A.N.- I'm starting to feel a little better about not owning the Forgotten Realms, but I'm still upset.
A.N.- Please read and review, I'm begging you
Campfire Tales
The night fell upon the woods of Northshire Valley, and the night was quiet. A slender silhouette darted against the backdrop of the shadowy trees, its steps light and unnoticed in the north wind.
A black clad woman patrolled the water edge, a red bandanna wrapped about her face. The shadow passed behind a tree, then shot across soon as the woman walked past. The glimpse of white canvas wavered in the distance, and the shape headed to it, melding from one shadow to another. Finally, it stopped beneath a grove of thick bush, no more than a hundred paces from the tent.
The clouds parted, and blue moonlight streamed through the leaves, casting small patch of light across the forest, and the blue clad brown haired young woman hiding under the bush.
Vrisiphiel studied the Defias camp, squinting her green eyes to make out the features of the half dozen rogues. The Brotherhood leader was not present, but the Deputy said he would be camping here. Perhaps he was in the tent?
Even with the dim light and cold wind swirling through the trees, the young mage noticed someone moving no more than five meters to her left. It was Garrick, taking a midnight walk, flanked by just one of his bodyguards.
She could not have had a better chance. Taking careful aim, she rose from her hiding spot. Her hands glowing with mystic light. With his back toward the mage, the leader failed to notice the frostbolt till it was on top of him It shattered upon his shoulder, and the man was knocked back a step. Cheering silently, Vrisiphiel began casting of a fireball, prepared to send the man into an early grave.
Then to her surprise, Garrick charged at her along with his bodyguard. The frostbolt had failed to chill him! Gaping in surprise, she threw the fireball in her hands at him. The man let out a horrible scream as his body was engulfed in flame. When the fires faded the next instant, the man's skin was red with burns, his charred cloth falling in flakes of ash. Still, he and his minion charged on.
Suddenly the forest was bustling with shouts and curses, as the whole world funneled toward her. Out the corner of her eyes, Vrisiphiel saw the rogues at the camp were now racing her way, along with a couple previously concealed in nearly bushes.
Trying to not let fear take the better part of her, she tried to summon another spell. She should be able to kill the leader before the rest of the rogues converge on her. At least, she hoped so. Leaping into the air, the leader slashed down in a overhead cut, the blade whistling as it sliced through the air. She tried to sidestep, but in doing so lost her concentration, and the light in her hands faded. The situation was quickly turning from bad to worse. The young woman attempted another casting, and this time managed to complete the spell, but in keeping the concentration, she only narrowly dodged an attack from the bodyguard, and the sword tore a tear through the skirt of her dress.
The leader's iron blade pressed close, whirling down at her. Blocking with her staff, she nearly lost grip as the force of the blow sent tremors up her arm. Rotten leaves rustled behind her, closer than three meters away. Making a last ditch effort, she feinted a upper swing, then swept in low, and breathed a sign of relieve as she felt the solid staff head connect with Garrick's shin.
The rogue fell over, and Vrisiphiel spun the staff down, landing a solid hit that she heard skull crack. While turning about for an escape to the river, a cold breeze breathed down her back, and she tried to duck to the right. Pain spiked through her brain as she heard her dress ripping down the back, and warm liquid flowed freely down her smooth skin, making a patch of the garment to stick to her burning back. Her steps faltered, and she felt herself being pinned down roughly by a pair of large hairy hands and felt another cold wind stabbing down. Struggling wildly, she hammered back with her elbow. A muffled grunt came, and curses, followed by the acute feel of sharp steel cutting in through flesh then out again, after that her left arm went numb. Stifling the cries in her throat, Vrisiphiel felt herself be turned over, foul dark eyes stared into her watery eyes in glee, and this time the knife came from the left, aimed to draw a deep cut across her throat.
Her hand numb and pinned down, the young woman kicked out. The dagger fell to the earth, tracing a line of red down her pale cheek. Dark eyes bulged in their socket, and the man over her rolled aside, groaning in whines.
The man's companion growled, and cold blades flashed in the dark. Willing herself to her feet, a dark form lunged at her, tipped with a slice of shimmering steel. Having no strength left to defend herself, she pitifully raised her good arm. Blue sparks showered, ice flakes filled the air, and the Defias yapped. Luck was with her, the rogue who struck her was chilled by her frost armor, and was now shivering as he tried to reach for her. Vrisiphiel staggered up, blue dress tattered and stained in red, and nearly tumbled down the bank.
Legs threatening to give way with every step, she dragged across the stream, then up the other side. Lights from the Abbey filtered through the trees, smiling warmly at her. Holding herself up with pure mental will, the young mage crossed the hundred yards toward town. The rogues had left her, not daring to venture so close to the presence of guards. Her vision blackened as she climbed the last slope before the Abbey, a guard caught sight of her and raced to her side, where she fell.