evil out, as well as foster relations between the two. Lady Gwendolyn had been among the first knights to inhabit Castle Tarintor. Even so, with eight years in one location, there were still those who stood mouth agape when they saw her.
Lady Gwendolyn quietly slipped into the main castle. This was the pinnacle of Castle Tarintor. The rest of the fortress was simply a walled- in village with barracks instead of homes. The stone walls seemed comforting, away from the noise and the stares and the twin hot suns, both of which had already risen this day. Without pause, she went straight for the second floor, where the private quarters of the true knights and war wizards were.
Gwen paused outside the door, collected her thoughts. Rarely did Commander Markenis call a lieutenant to his office. That he did now, with scant days to go before the big campaign, a series of attacks against known Blackblood hang-outs, could not be a good sign.
Gwen sighed quietly, putting her right hand over her heart for a brief prayer to Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love and Gwen's patron deity, before adjusting her open faced mithral helm over her silver hair and flexing her wing stubs. She knocked on the door, once, twice-
"Enter," barked the brusque voice of Krostarn Markenis, a Dragon Knight and her superior. Lady Gwendolyn saluted and stood before Commander Markenis. Cmdr. Markenis was a lean man, with dark brown hair and a thin mustache. The scar of three long claws cut from forehead across his left eye and cheek down to his chin, supposedly from the claws of a were-tiger. He wore simple mithral chain mail, typical of a Dragon Knight off duty, as he read a pile of papers on his desk. He looked up briskly, then went back to shuffling papers, speaking without looking up. "Lieutenant Sarnah, I have a task for you. A force of creatures, the least of which being goblinoids, all wearing black armor, have turned up far from their known locations."
"The Blackblood, Sir? Where?"
"The borders between Dallorn and the elfin lands to the south." Faelaeri, she thought excitedly. The fabled elf home had always been appealing to her, with its wonders far beyond any she had ever seen. Lady Gwendolyn was brought back to the real word with a jolt by his next words, "You must assemble a small unit to take care of this potential threat to our allies. You must interrogate, if possible, and then kill every member of that party. They are highly dangerous, and must be stopped at all costs."
"Permission to speak freely, Sir." No way in the Dark Realms of Hades she was going to allow anyone, even Markenis, from taking away this fight! Lady Gwendolyn had been preparing to fight the ugly little goblins for the past six moons, and she was not going to back down now.
Markenis nodded, and Gwendolyn rushed on, before she lost her resolve. No one questioned the orders of Commander Markenis, not without repercussions. "Sir, with all due respect, this would put myself out of the upcoming campaign, would it not?" He nodded again, which encouraged Gwendolyn further. "I am unbested with the lance sir, as I demonstrated yet again today," she began.
"Yes, good job on yet another jousting victory." He still did not look up.
"Ah, thank you, Sir. As I was saying, I am undefeated with the lance, and few can beat me with the sword. Why am I being sent, instead of another who is more expendable? Why not send me out in the campaign against the Blackblood, where I will be of more use?"
"Because, Lieutenant Sarnah, I have assigned you." He sounded impatient, angry.
"But Sir-," she tried to respond.
"Gwendolyn, listen to me." He never used her first name. Never. The surprise was enough to keep her mouth shut while he spoke. She scarcely noticed that he put down the papers and actually bothered to make eye contact while he spoke. "I am sending you because you are the best for the job. You have certain qualities that will aid you much more out there than in that campaign. You have a tolerance for other races beyond what most in Dallorn have. Yet you will need more tolerance before this is through. The group you must lead is not a platoon of the Dragons. You must organize them yourself, for I would never command such men and women to come with you as you will need. I really couldn't command them, for you may well be the only Dragon there. You need to understand what they have. There is at least one drow in the party, as well as some of at least partial fiendish heritage. One or more intelligent undead are also in their ranks. They are not members of any of the good races, or even common races."
Lady Gwendolyn shivered inwardly. A dark elf, walking dead that can still think, and at best a tiefling, at worst a greater demon or devil. What was she being dragged into? "Who am I permitted to enlist on this mission?"
"Anyone you can convince to go with you, but no one above your ranking. All officers above you are needed in the upcoming campaign."
"Anyone equal to or below my rank, Sir?" Would he allow her to cull supporters from outside the Dragons? "What about those outside of the Dragon Army, Sir?"
"Anyone, Lieutenant. If you can persuade them to come."
"When do we depart?"
"First thing on the morrow, Lieutenant." Commander Markenis went back to his papers, and Lady Gwendolyn left his office quietly, with a grim smile. It sounded like a challenge. Perhaps she would enjoy this new mission after all.
* * *
Lady Gwendolyn ignored the stares as she stepped back onto the crowded marketplace, and began to focus on who she would need in this mission. She herself, with the holy power of Lolania, could handle the weakest of undead, but the true undead were never weaklings. For such power, she would need a cleric.
* * *
Music in the language of the divine wafted through the air as Gwen neared the little chapel to Paladus, the supreme god of all that is good. She had been in there many times for spiritual purposes during her years at Castle Tarintor, but each time the sight took her breath away. The temple to Paladus was not imposing, not mighty, but it nonetheless possessed an aura about it that was pure holiness. The closer she got, her senses filled to a pleasant overload. The gleaming white building was almost blinding, the sweet, clean scent of holy water drifted lazily about her, the chiming of bells and singing in the celestial tongue made her heart cry out. Lady Gwendolyn was practically compelled to the small structure.
She thought quickly but carefully about who to take with her. Brother Laurence was too inexperienced, Brother Culver too old, and Sister Agnes was both blind and deaf. How she communicated with the other priests was a mystery to Lady Gwendolyn, and she had no real desire to find out. All the other acolytes were unknown to her, except for one.
Brother Maynard would probably be the only possibility. He was closest to her ranking in the Purple Dragons, albeit in a different branch, which meant he had the best ability against undead she could bring. In addition, she knew Brother Maynard to be swift and deadly with his mace, and he wore armor as easily as a true warrior. However, she had had several altercations with the brother in the past, mostly over the merits of their respective deities. Lady Gwendolyn preferred Lolania, goddess of beauty, music, and love, over Lolania's father Paladus, who represented every good under the sun. Despite this, Lady Gwendolyn had no problems worshiping her patron in a temple dedicated to Paladus. Sadly, Brother Maynard considered the chapel property of Paladus and Paladus alone. He seemed a rather stern and somber man to Gwen. Still, he was the only person available.
She walked with as serious a mien as she could muster to the back of a man, clad in the purest alabaster robes. Sandy greying hair, loosely braided, was flung over one shoulder. A decorated golden cuirass, obviously ornamental to Gwen's trained eye, adorned the man's tall, lanky frame.
Without turning, Brother Maynard sighed deeply. "So the infamous Lady Gwendolyn has returned to blaspheme yet again."
Biting back a harsh word, Gwen forced a smile. "Not this time, Holy Brother. Instead, I come to you with a quest, appointed to me by Commander Markenis."
Still the cleric did not turn. "Forgive me, Lady, I must return to the duties of the temple. As you well know, the campaign will begin in a matter of days, and I must be ready for that conflict."
"Brother Maynard, I come to you in need. The people I am currently recruiting, not all of which are within the ranks of the Purple Dragons, will in all probability die without such skills as you possess."
"Take another cleric. I am needed here, now."
"Respected Brother, no one else is in a position to come along. Those of your temple are either of abilities unknown to me or unfit for the position. Only you remain."
"I respectfully decline. If you'll excuse me," he commented brusquely, before beginning to walk away. Still he had not once turned and faced her.
Gwen felt a flush of deep purple across her blue cheeks at his total disregard of her request. Locking her jaw and flexing her wings, she moved to stand in front of Brother Maynard, forcing him to acknowledge her presence. Her silvery blue-violet eyes, flashing with impatience and anger, met with brown eyes filled with equal disdain. "Brother Maynard." It was a statement, a demand for him to at least listen to her. He reluctantly acquiesced, and she pushed onward.
"I must lead a unit to the south, all the way to Faelaeri's borders, and farther if I have to. A group that is in all probability part of the Blackblood has been sighted near Faelaeri's borders, and we must contend with that evil. They have at least one intelligent undead among them. We know not what. My holy powers can do much, but I have devoted as much of my life to battle in Lolania's name as I have to prayer and servitude. I cannot hope to turn such foul creatures. You can, and your healing prowess will save many lives along the way. I need more strong fighters beside, though I am making the assumption you still have access to that suit of plate you wore into battle years ago, and that your arm still remembers how to swing a mace." The last was an insult, a way to provoke him to come along. Brother Maynard had always prided himself on being a war priest, though he had not risen to a battle in Paladus's name in a few years.
Brother Maynard glared at Gwen long and hard, before gruffly asking, "When do we leave?"
"On the morrow." She started to turn, even as he had already spun back to his work. Gwen paused though, for just a moment. "Brother Maynard? Thank you." She saluted, spun sharply on her heel, and left, leaving the holy brother alone in his confusion.
* * *
Though Gwen knew her worth in battle, and that Brother Maynard could hold his own with that mace of his, they would not be enough. Sorting through the possibilities, she found two likely prospects. Her recruits were not limited to the Dragons, so long as she could find them this day. Two who were able in a fight sprung to mind immediately, and she knew she could find them both in the same place.
Thus, with a bewildered smile at the thought of finding her help in a tavern, Gwen set off.
* * *
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting of the Inn of the Last Stand, which Gwen took as a good omen, as every head turned when she entered. The regulars at Tarintor paid her no mind after they noticed her presence, recognizing the lady knight instantly, but, as everywhere else, some stared impolitely.
Such staring actually worked to her advantage, as she noticed one of the men she was looking for, a dwarf actually, in the center of the room. He was arm-wrestling with a knight, and fighting hard, and a large crowd was watching and cheering. The two had probably been evenly matched, but the knight was obviously new to Tarintor, probably transferred from some post near the capital, judging by the crest on his breastplate. The knight saw Gwen, and his jaw and arm slackened. The brawny dwarf seized the opportunity, slamming the human's hand down with a roar, bringing him back to his senses. A dozen coins exchanged hands, and the dwarf smirked merrily as Lady Gwendolyn got close, even as the knight slinked off quietly. He did not dare explain why he lost, not with Gwen so near to the dwarf.
Gwen laughed merrily as she sat down next to the brawny, squat figure. "Greetings, Dolarth."
Dolarth Micah Strongarm just laughed, his full curly black beard shaking and showing off remarkably his complete set of false teeth, alternating adamantine and gold. The firelight made his deep mahogany skin glow and caused his dark eyes to shine. His armor was a savage mismatching of boar's hide, adamantine chain, and long bands of darkwood. The harness on his back held a gold and adamantine maul, the giant two-handed warhammer so common among dwarves. His cheeks were tattooed in black with symbols of strength and bravery, and four bone needles, carved from the vertebrae of his most revered ancestors, pierced the bridge of his nose. Dolarth looked every bit the savage fighter, and Gwen knew that he deserved that image in battle.
"Mayhaps I should have you enter this tavern more frequently at opportune times," he pretended to whisper conspiratorially as he flagged down a tavern wench and got another bottle of dwarven spirits. Gwen noticed three other bottles lying in front of him.
"Mayhaps, good dwarf. Or," Gwen added with a cocky smile, "mayhaps we could do better for ourselves than simple barroom betting."
Dolarth had begun pouring her a small keg of the strong, bitter brew, but her words stopped him cold. He looked up at her over his thick bushy eyebrows. "Speak in plain Dallornish, lass! What do you mean?"
"I mean," she replied coolly, trying to sound nonchalant, "that I have need of a fighting companion. You are my first choice." She quickly downed the keg, trying her hardest not to gag on the foul-tasting stuff. Conducting business with dwarves required their trust, and not sharing a drink with them implied deceitful intentions, which would swiftly end any encounter. "We journey far into the south, all the way to Faelaeri. We may need to pass through Grumdekgrim, and having a dwarf along will prove invaluable, as would a stout fighting companion such as yourself."
"We? Who else travels with you?"
"Only Brother Maynard, but I have asked no one else to come yet."
"When do we leave?"
"At sunrise." Gwen allowed herself a smile. Dolarth had not refused; he would go. Instead, the dwarf had gone quietly back to his drinking. She nodded politely to him and left a silver piece on the table to pay for her drink. Dwarves as a whole were very caught up in their money, and Dolarth had never actually said he was paying for her drink. She rose and looked around the smoky room.
After a moment's searching, she found the other person she was looking for. A giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall, with silver hair and bronze skin, was sitting at a corner booth, ignoring everyone around him. He had on well worn leather armor, dyed in varied shades of green. A simple, unadorned longsword was strapped to his hip in an old scabbard. Gwendolyn quietly and respectfully made her way to his table, the boisterous feeling she had had when talking with Dolarth having vanished. She could feel her insides lurch a little as she got close to her old friend. "Hello, Brueyan."
The proud and intimidating face, which always reminded Gwen of a celestial in search of vengeance, broke into a friendly smile. "Fair day, Gwen." He gestured to the empty seat opposite him, and Gwen sat. He poured her a glass of elf wine, then took a long sip from his. It gave Gwen a chance to study his features, which she never tired of doing. Brueyan Owlen was famous everywhere, though not totally for his own exploits. He himself had spent over a decade working tirelessly and thanklessly in the Black Woods, trying to root out the evil goblinoids. The Owlen family, though, had quite a reputation anywhere. The family was made up entirely of aasimars, those with a celestial in their ancestry, like Gwen, and the number of were-owls in all of Aristhar could be counted as easily as the members of the Owlen family. Were that not enough to earn a family reputation, the fact that every member of the large family was either still a child, actively adventuring, or had fought evil for several decades before going into a well-deserved retirement would make up for it.
Those who knew of Brueyan's family would easily recognize it in his appearance. His hair was pure silvery-white, the color of the plumage of the snowy owl he could become at will. He always had it pulled back into a short-cropped ponytail. His eyes were golden in any form he took, and his nose looked handsomely beakish, if such a thing was possible. His skin was tanned to a bronze from his constant patrolling of the Black Forest. He was the first ranger to welcome the presence of Castle Tarintor, despite its civilized tone, simply because the fortress would aid in keeping the people in Dallorn safe from the goblinoid hordes.
The two sat together in companionable silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. Finally, with a soft smile, the ranger began to speak. "So, Gwen, from what I hear, you and the dwarf are running a scam."
"Oh?" Gwen could not help but smile and feign innocence, realizing instantly what Brueyan was getting at.
"Yes. It seems to me that the dwarf gets into arm-wrestling competitions, and you provide a diversion, a clever one at that," he added with a wry grin, "so that the dwarf wins. Then you split the betting money." He calmly sipped his wine, in what seemed to be an attempt to hide his chuckling.
Gwen laughed genially, then answered sweetly, "I should know not to scam my fellow knights in your wise presence."
"How do you handle all the attention?" Brueyan asked seriously. The ranger's aasimar blood, as well as his family, made him the center of unwanted attention far too frequently, giving him a certain empathy with the lady knight.
"I pretend that there is not any," she replied with a sigh. "But it's not easy to do when you are bright blue with wings." Sighing again deeply, she took a sip from the glass Brueyan had poured her. "I didn't just come for the camaraderie."
As always, Brueyan's beautiful golden eyes seemed to see into her very soul. "I know," he said quietly.
"I am supposed to lead a team into Faelaeri. There has been sighting of some kind of Blackblood elite unit down there. They definitely have goblinoids among their ranks, and no one knows those foul beasts like you do." She took another long sip from her glass. "We leave first thing tomorrow."
"I will be ready," he replied with a smile. "You know I don't like those big campaigns." Gwen smiled her thanks, downed the last few sips of the elf wine in her glass, and stood up. She patted her friend on the shoulder, and turned to go.
"Gwen?" She turned, and there was something in Brueyan's face she could not read. "I'll see you in the morning." Gwen just smiled again and left quickly, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of her stomach.