Death Is My Reward

[Gren Blockman]

May 13, 2018




Noira's tired feet found their way to the Forgotten Layers, knowing better than her that she needed the rest and that this sanctuary was closer, and better, than any other. The familiar tree-line and the shadow of its roof beyond tipped her off, and she smiled at the sight and trudged down the track a little faster. She was armored but lightly, dressed in a hauberk, leggings and boots better suited to travel than a siege. Much of her once-grey cloak was several filthy shades of brown, much the same as her boots, and mud and ichor spattered her face and torso as well. Far noisier than the mail that shifted under a padded layer was her heavily laden backpack, filled with rations, cooking supplies, climbing gear, a torch and lantern, and numerous carefully wrapped ancient tablets, urns, and coffers. She tugged one of her filthy gauntlets free with her teeth (blech!) to push open the front door with the much cleaner hand underneath.

Even with the daylight shining in through the windows, the candles and fireplace of the inn were aglow. Their light offering more comfort than warmth. Given the summer season, the additional heat was not needed. Izira sat on the couch by the fire with a glass of Fae Wine. The liquid swirled in blues and silvers. A book of poetry, written by her father's people in their native tongue, sat in her lap. She read through the verses, occasionally looking toward Gren with a warm smile. Silas, curled up on the back of a large armchair, slept soundly. The sound of the door brought Izira's eyes to the entrance.

Gren read an Arachnid Man comic while sitting in an easy chair near Izira. Concentrating on the panels, he looked at Izira now and again as well. Trying to keep his own thoughts to himself as he read the comic, he didn't want to disturb Izira as she studied her poetry book. He looked up as the door came open, and smiled as he saw it was Noira. "Noira! It's been a long time! Come on in, it's good to see you!"

The past year had been kind enough to the elfess, with few new scars to show from her adventures since that unlucky night at Crosswych. Her left ear was still notched from the claws of a beast and a trio of lines curled out of her collar, but none of it was new, and the mud and ichor were familiar in their own way. "Hallo, Gren," she half-sang in his direction, and grunted as she slid the heavy pack off into one hand, keeping her filthy gauntlets pinned under one arm. "It is good to see you, and Izira as well," she added, seeing the woman rousing in her armchair. She made her way towards them. "It has been... ten months? Longer?"

"I'd say it's been more than a year. How've you been? It looks like you've been . . . busy." Gren eyed Noira up and down, seeing her dusty traveling gear.

Izira set her book and drink down, standing up as Noira approached. Izira wore a cozy white dress, her hair up. The heels were a soft gray. Moving to Noira and greeting her warmly with a delicate, mindful of the mud, hug and a soft kiss to the elfess' cheek. "Noira, it has been too long.... what can I get you? A meal? A drink? A hot bath?" The last bit offered in caring and not judgemental tone.

Noira suppressed a soft laugh at the daring gesture, however delicately she executed it. "All of them, all of them sound lovely," she replied, and set her bag down carefully to dig through it. She removed an old urn wrapped in oiled leather, and now that it was exposed to the light, it shone with the flecks of silver and gold that had been mixed into the dark clay many centuries ago, giving it the appearance of starlight. The rim was etched with phases of the moon, set with remarkably intact white stones, minus a few chips and cracks. "I think I was meant to come here, as usual," she said, holding the urn up by the base as she examined it, "and offer this for your mantel. Taken from a shrine to a three-winged wheel worshipped by ancient aasimar, and guarded by a rather nasty troll," she added with a wry smile.

Izira's smile warmed at Noira's response. Stepping back, she gave her room to remove the artifact. Amber-brown eyes admiring the craftsmanship of the piece. "He had his work cut out for him..." She looked to the mantle, "Would you do us the honor Noira?" A gesture of her hand offering Noria to place the artifact where she thought best.

"That looks awesome, Noira. Hope the troll didn't cause you too much trouble." Gren admired the craftsmanship of the old urn.

"Clove the nose right off my helmet when he tried to bite me," she murmured, this for both Gren and Izira, "but I do not think he was prepared for a diet of distilled starfire..." She placed the urn carefully, adjusting it so that the full moon was about center, and let her feet fall flat again as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"It looks lovely." Izira admired the urn now upon the mantle. "I think you are right, it was meant for this place." She glanced to the cat, finding he had vanished during the greetings.

The elfess turned her head, her ears twitching at the tips as she looked at the back of the armchair, now empty.

Izira got right down to business. "I think... a bath would be in order, first. You can have a glass of wine or a cup of tea, coffee, to enjoy as you freshen up" She moved from the fireplace toward the box with keys behind the bar. "Gren and I will fix you something to eat."

"Yeah, take your time and relax. Is there anything special you'd like to eat or drink?" Gren asked.

"Something that is not dried, salted meat or stale bread would be perfect," Noira smiled at Gren. "I think wine to accompany my meal, and tea and brandy for my bath, if that can be done." Her gaze turned distant, borderline misty-eyed, as she stared off. "Six weeks since my last warm bath... I have almost forgotten the feeling..." She sighed wistfully and overdramatically, managing to follow Izira to the bar as she rambled.

"Tea and Brandy it is." Izira first went to set the kettle on, then she took out a small tin, setting it before Noira to pick which she wanted. She then moved on the get the brandy.

Gren chuckled at Noira. "I'll go in the kitchen and start cooking. Enjoy your bath." He pushed through the door, letting Izira finish mix the drink.

Noira let the bag dangle ponderously from one arm as she bent to inspect the tea, too distracted by luxuries and the promise of them to respond to Gren. She sniffed carefully, then selected one that reminded her of honey and ginger with its aroma. "Is there a room open that looks out on the gardens?" she asked, looking up from her selection at Izira as she placed it beside the tin.

"That was just the room I was intending to give you." Izira grinned, taking the tea and the tin. She set the tea to seep. Moving back to the box and the key, her fingers pausing in the air as she found it missing.

"A room with a view." Jeremiah's voice came from the top of the stairs, holding the key up that Izira had been reaching for. The redwood of a man seemed to fill the stairway. Brown hair flecked with copper was cut close to his head, but not enough to hide the would-be curls that fluffed up his beard. Bright green eyes sparkled in a merry, if weathered, face. He wore a long cream tunic over tan slacks. Tan sandals adorned his feet as he moved down the stairs. "I took the liberty of starting up a hot bath. Even set the oils out."

Noira's freckled cheeks turned pink as Jeremiah spoke and descended the stairs. She gave him a warm enough smile, though it flickered uncertainly as if nervous, and dipped her head to him and to Izira in turn. "Thank you," she said to the innkeeper, and turned back to the rather woodsy man at the base of the stairs, managing to meet his gaze as she held out a dusty, scraped hand for the key, palm-up (and quietly cursing her filthy, road-weary state).

Izira looked curiously at Jeremiah before moving to finish fixing the tea and brandy. "Noira... this is Jeremiah... he is a..."

"Very dear friend." Jeremiah dipped his head, moving to take the hand that awaited the key into both of his. "Well met." He drew his hands away, leaving Noira with the key. "It is my personal opinion that the corner suite has the best view of the garden. You can even see the pond. There's baby ducks now." He grinned, apparently not put off by the road-weary state of Noira.

Izira came up from the bar, carrying a mug for Noira. "Shall I show you up?"

Gren curiously peered out the kitchen door at the 'Very dear friend' comment, then shrugged and popped back inside.

Noira's smile stretched a little wider at his grin, and she held his gaze for a beat before Izira's question seemed to startle her out of her... state of mind. "Yes!" she replied to Izira and flashed a somewhat tamer smile to Jeremiah as a farewell. She then fell in behind Izira, ducking her head to conceal the deeper shade of red now burning her cheeks.

Leading the way up the stairs, Izira went down the hall to the last door on the left. As Noira had the key, Izira would leave her to explore the interior. The suite was open and the windows extended around two walls of the room, offering a view of the garden and the pond Jeremiah had mentioned. The first room is a small sitting area that also contained a desk, chair, and chest. Through a door, a medium sized bed could be found, curtained to keep light away if needed. The bath sat just off of the bedroom, a large clawed foot tub that could comfortably hold two Jeremiahs... if that was a thing someone wanted to do. A silver tray had been placed by the bath with a selection of oils. Steam rose from the water. Izira followed Noira in only so far as the main room, setting the mug down on the desk for her friend and guest.

"Thank you," Noira said to Izira as soon as she had stepped inside, dropping her bag in the sitting area. She wasted little time in unpinning her cloak and unbuckling her boots, but looked up from her work to smile at the innkeeper again. "I am lucky to have found this place... today, and before."

"We are happy to have you return." Warmth showed in Izira's smile to match the words, "I will leave you to it." She gave a tip of her head to the bath. "See you downstairs, Noira."

Meanwhile, Jeremiah had moved to the bar, taking a seat.

Gren peeked back through the door, seeing Jeremiah sitting there. "Joining us for dinner . . . 'Dear friend'?"

"I think I will." Jeremiah beamed. He tilted his head, looking to the kitchen, "Need a hand 'Chef Blockman'?"

"For once, I think I can manage it. I've got this great recipe for Crusty Dinner Rolls I wanted to try. Let me see if all my training is paying off." Gren smiled, then went back inside the kitchen, kneading dough for his recipe.

Noira took her time with her bath, though not so much to be unmindful of her company. It was less than an hour before she descended the stairs, her hair twisted into a much neater bun, and dressed in a soft white tunic with pretty red, black and gold trim, and soft grey leggings. The mud and ichor was gone, which was a definite plus. She hadn't taken anything with her downstairs except for a small wooden pipe, stained a deep, handsome red, and a black leather pouch of pipe-weed tucked into the thin black belt that cinched her tunic.

Gren was casually chatting with Jeremiah when he saw Noira appear. His face brightened as he saw her cleaned up and looking refreshed. He quickly moved back into the kitchen to get her meal. Not long after the door opened again, and Gren had two plates, one for her and Jeremiah. "Here you are! A seared porterhouse steak, a baked potato with sour cream, and fresh steamed broccoli. You need your green veggies!" Gren wagged a finger at Noira like a parent teaching a child. He also had brought out a basket with his Crusty Dinner Rolls, and a glass of wine. "Red Merlot. I hope you enjoy the rolls, I baked them with my own special recipe." Gren smiled, then suddenly looked nervous as if he had said too much, and sidled back into the kitchen.

"If I do not mind my greens, I may never reach my seventh century," Noira replied to the wisdom Gren offered, and couldn't help a grin and a quiet chuckle at his nervous look and the way he backed off. "Thank you, Gren! I am sure it will all be lovely." She set her pipe and tobacco aside, a dessert of sorts to go with her second glass of wine, and settled in for her meal. When she brought the wine to her lips for her first sip, she shut her eyes and savored it for a long moment, as if committing every note, every aspect of it to memory.

Jeremiah nodded his approval at the plate. He watched with silent amusement, as he enjoyed his large tankard of ale, Gren's interaction with Noira. Those bright green eyes taking in Noira enjoying her wine. "Izira does have the selection."

Noira's eyes slitted open to look aside at the large man. Sometimes there could be a dangerous sort of cleverness about her gaze, and this was one of those times. "Jeremiah, yes?"

"Yes, Noira."

"I know how I feel about this wine, but I fear the words elude me." Noira frowned delicately, swirling the wine in the glass as she clutched it in her slender fingers, and turned her head to look at him a little better. "Tell me... what do you like about it?" She set her wine down, neatly cut a piece of steak, and bit down while she listened to him.

"It has an alluring spirit to it. Somewhat subtle, but still bold." There was a sparkle to Jeremiah's look that suggested he maybe spoke of things beyond the wine. He picked up his silverware and started to cut into the steak before him. "But I'm a simple man of simple tastes." He pointed to his tankard with his knife.

Noira chuckled warmly and enjoyed another sip of her wine to accompany the flavor of her steak. Their initial interactions had thrown her off balance, but the elfess had gained confidence over the course of her years in RhyDin. "Cheers," she murmured, and settled contentedly into the rest of her meal. A smile was never far from her lips.

"Cheers." He agreed easily, lifting the tankard and taking a drink.

Izira looked up at Gren as he returned to the kitchen, she had taken over doing dishes since he had done the cooking.

Gren walked over to Izira at the sink, and after a look towards the door, he kind of waved his finger in that direction and asked her, "What's all that going on out there?"

Izira shrugged, looking upwards. "I have long since given up trying to guess at Jeremiah's actions. Are we... staying in here?" Izira dried the last of the kitchenware, putting it away and looking to Gren curiously.

"Well . . . I . . . "He rolled it around in his mind. "Maybe we should check on them. I want to know if they tried my rolls yet." Gren tiptoed over to the door, opened it just a smidge and peeked out.

Jeremiah had not touched the rolls yet. He was enjoying the steak and the ale and the company.

Gren shook one fist downward in frustration, then looked back at Izira. "He's too busy flirting!" He whispered at her.

"Flirting?" Izira's tone asked if Gren was sure that was what was happening in the other room.

When someone decided to poke their head back out, Noira seemed to be in the middle of discussing the proper way to enjoy the aroma with Jeremiah, and had her fingers against his on the base of the glass, moving it in a slow circle as he took a whiff. She had, however, eaten one of the rolls.

"He's giving her the moon eyes and drinking alcohol", Gren looked back out and noticed Noira fingering her wine glass. "Crap. I should have given her Cherry Kool-Aid instead."

"They are adults, Gren." Though the idea of Jeremiah.... it... well it was a new occurrence in her long time there. Izira heard Jeremiah chuckle from the area of the bar, "They might need... something?"

Noira appeared to be whispering something to Jeremiah, and when she did, her lips curled.
"I think they are spying on us."

"I agree." The large man taking in the planes of her face.

"Something. Oh, alright." Gren stopped spying and walked through the door, plastering on a smile. "So . . . are you all enjoying your dinner? Can I get you anything else?"

Izira followed Gren out from the kitchen, moving back to the fireplace to fetch her wine.

Jeremiah winked to Noira as he leaned back and smiled at Gren. "You've outdone yourself, Chef."

"This was wonderful," Noira said to Gren, smiling up at him from her empty plate. "I seem to have developed quite an appetite."

"Uh huh." A few quick glances between Noira and Jeremiah. "Well, thank you for the compliments. There's seconds if you'd like to have more."

"Wouldn't want to ruin my figure." Patting his solid stomach, Jeremiah reached for a roll, now that everything else was gone.

Izira returned with her wine, taking a spot on the patron side of the bar beside Noira.

"Could I have seconds of wine, please?" Noira asked Gren with a small smile as she started carefully packing her pipe.

Gren's eyes went from Jeremiah, to the roll, back at Jeremiah, then Noira's empty wine glass. With a perturbed look, he took a bottle of the Merlot from under the counter and poured some into the glass. But not too much.

Setting her own glass down, Izira cleared the plates. Standing again, she eyed the amount of wine that Gren poured and lifted a brow at him.

Noira thanked him with a smile as she bent a few fingers over her pipe -- not a matter of rote, but of evoking a feeling, one that produced a spark and lit the pipe-weed with a soft glow of embers.

Gren looked back at Izira as if he was going to put a stop to this. Right at that moment, however, the door of the Inn burst open. Crawford, Gren's fellow Ranger, was standing there. The young man's eyes swept over those assembled and landed on Gren. "Gren, we need you back at Headquarters right away. It's . . . It's Perrigan. He was ambushed at the meeting with Brallin." Crawford again looked at the others as if wondering if he should say more.

Noira doused the embers with her thumb, seemingly unharmed, as she abruptly stood to stare between Gren and his fellow Ranger, alert and attentive.

Izira had made it to the kitchen doorway and now stood frozen, looking from Crawford to Gren with increasing concern.

Jeremiah, ever the watcher, watched. Though, his brow creased and he regarded Gren with a level of concern all his own.

Gren's face flashed also with concern, then determination. "I've got to go everyone." Coming out from behind the bar, he went over to the pegs at the doorway and began to hurriedly pull on his cloak. "If you want to come, we'd better go now."

"I need three minutes for my armor," Noira said, already moving to the stairs as any previous expression she had held was replaced by the cold, grim determination of a soldier. "Less," she added with a glance at Izira, "if I have help."

Izira set the plates down at the end of the bar, looking to Jeremiah. He nodded, waving her on.

Quickly she moved to follow Noira and help her get her armor on. Jeremiah in turn looked to Gren and Crawford.

Gren nodded at them both, then looked at Jeremiah. "We're just going to the Headquarters. I'll bring Izira back as soon as I can." His grey cloak on now, Crawford went out to secure the mounts. Crawford had his own horse, and he had brought Alfred for Gren.

Noira was good to her word, well-trained in the fine art of rolling out of bed at some ungodly hour, scrambling into her gear and getting right down to marching or killing. In less than three minutes she was hurrying back down the stairs, tightening a belt across her hauberk, taking with her a smaller pack of her gear and a long, jagged knife at her hip.

"I trust that you will." Jeremiah had stood, taking up the plates. He now stood in the kitchen door, "Safe travels, Noira." He simply nodded to Gren and Izira.

Izira moved, getting her own light cloak from the hook beside where Gren's had been.

Noira's gaze lingered on Jeremiah for a fraction of a second, allowing herself a quiet, wistful sigh at an evening that could have been. "Thank you," she said with a flicker of a smile; her cloak flared out as she fastened it quickly, stalking over to the door to join Izira and the Rangers.

"Noira, you can ride with Crawford, Izira and I will take Alfred." Walking out the door with the other two, Crawford was waiting there with the two mounts. Gren helped lift Izira onto Alfred's back, before climbing on himself.

Alfred grunted. "Have you put on a few pounds there, Gren?"

"Not now, Alfred." Gren hissed.

Crawford was already on his horse and offered Noira a hand up.

Without hesitation or ceremony, Noira took Crawford's hand and climbed onto the horse behind him, settling in like a capable rider.

"Tell me where you need me, and I will follow your lead," Noira said to her companions, simply, as they headed out.

[Gren Blockman]

Thundering through the gate of the Ranger's Compound, the two horses carrying them did not stop, but went straight down the main thoroughfare, past the log barracks, and up to Yolene's House of Healing. Crawford hurriedly ushered them through the doors and inside. Yolene was a barely five foot tall, pale skinned elf with pointy ears and long white hair. She was standing over a bed with a muscular man in his late fifties, with short grey hair and deep blue eyes. He had wicked looking cuts running up and down his face that looked freshly stitched, and a look of anguish on his face. "Hold him down! I've got to reset Perrigan's shoulder!" Haddon, the bald, portly ranger stood on one side, and Moriana, the surly female Drow was on the other. With difficulty, they sandwiched him onto the bed, while Yolene pushed a wooden stick into his mouth. "Bite down on this!" Perrigan did as he was told, then Yolene pushed with all her might onto Perrigan's arm. Perrigan screamed through the wooden stick, then a sickening pop could be heard as his arm was put back into place. Haddon and Moriana stepped back when the job was finished. Perrigan was pale and sweating, breathing heavily.

Noira watched this without much change in her expression, taking a count of the people in the room with her and their state, and then turning to mind the door. She kept her hands free, arms out from her side and fingers splayed apart, and her ears twitched to pick up whatever she could from their surroundings over Yolene's orders and Perrigan's muffled screams.

Crawford and Gren went over to Perrigan's side once Perrigan had caught his breath. "Gren . . . "Perrigan gasped, ". . . the meeting with Brallin was a setup. Wait . . . who is that?" Perrigan weakly pointed his finger at Noira.

Gren answered, "Her name is Noira, she's a friend of Izira and me."

Perrigan nodded and continued. "I was trying to engage him in discussion, but Brallin practically said nothing. I realized something was wrong, but before I could call it off . . . these robed men . . . sorcerers . . . they appeared in the tree line. They had skeletons . . . undead creatures . . . "He took a shaky breath. "My men are all dead. I barely made it out. They cut me to shreds."

"Take it easy, Headmaster", Gren replied.

Perrigan continued, "Westerguard is getting everyone ready. We're on high alert. We need to find out who these sorcerers are that Brallin has allied himself with. And we need to be ready in case they attack."

"Did he speak at all?" Noira asked, taking her gaze off the door to look at Perrigan.

Izira stood there, to the side and out of the way. She gave an appreciative look to Noira as she asked the question.

Perrigan turned his head to look at Noira, and hesitated for a moment. "He said something like "It is time". Three times. I just thought he was calling the meeting to order. But he wouldn't say anything else to me, he just glared at me with an arrogant smirk on his face. God . . . "Perrigan turned to look at Yolene."Didn't even Rendrick make it?"

Yolene bit her lip and shook her head, "No, Headmaster, he lost too much blood. I'm surprised he even made it back to Headquarters."

Perrigan laid a hand over his face, "Oh, my men, my men . . . ."

Noira waited quietly while they spoke, but as Perrigan trailed off, she asked another question: "Did you get a clear look at his face?"

Perrigan stayed with his hand over his face for a few moments, then slowly uncovered it, a dawn of recognition appeared. "His pupils . . . they were black."

"They must have enthralled him," the battlemage said, turning to look from Perrigan to Gren and Izira. "He may have already been dead by the time they met."

Izira grimaced, looking from Noira to Gren, then a passing glance to the other rangers and the headmaster. Momentarily she regretted not speaking up when the idea of the talk had been suggested, but she knew even if she had it would not have changed events.

"That would explain a lot", Gren said, nodding at Noira. Perrigan took a steadying breath. "It would indeed. Even though Brallin and I had our differences, I find it hard to believe he would give himself over to the black arts willingly."

Yolene had moved over to another bed. A young man in his twenties lay with a vacant stare at the ceiling. She gently closed his eyelids and pulled his sheet over his face.

Gren watched her, then turned back to Perrigan. "What do you want me to do?"

"Find your troop members. This was a planned setup. It means they have something in store for us. God only knows what. But I want to make sure our territory is on alert and protected."

Gren nodded firmly, "I'll do that, Headmaster."

"Be mindful," Noira added, looking to Perrigan and Gren again with a dark frown. "If you see one of your troop, they might be... like Brallin. Do you have a way to call to each other, a call and response?"

With Noira's words, Izira looked toward the blanket covered body.

"Normally, if a Ranger is in peril, there's a certain whistle they would give to call for help." Gren gave two whistles that started low and ended high. "That should be enough of a call that we would recognize one another." He laid a hand on Perrigan's shoulder. "Rest, Headmaster."

"Who is Brallin?" the battlemage finally thought to ask.

Gren got up from Perrigan's side and came back over to Noira and Izira. "Brallin is the Headmaster for the Ranger's guild that patrols the territory to the east of here, and north of the City. Brallin and Perrigan have known each other for quite a while."

Noira's frown deepened. She glanced aside at Izira and back, not understanding her attention to the dead man -- her own experience with zombification had been more ritual-based, not passed by infection. "Do you know where their headquarters are?"

Izira traded spots with Gren, resting a hand on his shoulder as Noira spoke. She sat by Perrigan's side, moving to where she could take his hand without causing him trouble. She cast a soft spell to ease his pain and hopefully help him rest. Though the covered body was not spared her attention, having dealt with 'husks' that were puppets before.

"Vaguely. I haven't been there myself for obvious reasons. But I could find it if I had to. They call it the Iron Grove. There's an old oak forest in the center of their territory. It's a village in the trees that serves as their Headquarters. Few of Perrigan's Rangers have been there", Gren replied.

"If I had just ambushed and killed the leaders of two military companies in an ambush, or thought I had, I'd attack their bases next while they were leaderless and confused..." Noira mused, her eyes darting to the windows in this place.

Perrigan had begun gently snoring. Gren gulped and thought. "Well, would they go straight for the main Headquarters? Or attack the outlying posts first? I kind of think it would be the latter. Perhaps we should strengthen our outposts near the border."

"We've sent riders to Outpost Blue and Outpost Green. We should hopefully hear back soon on what their condition is.", Haddon offered helpfully.

Quietly listening, Izira kept her hand on Perrigan's. "Are they coming back here?" She looked to Haddon as he spoke of the riders being sent out, "Those at the Outposts?"

"That would depend on Westerguard. If he felt they were worth defending, they'd stay and try to hold out. If it looks like they're going to be overrun, he might have them retreat back to Headquarters. I should probably report to him and find out what the plan is."

"Where is Westerguard?"

"He's probably over at the guardhouse at the gate, giving out orders. It should be alright for you and Izira to come with me, she's been there before."

"I will stay with Perrigan."

He nodded to Izira, then looked at Noira. "Looks like it's just me and you then."

Noira looked at Izira, then at Gren. "Just me and you and a dozen necromancers. For the record, this is not what I had in mind for dessert tonight..." She said as she fell in with Gren and made their way to Westerguard.

Gren shrugged as he led Noira out the door and down the street towards the guardhouse. "I was looking forward to lemon crumb pie myself." The street seemed busy with grey cloaked rangers hurrying back and forth. As they approached the guardhouse, they could see a throng of Rangers crowded around the door. "Excuse me, excuse me please . . ." Gren pushed his way through, trying to make a path as best as he could for Noira. There was a table just inside the door that a man in his fifties with long grey hair was sitting at, he was shoving papers at some of the Rangers and barking orders at them. When he saw Gren, he motioned him to the table.

"Captain Blockman. It's about damn time. Here. Take these orders to Outpost Blue. Tell them to hold as long as they reasonably can. If they can't, tell them to fall back here as soon as possible. We're getting reports of skeletons rampaging through our easternmost woods. This is a s*** pie and we're all about to eat a slice. You have your orders."

Gren saluted Westerguard.

Noira looked over Gren's shoulder at Westerguard, which was difficult because she was probably shorter than most people here, very short for an elf at barely over five feet. "Can you spare a mace or cudgel?" she asked him directly.

Westerguard peered curiously around Gren, noticing Noira for the first time. "Who the hell is this?"

"Uh . . . . " Gren began, "This is Noira, sir, she's my . . . friend. She's a battlemage."

Westerguard gave Gren a disgruntled look, then back at Noira. "I'm too busy and pissed off to argue." Reaching behind his desk, he pulled out a gnarled old oaken club and handed it to Noira. "Knock yourself out."

"I will endeavor not to," Noira couldn't help but quip back as she tucked the club in next to her long knife. She looked to Gren and gave him a curt nod. "Have you fought skeletons before?" she asked him, moving to walk and talk.

Gren sighed, tucking the paper beneath his cloak. "Yeah, a few times. Nasty business." He quickly took a scrap of paper from Westerguard's table and scribbled a note on it. Taking his cue from Noira, he grabbed a similar looking club from a weapons rack on the far wall, before pushing out of the guardhouse. "You have any tips before we head off to Outpost Blue?"

"Keep your arrows ready but save them for the necromancers. Most skeletons are a little slow," she grunted as she handled the reins of one of their mounts to get it ready, "so use that split-second to check your periphery. They don't breathe or scream, which can make them deceptively quiet. Ready?"

"One moment." Gren grabbed Crawford who was milling around with the other Rangers at the guardhouse. "Crawford, take this note to Izira. She's at the Let her know we're going to Outpost Blue, alright?" Crawford nodded, then went off to find her. "Alright, let's go." Gren mounted his horse, and went with Noira out of the gate at a gallop.

[Gren Blockman]

They followed the main road until they crossed a wooden bridge, then turned abruptly east, following the river towards the border of the ranger's territory.

Crawford, meanwhile, went up to the Houses of Healing and entered. He handed Izira the hastily written note. It said, "Izira, Westerguard has sent me to deliver a message to Outpost Blue. I have taken Noira with me. We will be back soon. Love, Gren."

Reading the note, Izira squeeze Perrigan's hand gently. She offered a soft thank you to Crawford.

Noira urged her horse on along with Gren's, riding low in her saddle. She squinted hard through the trees ahead of them, searching for any sign of trouble, ambush, anything at all out of the ordinary.

Most of the land they passed was grassy along the riverside. As the miles went by, the countryside turned more hilly and forested. Slowly the track pulled away from the riverbank and headed up a high ridge. There at the top was a structure that looked like the Ranger's Headquarters in miniature. It had the same log wall and gate, but much fewer buildings. There were a few grey cloaked forms patrolling the walls. Pulling to a halt at the gate, Gren called out to the gatekeeper. "It's Captain Blockman, here on orders from General Westerguard."

The gate swung open, allowing the two entrance to Outpost Blue. "Captain Rodan is over on the far wall."

Riding through the small collection of buildings, Gren dismounted at the stairs leading up the wall. He hurried up and noticed a man with long black hair, staring out over the forest towards the east. He had studded leather armor under his grey cloak. Gren waved to him and approached. "Captain Rodan, it is good to see you."

Rodan smiled "Captain Blockman, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Perrigan was ambushed at the meeting, I have orders here from Westerguard." Gren pulled the papers out from his cloak and handed them to the Captain.

Rodan read over them and turned pale. "How am I supposed to hold this outpost? I have barely ten Rangers here. We cannot fight an army of undead. Gren, we must withdraw. I have heard all afternoon strange sounds coming from these woods."

"What sounds?" Noira asked. She hadn't dismounted yet, and wasn't going to until she had to. "Friend of Gren and Izira's, adventurer, battlemage, at your service," she quickly added, in anticipation of a question.

Rodan looked at Gren and pointed at Noira. Gren said sheepishly, "Sorry, her name is Noira. She's with me."

Rodan shrugged. "Low moans and a few shrieks. Crashing of trees. Considering what I've just read in this letter, I think it's obvious what's going on out there now."

"How many Rangers did Perrigan have with him when he met Brallin?" Noira asked, frowning at their surroundings from her relatively high position atop her horse.

"Uhh . . . . I think he said 10 . . . “Gren gulped and looked back out at the forest.”This doesn't look good. Maybe you should evacuate now, while you've got the chance."

Rodan frowned and rubbed his chin. "Well, I don't know . . . ."

Suddenly, far to the north, they heard an explosion, and a ball of fire and plume of smoke rose into the air. Rodan turned paler than he had before. "That . . . that's where Outpost Green is! Holy . . . . GET THE HORSES READY!" Rodan called over his shoulder.

Noira cried out something in Elvish as she steadied her horse, spooked by the explosion, and urged it on towards the north wall of the compound. She jerked her head to find Gren in the confusion in the camp, then called out to those few manning the walls: "Sentries! What do you see?!" She was a stranger among them, so she might be ignored, but her voice carried the practiced authority of an officer.

The horses were already being pulled out of their stables when someone called down to Noira. ". . . . Jesus . . . . There's skeletons! Skeletons pouring out of the forest! North, East, and South!"

"We need to go!" Gren urged Rodan, while running back to his mount.

Rodan didn't look like he needed any encouragement and followed Gren down from the walls. "EVERYONE EVACUATE! GET TO YOUR HORSE NOW!"

Noira snapped her reins in response to the sentry, and seemed to be one of the first out of their small fort, galloping her horse through the gate to the west, ready to race back to the compound -- but as soon as she was through, she wheeled around to the north, angling herself towards the northeast and the hissing, clacking shapes clambering through the treeline. Her head bowed and her eyes flared an eerie, unearthly black lit by countless stars, one hand clenched around the reins while the other circled through the air and pushed straight out. What looked like swift, angry heat waves rippled through the air, landing among a cluster of the nearest undead shapes with a low hum and a concussive blast, scattering searing dust in the vicinity. The plants caught within withered instead of burning. "Captain Blockman!" That was how she thought she had heard him addressed, earlier. "I'll join the rearguard!" she shouted over her shoulder. Hopefully she would be heard.

Gren had leapt upon his horse, and turned his head, hearing the blast from Noira's spell. "Alright, Noira, be careful! Back to Headquarters, everyone!" Rodan was not far behind him, and the other Rangers began spurring their horses out of the main gate, following Gren and Rodan back home. Gren looked into the treeline and saw the vague shapes of the undead creatures as they shambled towards the abandoned Outpost. Here and there, he thought he saw a black robed figure who must have been the sorcerers who were leading them. They look familiar, he thought.

Noira's face twisted into a scowl as she dug deeper into the passion, the energy that connected her to the magical power of the stars, forming cold fury into a blast of void-like energy that whipped into an advancing skeleton and exploded its ribcage. Immediately over its collapsing form was a similar flare, a blast of necrotic power that disintegrated tree branches and cracked through a trunk as Noira ducked low in her saddle. Somewhere behind the advancing minions, one of those sorcerers was giving her a malicious grin. She snapped her reins, dug her heels in, and joined the last of the Rangers in their desperate retreat, galloping away from the fallen Outpost. It was her and two other Rangers bringing up the rear, one to either side, racing to break line of sight with the sorcerers mixed in among the undead. She looked behind her as much as she dared as her mount plunged ahead, waiting for a surge, a flicker, any sign at all... There. A flash of angry red in the distance, and she threw her hand out behind her and cried out in Elvish, and the sorcerer's nascent spell fizzled out.

Their fast mounts soon carried them out of range of the undead horde, and they sped through the hilly region into the grassland surrounding the river. In the distance, Gren could see farmers and workers fleeing west from the advancing horrors. After they had gone a mile, they heard a similar explosion to the one that claimed Outpost Green, and looked back to see a pillar of smoke where Outpost Blue had been. They reached the river bridge, and found it guarded by a handful of Rangers. "Get back to Headquarters as soon as you can, you won't be able to hold here!" Gren told them. "Yes, sir!” they replied, and began to pack their things as the group from Outpost Blue rode on to the gate. There was a flurry of activity at the gate now, as scared refugees began seeking the safety of the Ranger's walls.

The strange light had faded from Noira's eyes by the time she reached the gate with the last of the Rangers. Her gaze danced over the stream of refugees, frowning at this troubling new factor. She had usually been on the other side of sieges. "Someone should task the able-bodied to man buckets -- and find every healer among them!" She turned her horse about, anxious to get inside, but there was a whole mass of people ahead of her.

"Clear the road!" Rodan bellowed, and some of the Rangers at the gate began pushing the crowd back, giving them room to maneuver their horses into the gate.

Westerguard was still inside, barking out orders at his available soldiers. More and more Rangers began to appear on the walls as they ushered in the refugees. Westerguard's eyes landed on Gren and Rodan. "What the hell happened?"

Rodan approached Westerguard and saluted. "Sir, Gren and his friend arrived just in time. We saw Outpost Green explode, and the trees became filled with skeletons. There was no hope of a proper defense, we evacuated immediately."

"Damn, I was wondering why I hadn't heard from Green. Alright, Rodan, get your men to the main gate, you'll be in charge there."

"Yes, sir", Rodan replied, and wheeled his horse, waving his Rangers to follow him. "General, Noira said we could get the refugees to help, man buckets & help with the healing."

"I won't argue with that. If she's got any more advice, now would be the time."

Noira finally made her way into the fort, catching the end of that conversation as she handed off her reins to a younger Ranger who seemed to be handling the stables. "Any task that is not fighting, find someone else to do it -- three farm hands to keep control of the horses in the stable, keep them from bolting. Set up bucket lines in," she looked briefly around the compound, "three places, and name a foreman to each. Any timbers that can be spared should be brought to the gate, and a few bodies strong enough to brace with them. Take legs from tables, anything big and flat, and put someone in charge of using them to brace gaps -- these are wooden walls, they will make gaps. And everyone who is not helping should be under cover. Now where do you want me?" she added, looking to Westerguard. She did not salute or call him 'sir,' she was not in his army, but he was still the man in charge.

Westerguard looked at Noira for a long moment, then looked at Gren.

Gren smiled sheepishly. "She is my friend." He seemed to be repeating that line often, as if that explained everything.

"Well, since these are your bright ideas, why don't you organize the refugees?" Westerguard replied.

"Give me a Ranger. That one," Noira nodded, pointing out a girl who looked more squire than full Ranger, currently making a valiant (but inefficient) attempt to distribute arrows, while most ignored her.

Westerguard looked over at the girl Noira had pointed to. "Miella, get over here!" The young woman fumbled with the arrows she was holding, then ran up to Westerguard saluting. "Miella, do whatever she tells you." Westerguard finished, pointing his finger at Noira for emphasis.

"Um, yes sir", Miella agreed.

"Miella, I am Lieutenant Sibreth, and I am here helping Captain Blockman," she said as she strode away quickly, forcing Miella to catch up. "When I ask you to do something, I need you to say 'yes, lieutenant.' Your job is to see that every task I assign is getting done, and tell me anything I need to know. Is that clear?" Noira paused for only half a step, looking sharply at Miella, before she heard a stammered, "Yes, lieutenant." Good enough. Using the added authority of having someone in uniform next to her, she made her way down the list of tasks, in order of the time they'd take: moving people inside, moving timbers and breaking down furniture, bucket lines, healers, and stable hands, with Miella keeping an eye out and pulling aside those best suited to the tasks. It meant splitting up families, more often than not, and it darkened and strained Noira's expression, but she kept herself pushing forward as fast as she could. There was no time for anything else.

"For a minute there I thought she was going to ask me to relinquish my command", Westerguard said to Gren with a pointed look.

Gren rubbed the back of his head. "She has been a help, General."

"As much of a help as one bossy battlemage is, an even bigger help are the sorcerer's guilds I have converging here. Those pansies owe us and now its time they make themselves useful. The Order of the Flaming Crow", Westerguard stopped reading and rolled his eyes, "are coming from the north. The cadets from White Cedar Academy will come up from the south."

"But sir, they're mostly younger children", Gren protested.

Westerguard continued, "They have enough older pupils to get this job done. Our job is to hold these walls long enough for them to get here, then their magic will do the rest. Let's just hope we can hold out long enough. Good job bringing Rodan and his boys back."

"Sir, can I go to the House of Healing before you assign me any more duties?"

"Fine. Your troop are mostly here anyway. Just be sure you report to your section of the wall as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!" Gren saluted, then hurried up the road to the House of Healing. He pushed through the door and looked around to see if Izira was still there.

The panic of the situation had quickly moved throughout the compound. Haddon and Moriana had left with the other rangers as well as Yolene to help tend to those that needed it. Izira has promised to all that she would stay with Perrigan and watch over him. The sleeping man's hand was still held in her own. When the door opened, Izira eyes burned with ready fire but relaxed the moment she saw it was Gren. "Noira?"

Gren blew out a breath and moved over to Perrigan's bedside with Izira. "She's out there taking charge of the refugees. She seems like she was born for this type of thing." He managed a nervous chuckle. "How's the Headmaster doing?"

"By the bones of the elders, if you put that hand on me one more time, I am keeping it!" the elf's raised voice could be heard through the windows of the Healing House as she strode past, followed by poor Miella and a couple of burly lumberjacks she seemed to have recruited for one task or another.

Looking up, Izira was momentarily distracted by the call that was obviously Noira. A light smile of appreciation touched Izira's lips. Her eyes lowered down to Perrigan, "He rests, that is good. How are things out there?" She looked in the direction of Noira's voice.

Gren opened his mouth and pointed his thumb at the window at the sound of Noira's voice, but then he sighed and shrugged. "Things are getting taken care of, by the sound of it. With an army of undead this size, Westerguard has called in the local mage guilds to help out. The Order of the Flaming Crow, and White Cedar Academy. You remember Arillon and Shann, right?"

She nodded, her hand reflexively squeezing Perrigan's gently. "Yes." Looking over Gren's features, she continued. "I will stay here and keep Perrigan safe."

"Magic students?!" "Yes, lieutenant!" "Will they be arriving before or after we are set upon by an undead horde?!" "I, um, I don't know, lieutenant!" "Then find out." Noira was rather small, but she was also rather loud, and more so in the event of a battle.

"That's good. I'm sorry about this." Gren knelt down next to Izira and kissed her on the lips. "I better go, they need my help. Stay alert and be safe."

A brief touch of passion was offered in her kiss back. "Be safe my ranger, and return to me."

Gren nodded and smiled, before moving back out of the House of Healing. Dodging the rush of people, he moved over to his section of the log wall, just to the left of the main gate which faced south. He patted the members of his troop on the shoulder or back as he moved to his place in the line. "Keep a sharp lookout, call out those skeletons when you see them. Everyone have their bows ready? I don't know how much good the arrows will do on skeletons, but there are robed sorcerers out there that you should aim at first." Gren watched the road leading up to the gate, as well as looked out over the fields to the east.

Miella scurried off to see to the distribution of what maces, clubs, and other cudgels could be spared, and as she did, Noira turned to Gren. "Izira?"

"She's alright, she's watching over Perrigan. That's as safe a place as any for now. How are you doing with the refugees?"

"They have found cover, except for the people we'll need. And so far they seem to be attending to their tasks," Noira said while looking over her shoulder at the two burly men from earlier, who were currently in the process of moving broken tables and crates where they could be easily reached to reinforce breaks. "Miella tells me we're getting reinforcements. Mages?"

"Yeah. The Order of the Flaming Crow. They're about as colorful as they sound, but they know enough Black Magic to be of use. White Cedar Academy, mostly neophytes, but Masters Arillon and Shann will be of great help. The former is coming from the north, the latter from the south. Westerguard said the plan was to hold out until they get here, and hopefully their magic will tip the scales in our favor."

Noira nodded, turning her gaze in either direction as her lips thinned. "The trick will be holding our attackers at enough of a distance to benefit our reinforcements. Combat magic is less effective when you have walls, buildings, and people you'd rather not set on fire within a hairsbreadth of your enemies. What can you tell me about the lay of the land? Any choke points?"

Gren swept his gaze from north to south, getting a thoughtful look on his face. "The only one I know of is the bridge to the south, but that won't help us much if the attack is from the east. If you notice, though, the eastern side is not forested, and slopes low and away from the wall. We should have an unobstructed field of fire. Plus, Westerguard supposedly has built some kind of traps out there for defense."

She nodded, and breathed a slow sigh. "Then we shall hope they attack from the east." She was not sure how long they had until the attack came, but from the sound of things, most of the tasks had already been attended to. Additional weapons and ammunition had been placed at strategic locations. The bucket lines were ready to put out fires. There was a low murmur of conversation in the air, though far more from the refugees than the Rangers. The calm before the storm.

[Gren Blockman]

Noira dug out her pipe and packed it again, bending her head as she lit it with a strange white fire that danced from her fingers. "This may be our last chance for a while," she said to him as she took the first few puffs to get it going. She thought she had seen him with a pipe before.

Gren glanced at Noira's pipe, then tapped his fingers on the top of the log wall. "I'm too nervous to smoke now. Man, how did we miss all of this? It's like it happened right under our noses. I guess that's something we'll have to figure out if we make it through this."

"Have you seen these," Noira paused and chose a word in Elvish, one that sounded rather unflattering, "before?"

"The skeletons? It's been a long time, but . . . Wait, it couldn't be . . . “A memory stirred in Gren's mind.”There was this necromantic cult that we defeated once . . . no twice before. In the Forest of Bones, and The House That Hope Forsake. But that was on the other side of the forest, to the west. But that's what they looked like. Black robed sorcerers leading waves of skeletons."

Noira took another puff, blowing a wavy circle of smoke out from her mouth, and darted a look over at Gren. "It sounds like they have not taken their losses with good humor," she said with a sly twist of her lips. "Unsportsmanlike."

"Or like Westerguard would say, 'They're too stupid to realize we've beat them twice already.'" Gren rubbed his eyes, then smiled at Noira. "Thank you for your help today. You didn't have to come along and get involved in all this."

Noira returned his smile, dipping her head slowly. "You and Izira are my friends, and you have pulled me back from the brink of death before. I think the Forgotten Layers wanted me to be here for this... I could not be standing anywhere else." Her smile faltered. There was a murmur among the sentries. False alarm, maybe, but the undead had to be getting close. "I have been in a rout before, once," the elfess said, "and..." She trailed off uncertainly, shook her head, and looked up at Gren. "If the battle goes ill, I can ensure that Izira returns to the Inn."

"I would be grateful for that, Noira."

"There, sir, there!" One of the younger Rangers pointed at the distant eastern forest.

Gren could see small shapes milling about the treeline, then finally in ranks they came. First by hundreds, then several thousand, a shambling display of skeletons and zombies stiffly marched across the fields towards the Rangers Headquarters. "Let's get some fire up here!" As the Rangers readied their bows, torches were passed to the walls, and the soldiers stood ready to light their arrows on fire to meet the coming enemy.

Noira dipped her head to Gren again, tapped the tobacco out of her pipe, and strode quickly to the wall, climbing up to the ramparts for a view of the enemy army. The numbers stole her breath, eyes widening at the vast horde before them, larger than any she had seen since fighting for the Empire. She steeled herself with a scowl and stretched out her hand, golden fire leaping from her fingertips. "They burst within five breaths, so nock and fire quickly," she advised the Rangers nearby as she left her hand out for them to use as they would.

"You heard Noira, fire at will, and keep it up!" The torches were passed, and the Ranger's arrows lit up with flame. The moans and shrieks could be heard as the horde slowly climbed the slope towards the eastern wall. Here and there, a flaming arrow could be seen arcing overhead, then a veritable shower began to land upon the advancing army. The black robed sorcerers could be seen here and there, casting spells and yelling commands at each other.

When the arrows lit with Noira's fire landed among the enemy, whether they fell true or missed their mark, they burst soon after, searing out with fast, intense flames and concussive force. She lit for the next volley, but once the sorcerer's spells began to strike, splintering away at the walls and bursting among them, she focused her efforts on them. Every time she tore her hand through the air, as if snatching and severing a thread, she snapped out an angry curse in Elvish and one of the prepared spells fizzled in the caster's hands. "Miella!" Noira cried out, trying to be overheard as someone screamed nearby -- most had missed so far, but one of the spells had struck true. "Check in with the far sentries and report back!"

Gren had his own bow, and carefully aimed and fired one arrow after another into the ranks of the undead. After several minutes, the Rangers could hear a mighty crash, as one of Westerguard's traps was sprung. A vast ditch had been dug into the earth across the field, and the first rows of skeletons fell in with a loud clamor. The ditch soon became so filled with bones, that the next ranks marched right over and kept coming.

Noira's scowl deepened at this development, though it did not surprise her -- it was not the first time she had seen soldiers march over the dead at war. She focused on where the skeletons seemed to be funneling, a few paths where the approach was easier and their numbers were thicker, pulled her hand down slowly through the air as if yanking a heavily weighted chain... then pointed out. The ground beneath them solidified into metallic stone that flashed orange before it exploded, scattering the undead and leaving a deep, smoking crater. She grinned at her own handiwork, in spite of the situation, and the fact that it was likely she had gotten someone's attention with that spell.

"Any soldiers you can spare, to the east wall! Anyone that can fire a bow, move up! Make room!" Gren directed traffic along the narrow path on the wall as more Rangers ran forward to bolster their ranks. Noira's spells did indeed attract attention. Some of the sorcerers nearest to the wall were frantically pointing at the source of the attacks. Glowing fireballs formed over their heads, and the deadly missiles began sailing towards the wall.

Two fizzled out early in their trajectory, blood trickling out of Noira's nose from the effort as she tore both hands through the air, but that left two incoming. "Get--!" she started, but there wasn't even time to finish. She grabbed a hold of Gren's arm to throw him down on the ramparts next to her as she threw herself flat, as one fireball burst over the roof of one of the buildings, shattering shingles and enveloping it in flame -- and the other burst against the walls right next to them. Flame seared over the top, scorching and splintering timbers and leaving the beginnings of a gap. Some Rangers threw themselves to the side or took cover, but others were not so lucky.
Noira's ears were ringing. She felt painful heat on her shoulder and patted the flames out on her armor, and lifted her head to look at Gren.

Not even realizing the fireball was coming, he landed on the rampart hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The ringing in his ears momentarily disoriented him, and when he got his bearings he saw that his cloak was on fire. Hurriedly he ripped it off and threw it over the wall so he didn't get burned any worse than he had. His back felt sore and singed, but he was alright otherwise. He smiled at Noira as he tried to stand, but he was distracted by the assault going on below.

"To the wall! Fill the gap!" Westerguard, holding a studded mace, was leading a cluster of Rangers up to the newly formed breach, bashing at anything undead that got near him.

Good, he was still alive! Good, Noira thought. She crawled to peer over the edge of the rampart, where Westerguard and his Rangers were rushing to throw back the assault. "Miella, tell them to barricade the breach on my mark!" She heard a 'yes, lieutenant!' over the fading ringing in her ears as she picked herself up, dragging herself up to peer over the wall. She dared a glance back at the Healing House, where the flames had mysteriously -- vanished, leaving only missing shingles and scorch marks. Encouraged by this miracle, the battlemage turned back to the threat of the horde that had surged forward to the breach, and swiped her hand as if she was knocking down a deck of cards as she cried, "Now!" The air hummed and a half dozen undead fell sideways away from it, and as Westerguard and the Rangers nearby dispatched the few that were closer, the burly men she had recruited earlier surged forward to barricade the breach.

Gren was still wobbly on his feet, but he managed to make his way over to the area where the breach had occurred. Grabbing a bow, he fired flaming arrows into the skeletons as the others shored up the hole. Just as Westerguard had pushed the last of the enemy out of the Compound, Gren could hear a strange series of trumpets from the north. Looking to the trees, he saw brightly robed sorcerers and sorceresses waving an orange banner with a black crow in the middle. A high pitched chanting emanated from the group, and a series of flaming magic missiles began to shower the undead horde. A different kind of chanting could be heard to the south, and Gren turned to see the blue banner with a white cedar that represented the students of the White Cedar Academy. A bluish magical shield was erected over them, while they attacked with white fire of their own.

"Miella!" ("Yes, lieutenant!") The battlemage ordered the girl to a recently unmanned part of the wall as the first volley of spells struck the undead army. The Rangers loosing arrows seemed to be timing volleys to coincide with the next barrage of magic missiles, and Noira joined in, holding nothing back now. Every ten seconds there was another burst of starfire, gravity displacement, or a concussive blast out on the battlefield, effectively acting as artillery to supplement the withering fire from the Rangers and mages.

Some of the black robed sorcerers realized they were defeated, and being attacked from three sides, they began to run for the eastern forest. Left leaderless, the skeleton army lacked direction, and shuffled about in front of the wall as the Ranger's two allies pressed closer, their magical barrages doing their destructive work. It took time to fell the last of the horde, but eventually the battlefield changed from one of endless shifting skeletons to a field of smoking bones and craters.

By the end of it Noira was covered in soot and dripping with sweat, her magic exhausted by the grim work of decimating an army. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as her adrenaline was slow to wear off after the last skeleton was felled, and she could taste blood in her mouth from where she'd bit her tongue in a tense moment of battle. "How do you fare, Captain Blockman?" she asked as Miella wisely pressed a waterskin into her hands. She drank greedily.

Gren was just as soot stained and weary as Noira was. The back of his shirt had been burned away by the fireball, but his skin had not been too badly damaged. Holding a cudgel he had picked up, he ran his fingers through his hair and surveyed the results of the day's battle. "I'm alive. Tired. But hey, I can't complain."

Westerguard was nearby, nudging one of the broken skeletons with his mace, when a sorceress wearing a bright red, yellow, and orange gown glided up to him. She looked to be in her fifties, and her grey hair lay straight and down her back.

"I trust you are unharmed, Mighty General." Her voice was melodious and concerned.

Westerguard grunted and laid his mace on his shoulder. "I wouldn't say I'm unharmed, but I'm probably alive thanks to you, Lady Larette."

"I am always at your disposal. Tell me, how fares Perrigan?" Larette asked.

"He was hurt in the ambush, still sleeping it off. I'll tell him of your concern, unless you'd like to stay and tell him yourself."

Lady Larette hesitated, pulling her hand from Westerguard's shoulder. "No. Perhaps it’s best if we go."

"Come, Lady Larette, we will be in need of your expert counsel", Westerguard replied, in an uncharacteristically gentle tone of voice.

Noira watched the exchange between Westerguard and Lady Larette with some interest... then clapped the incredulous looking Miella on the shoulder and climbed down from the ramparts. She brushed past a few Rangers on her way towards Yolene's, then turned back to call out: "Come, Gren! Let us find Izira -- and perhaps together we can find out what in the nine hells we are supposed to do next."

[Gren Blockman]

With such a large gathering of people pressed into the Ranger's Headquarters, they had to find a bigger room than Perrigan's office to have their meeting. The Cafeteria had to be used as a makeshift auditorium. The rows of benches and tables were filled with grey cloaked Rangers, orange robed sorcerers, and students from the Academy. Standing in front of the kitchen and chow line were Westerguard, with his arms crossed, Perrigan, freshly bandaged, Larette, standing calmly next to Perrigan, and Arillon, the portly, white eyed Master of the White Cedar Academy. Gren and the other Captains were seated nearby.

Westerguard coughed into his hand, and started the meeting. "Ladies and Gentleman, through the well-timed help of our Allies, new and old, we have weathered this particular storm. Unfortunately, our enemy is not yet fully defeated. We still do not know who they are, what their numbers are, or what they plan to do next. We therefore need to create a plan of action, now, while we're fully mobilized and the momentum is on our side."

Noira stood near the front, leaning against a support beam with her arms folded, staring critically at the general as he described the situation. She looked left and right, first; she’d participated in the battle, certainly, but if there was a Ranger who’d chime in first...

Gren gulped and put his hand up like he was in the classroom.

"For Christ sake, Gren, just spill it", Westerguard said.

Gren turned slightly red and stood up. "General . . . sir . . . uh . . . “he slightly turned around, seeing all the people in the room, staring at him, and he soldiered on, "I think I recognize who our enemy is. The black robed sorcerers, leading an army of skeletons, it looks like the necromantic cult from The House That Hope Forsake."

Westerguard narrowed his eyes at Gren. "That was years ago. And they're on the other side of the forest. What they hell would they want with Brallin?"

Gren nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "They did say they were formulating a plan to get back at us. Maybe they thought if they took over Brallin's territory, we wouldn't see it coming."

Westerguard frowned, but rolled it over in his mind. "That is certainly a possibility. Although I get the feeling it’s more complicated than that."

Gren quickly sat down again.

"The way I see it, we have two options. Option 1, we can all go in, guns blazing, and nip this whole thing in the bud. Problem is, we've got no idea what we're heading into. Or, Option 2, we can send a few scouting parties ahead to find out what's going on, and who or what we're dealing with. Both options have good and bad points."

"Or perhaps we could do both." Noira pushed off from the pillar slightly, lifting her chin as she looked between Gren and Westerguard. "As of this moment, the necromancers have a thousand less minions under their sway. We do not know what resources they have available, but it stands to reason the longer we wait, the more their numbers will recover. A small group of specialists with fresh horses could leave at first light while your army is gathering to march, visit this House, find out what they are doing, and reconvene with the army en route. It would give us the advantages that both plans present, gaining us intelligence while not sparing them a moment to ready themselves."

"The only problem with your plan, Lieutenant, is the House is to the west, while Brallin's territory is to the east. So I have no problem doing both, I just fear the group headed for the House will be wasting its time if the necromancers have set up their new headquarters in the Iron Grove", Westerguard replied, referencing the name of Brallin's headquarters.

"We do need to recon the House. Just to be certain. And as night closes around us, I do not want to leave the safety of our walls", Perrigan said. "If a group is going to the House, it goes without saying that we will need sorcerers to go with them."

Arillon stepped forward, his milky white eyes sweeping over those assembled. "I do not wish my students to be in harm's way any more than they need to be. So I volunteer my personal services, along with Shann, to go to the House. My students can return to the Academy in the meantime."

Larette spoke up, "If Arillon wishes, my Order can then follow the Rangers into Brallin's territory in support." Perrigan nodded, "That seemed like a good start."

"How many miles to either place?" Noira asked.

"Ten or fifteen miles, depending on the route you take, to Brallin's territory, to the east. The House . . . probably a good thirty to the west", Perrigan replied.

"It would take us at least a day to ride there and back to the Headquarters, and that is if there are no enemies there." Gren said. "But if we went on horse, we should catch up with the main army on the second day or so."

"Lady Larette, Master Arillon, with respect," she bowed her head. "I am a battlemage by training, and so my experiences may have been different from other mages, but... do you march your students? Is that part of their training?"

Arillon turned his gaze to Noira. "My Academy is not intended for military training. Therefore my students are not well versed in military tactics. They can march if they have to."

Noira dipped her head again, this one more of a nod, though still respectful. "If a team has fresh horses, travels as far as they can tonight and resumes in the morning, we can be back at headquarters at the end of the day. If there are fresh horses then waiting for us here, perhaps we can catch up the army by nightfall tomorrow, if they are to leave for Brallin's territory tomorrow morning."

"A rather ambitious plan, considering we've been in battle all day. Believe me, I want to go after these bastards as soon as possible, but every person has their limits. Nevertheless, if we can get enough volunteers to go ahead with that, I'm all for it. Do I hear any volunteers?"

Noira, weary as even her arm felt in the motion, raised her hand. Then she looked at Gren.

Gren gave Noira a deer-in-the-headlights look for a moment, then raised his hand, knowing it was the right thing to do. Arillon and Shann raised their hands, as well as Haddon and Moriana. A few other Rangers volunteered also.

"Well, well, I'm pleasantly surprised", said Westerguard. "Captain", he continued, looking at Gren, "you'll be in charge of this little expedition. Unless she suddenly outranks you?" Westerguard finished by pointing his finger at Noira.

Noira gave the general a flat look. "It is your army, General Westerguard, if my advice gives you need of such a reminder."

Westerguard's face tightened considerably. His eyes shifted to Gren. "Take her and your team and get ready to depart . . . before I lose my temper."

Gren stood and quickly saluted, "Yes, General."

"The rest of you, make camp and sleep as best as you can. Tomorrow we'll be setting off for Brallin's woods." Glaring slightly at Noira, Westerguard stomped out of the Cafeteria.

Noira kept her expression neutral, even after he left. The only shift was a deftly arched eyebrow, Spock-worthy, as she moved over to Gren.

Gren tried to smile. "He's just on edge. We all are. Let's just get ready and do what we need to do." Or before there are any more confrontations he thought. He counted on his fingers how many people would be in the scouting party. "Ten people in the party. Do you think we'd need any more?"

"I do not think so. If we were any larger, we would be too slow," she shook her head. "And with ten, I believe we could afford to leave two or more to keep watch when we approach the House."

Gren nodded. "Alright then." Most of the other participants in the meeting had already left to prepare their night's lodging, leaving Gren & Noira with the other members of their team. "Everyone, get your gear and a mount. We'll meet by the front gate in an hour. Do you need anything for this trip, Noira?"

"A swift kick in the head for volunteering," was Noira’s immediate reply. "If you have iron lanterns, I can keep them illuminated and floating with magic." She stopped just outside of the cafeteria by a rain barrel, reaching in for water to splash across her face. "Are you off to see Izira?" she asked.
"Yeah, I need to do that. I know where I can find some lanterns, I'll bring them with me to the front gate. I'll see you in an hour." With a little salute, Gren headed off to find Izira.

Noira spent only a little of her hour selecting a horse, loading its saddlebag with her supplies. The rest of the time? She had found a broad, flat boulder near the front gate where the others was gathering, sat half-locus, and... meditated. Still filthy and exhausted from battle, the elfess shut her eyes and bowed her head, arms balanced lightly across her knees. Her ears twitched at the louder sounds around her, though that seemed to be the only hint that she remained aware of her surroundings...

The sounds of the battle had reached Izira where she kept her vigil over Perrigan. Her hand gently squeezing the older man’s each time she worried for Gren. Someone had cried out about the fire, alerting her to the danger. It grabbed her attention, and she had released Perrigan's hand to touch the wall. She felt it, the fire on the roof - hungry and alive. Instinct kicked in. She felt warmth from the ring on her finger and the life of the flames leaving the roof as they were drawn into her. With a shocked gasp, Izira pulled away from the wall. Only Perrigan was there and he was in no state to see the glow of her eyes. She took several deep breaths, fighting against the heat inside until she felt it quell. Izira nearly stumbled back into the chair, gently taking up Perrigan's hand again, with a delicate squeeze for her own grounding. She'd been drained, mostly asleep and still holding Perrigan's hand when Noira and Gren had returned. She was happy they were safe and sound but had little energy left to spare. Gren had escorted her to the room they'd taken up before, allowing her to rest. She had fallen asleep before her head touched the pillow, sleeping through the meeting.

Gren walked through the bustling street as the Rangers and others were preparing for slumber or gathering supplies for the morning march. Finding the room that he and Izira had shared after their mission together, he slowly pushed the door opened and entered. Seeing her laying on the bed, he smiled and quietly moved there, squatting down next to her. Lightly he laid a hand on her shoulder to wake her. "Izira."

Izira gave a soft sound of protest against waking, but she stirred. Sleepy eyes fluttered open to look at Gren, and a soft smile graced her features as she saw him.

"Sorry I had to wake you. I need to tell you how the meeting went. The Rangers and sorcerers are going to march into Brallin's territory tomorrow morning. And in an hour, I'm going with Noira to The House That Hope Forsake. We're going to check to see if any of the cult are there, and if they're planning anything."

She nodded, pulling herself up to sit as he spoke. Her hand set on his arm. "Thank you for waking me."

"I saw the House of Healing get hit with fire. I guess it's obvious that you took care of it since you're here, but are you alright?"

"I am" Her smile was one of reassurance. "Only... tired."

"That's good." He looked outside for a brief moment, then back. "I'll probably be riding all night, and get back sometime tomorrow. Arillon and Shann are going with us for magical backup. You can stay here at Headquarters if you like."

Izira felt momentarily foolish for how she'd been before. True, she had helped in a way when they went to get Bernard, but she had to admit she was ill equipped for battle. Another squeeze to his arm, "I think I must." Her smile warm and full of love, "Have I told you how amazing you are, Gren Blockman?"

Gren put his head down, smiling, not used to such compliments. He looked up with love in his eyes. "I think you're pretty amazing yourself, Izira Nyte." He took that strand of hair that always seemed to be falling in her face and tucked it behind her ear, as if reminding himself of one of her personal habits.

Leaning forward, she kissed him lightly. Her tired state kept it from being passionate, but did nothing to lessen the expression of love.

Feeling the gentle press of her soft lips helped galvanize his resolve to see his next mission through. He wanted so badly to curl up in the bed with her and sleep until morning. With a touch of his fingers to her face, he spoke again. "I'll be back before you know it."

Holding him briefly before she pulled away so that he could go. "I will see you when you return."

With that he stood, still looking at her and smiling. "I love you." He pulled his grey hood over his head.

"I love you too." Izira remained sitting up, watching Gren leave for his mission.

Gren then moved to the door on silent feet, and pushed his way back out into the crowded street.

[Gren Blockman]

Lugging three iron lanterns with him, Gren made his way to the gate.

Alfred was trotting next to him, disgruntled as usual. "I can't believe I have to go into that nasty, spooky part of the forest. They don't feed me enough for duty like this."

Gren sighed, "Westerguard needs all the mounts he can get. It's either you or I have to walk."

Alfred looked at Gren. "Yeah, so?" Gren gave him a look back.

Noira’s eyes slitted open at the sound of Gren’s voice and slowly approaching hooves. She was still a sweaty, filthy, slightly singed mess, but her gaze revealed a starlight hue, the result of gradually re-attuning to her connection to cosmic power. She stretched slowly as she stood, wincing at a sharp ache in her shoulder where she’d fallen hard in the battle. “How is Izira?” she asked, looking between Gren and the equipmemt she was checking. Bedroll, rations, quarterstaff, knives, climbing gear...

"Tired, but fine. I've noticed that whenever she uses her power she becomes both weary and hungry. Is that normal for magic users?"

"I could put away the better part of a boar," Noira said with a smile, “but, as my training sergeant used to say, 'hunger distracts us from fear.' I meditated," she added, placing a few things behind the saddle of her horse and tightening a strap, leaning up with some effort due to the awkward height, "and that helps me. I do not know that it would do the same for her, however."

"Something to think about when we get back", Gren offered, while being optimistic about their mission at the same time. As they were talking, the other members of their party slowly filed up with their mounts. Gren climbed onto Alfred's back. "Alright then, if we're already, let's get this job done." Gren waved to the gatekeeper, Grace, and the doors swung open for them.

"I have good eyes for the darkness, but you know the way. Shall I fall in behind you?" she asked Gren as she maneuvered her horse through the gate and up alongside him, trailing a few feet behind.

"That's fine, Noira. Don't sell yourself short, we're going to need all the eyes we can get where we're going." Gren led the way up the main path towards the wooden bridge. Once they crossed over it, he bore west, heading for the Northwest Hills. Dusk had already fallen and soon it would be night. "You said something about the lanterns, I think we're going to need them at this point." Gren held one of them up as an example for Noira.

"Of course, Captain." Now that they were underway, on a mission with Rangers under his command, Noira’s manner of address for him changed. She was a mercenary here -- sort of -- but he was still in charge. As they slowed the horses and found a good spot to stop just off the path, the elfess went through the quick work of holding each lantern in her gauntleted hands, bowing her head against them... and imbuing them with a glimmering essence that held them aloft. One, two, three floated out ahead of the procession, catching them within their halo of flickering light, and she smiled as she levitated them up and down with a wave of her fingers. "If we encounter anything hostile or suspicious along the road, I can ensure that we see what we are shooting -- and more importantly, that we do not put any hooves through holes in the ground."

"Well that's good to know", Gren nodded and smiled at Noira's handiwork.

"A rather impressive spell indeed", Arillon said, nodding his approval as well.

The group continued on through the forest, the lanterns proving their worth as they dodged tree limbs and pits in the narrow track.

"So how do we get to this House, Gren?" Arillon said after a few miles.

Gren hesitated for a few moments before answering, "Through the Forest of Bones."

"Oh, I've heard of that place. Horrible", answered Arillon.

"Hey, it was no picnic for us either", Haddon replied, "I almost became a meal for some demon from who-the-hell-knows where."

Noira cut a look back at Haddon with eyebrows raised, but only a moment -- the lanterns and the road ahead commanded most of her attention. "How close will we get to the Forest of Bones before we make camp?"

"Hopefully as close as possible. I don't want to get stuck in there in the dark, but I want to be near enough to the House that we can be there early in the morning. Hey, Haddon, wasn't there a hunter's shack near there?"

Haddon thought for a moment. "Oh yeah, Old Man Wayburn's shack. It should be enough to hold all of us. If we sleep on the floor that is."

"Alright, we'll head there."

Noira had no further question or remark to this, nodding her assent and falling in, maintaining her position as second rider. Though after some minutes, as they navigated a turn that required them to slow, she hung back slightly to be nearer to Haddon. "Ranger Haddon, this demon... could you describe it for me?"

Haddon rubbed his bald head and thought. "Well, I didn't quite see the whole thing. You see, I was strapped to this table, and the cultists wanted to make a sacrifice out of me. I guess I looked plump enough to make a good meal, haw haw. Anyway, they opened this portal and all these purple tentacles went shooting out towards us. Luckily Gren and Mori were there to save me."

"Tentacles, you say. How large?" she said, unable to suppress a hint of a smile, anticipating the embellishments of a tall tale.

"They had to be twenty feet thick, right Mori?" He said, looking at Moriana.

Moriana gave him a look and held her hands three feet apart.

"They were thicker than that! I about got crushed to death!"

Moriana shook her head.

"Well they may not have been thick, but they sure were long. We were down in an underground cavern and they reached all the way to the House's door."

Moriana had to nod yes at that one.

Noira paled and forced her smile a little wider, dipping her head as she glanced between Haddon and Mori. "That is... good to know, thank you." The path straightened, and she urged her mount on, resuming her position in formation. The lanterns bobbed along with them, lighting the path and their surroundings. It made quite a beacon, but she reasoned that they were moving quickly and -- if anything was hunting a group this large, at this hour? It would find them regardless. Better that they see it, too.

The forest was eerily quiet that night. The stars could barely be seen through the leafy canopy of the forest, and dark shadows seemed to be all around them. Gren led them down the winding track with the knowledge of someone who had followed that path many times before. The other members of the party peered deep into the woods, but saw nothing. After miles passed by, Gren led them up a grassy path that stopped in a cluster of oaks. In this grove was a well weathered wooden shack with a brick chimney. Gren raised his hand for the others to stop, while he and Alfred moved up to scout it out. Gren dismounted and peeked into the windows. Then he took his staff and slowly pushed the door open with it. Glancing inside, and seeing nothing, he waved the others forward.

Noira peered suspiciously at the surrounding forest, but found a place to tie off her horse with everyone else's mounts with a decent spot to graze, gave the mare a few pats, grabbed what she needed from the saddle and proceeded inside. She peered around the interior as she asked Gren, "Are we taking shifts, Captain?"

"That would be a good idea. I'll take the first one. If you guys want to eat something, now would be the time. I want to get a quick start in the morning." Moving outside, Gren found a stump to sit on and stared into the surrounding forest. Haddon, Moriana, and the others didn't argue, and began filing into the shack, finding a spot to unroll their blankets to get some sleep.

"I can take or help with the last two -- I take little rest," Noira volunteered, and figured the others would fill in as necessary. She unrolled her blanket wherever she could find a space. It would be a cozy fit, but she had slept in worse. Then she settled down to eat dried rations, slake her thirst, and sink slowly into a sleep-like trance...



May 14, 2018





The night passed uneventfully. A few hours before morning, Noira would feel a rough shoving. When she opened her eyes, she would see the drow, Moriana, pointing at her, then jabbing her thumb outside to get her to take the last watch.

The elfess nodded in understanding to the drow and took the last watch. She sat outside, indian-style on her own cloak to keep her off of the slightly damp earth, alternating between smoking her pipe and refreshing herself with water while she watched and listened. When the others roused, she was still out there, serene but awake and watching the first rays of the rising sun filtering slowly through the forest.

Haddon yawned noisily as he walked out the door. The others followed soon after as the sun rose that morning. Gren spoke up, "Let's hurry on, everyone, we're almost there." Mounting their steeds, the others fell into line as they readied to resume their trek.

Noira made ready quickly, falling into the old habits of soldiering with a familiarity that would unsettle her were she to stop and think about it. "Will we be in the same formation as last night, Captain?" she asked as she climbed up onto her horse with a grunt of effort. While she was a capable enough rider, she was still very short for an elf! At some point during her watch she seemed to have taken the time to braid her own hair, an effective battle braid that would keep it out of the way better than a bun. The chopsticks she usually wore were tucked into her belt, within easy reach should she need them -- for whatever purpose.

"That'll be fine. We'll probably have to go single file through the Forest of Bones. Everyone try to keep as quiet as possible from here on out. We don't know if there are any spies around. Watch out for everything." Gren led them back down the grassy path and onto the narrow track. The beautiful oaks that inhabited that part of the forest soon became grey, rotting trunks that lifted bare limbs to the sky. The sound of bugs and crickets were all that could be heard as they moved deeper into the dead territory. The land soon became marshy as the forest gave way into swampland. Algae and vines were everywhere.

Noira scowled at the changes but kept any remarks about it to herself, mindful of the noise she was making. Within her own head, though, was a running monologue of elvish swearwords involving rotting marsh, mosquitoes, and the accursed necromancers that willingly suffered both of them. She kept her eyes on their surroundings, freed from any attention she had to spare for the lanterns the night before, and her eyes glittered with a brighter starfire than she had even begun the siege with -- perhaps as bright as Gren had ever seen it. She navigated her mount through the difficult terrain as best she could, often requiring two hands on the reins; but whenever she could get away with it, she kept one hand free, ready to fling destructive magic at whatever creeped out of the muck at them.

Gren used the same path he had used four years earlier, skirting around a muddy lake and into a cluster of low hills. As they neared a particular ridge, Gren raised his hand for them to halt. Dismounting, he waved them onward to the crest, where he crawled on his belly to the top. Looking over, they would see the black, broken down stone house. It looked large enough to be a small castle. Vines and moss crawled over its walls. There were candles in the dark windows. The skulls of various animals could vaguely be seen cemented here and there between the wall's stones. It wasn't the House that drew Gren's attention, however, as much as the commotion in its wrecked courtyard. Black robed necromancers were standing here and there, lifting incantations to a hideous creature which stood in their midst. It was the skeleton of a large dragon. Its wings of bone beat as if it was trying to fly, while the eye sockets of its skull pulsed with red colored energy. Gren turned pale and turned to whisper as loud as he dared, "Bone Dragon!"

Noira hissed a quiet breath at the sight, and her eyes flared brighter as she beheld the dark ritual to return and transfer power to the skeletal dragon, its ruby-like eyes pulsing ever brighter... The elfess took a quick look back at her companions, then slid up close to Gren to whisper to him, "They are empowering it! The longer this goes on, the stronger it becomes, and then they may unleash it for some nefarious end. We can ride back and warn the others to prepare as they will, but I fear this will be a devastating foe against a large army -- and worse yet, may reach them before us, if that is what they intend!" She looked again at the Rangers, at Moriana, Haddon, and the others... then added another quiet whisper to Gren, "If we are smart, if your arrows strike the necromancers first and take them by surprise, together we may bring down the dragon. I expect it to be a hard and deadly battle, but otherwise it may do more damage." She averted her eyes briefly, pained by the choice presented, then looked to Gren. He was the Captain... so the choice of life and death fell to him. "What do you propose we do?"

[Gren Blockman]

With Gren gone, Izira had fallen asleep again and slept through the night and early morning. It was her stomach that woke her, growling with need. She pushed up into a sitting position on the bed. Her thoughts jumbled for a moment. Gren and Noira were gone - off on a mission. She was at the Rangers Headquarters. She was also starving. Distractedly, Izira tidied her clothing and fixed her hair before leaving the room. Watching her surroundings, she moved out into the open air. Quickly her attention turned to the direction of the cafeteria.

The Headquarters seemed eerily quiet that morning. The vast majority of Rangers and sorcerers had left earlier, beginning their offensive eastward. Nothing greeted Izira except some wispy morning fog. As Izira moved past the House of Healing, she would be able to see Yolene lugging a crate of bandages through its door. She was wearing her usual white dress, except it was spotted with the blood of the Rangers she had been attending to. After setting the crate inside, she stepped back out wiping her brow, looking tired and hungry.

Izira's stomach persisted, but her manners were not overcome. She smiled seeing Yolene, "It appears I am not alone here."

Yolene looked up, surprised. Her face was a bit drawn, and drops of blood still clung to it. But she brightened a bit as she saw Izira. "Good morning! Whoa, what a day and a night! I haven't been that busy in quite a while!"

"You certainly look to have had your hands full." She took in Yolene's blood covered appearance. "Is there anything I can do to assist?"

Yolene sighed and pushed her pale blond hair out of her face. "No, I should be done. For now, anyway. My patients are still sleeping, and they need to rest. I was just going to go to the Cafeteria and find something to eat, would you like to come with me?"

Izira's stomach growled loud enough to be heard. She looked apologetic, touching her midsection. "Yes, please. I am ravenous."

Yolene giggled. "That sounded like an orc growling! Come on, let's go!" Yolene seemed to have regained her abundant energy because she went skipping ahead of Izira singing. "I'm going to have pancakes and eggs and berries and coffee and cream and sugar . . . .”

Izira followed behind, wondering how much food would be available. Perhaps Eamond would remember her from last time? Momentarily, she deeply missed her well stocked kitchen.

Twirling up to the Cafeteria door, Yolene banged it open and called out. "Eamoooond! I'm huuuuungry!"

Eamond was removing plates from one of the many benches. It looked like several hundred hungry soldiers had eaten and ran with all the dishes, silverware, and random food thrown around. "What? Didn't I just feed you a few hours ago?" Eamond protested.

Yolene giggled. "Yes, but that was my dinner from the night before, silly! I'm hungry again! La la la . . . “Dancing past the rows, she went up to the buffet counter and peered at the trays of food. “Where’s all the pancakes?"

Eamond grumbled and waddled back behind the counter, depositing his stack of plates. "Now hold your horses! I can't do fifteen things at once!" Lifting a big tray loaded with brown, steaming flapjacks, he set it into the empty slot. There were still scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, and biscuits left.

"Ooooh, you made biscuits! I want a biscuit!" Yolene chirped, snagging one and stuffing it in her mouth without even bothering to get a plate first.

Following Yolene in, Izira took in the cafeteria. Had her hunger been less insistent, she might have started to help clean the moment she entered. As it was, she could think of little else but food. "Eamond. Nice to see you again." She quickly took up a plate and started to load it with everything she could.

"Good morning, good morning, good morning." By the time Izira had made it to the buffet line, Eamond was already ambling back out to clear some more dishes away. "Just take it easy with the maple syrup. Those darn sorcerers were practically drinking it right out of the bottle. Buncha ungrateful . . . “A string of muttering followed as Eamond filled up another tray of dirty plates.

"Thank you Eamond, everything looks delicious." This was better fare than she'd found with Gren the last time. Izira picked up a biscuit, eating it with one hand as she carried her loaded plate to a table with the other.

Yolene being the curious and choosy sort had picked through the remaining food, finding the best of what was left, and her plate rivaled that of Izira's. Sitting down next to Izira at the table, she had a biscuit in either hand and was chewing happily. "Oh, these biscuits are so good! They're even better with grape jam!" Somehow she was able to talk and eat both at the same time.

Izira nodded, not able to eat and talk at the same time - at least not with the vigor in which she was applying to eating this morning.

Being the talkative type, Yolene was happy to talk for the both of them. "That's the one good thing about Headquarters is there is plenty of food! I mean, I'm never going to starve, I'll tell you that!" She took a knife and spread grape jam all over a pancake, rolled it, and stuffed it in her mouth as if it were a burrito. "Eamond is always grouchy but he's a good cook and this place is always cleaned up and ready to go for the next meal!"

"Mhm." Muffled agreement from around another mouthful of food. She looked around, taking another bite. Yolene gave Izira an idea and she turned a pancake into a sort of breakfast taco with eggs and bacon.

Yolene's eyes widened at Izira's idea. "Oh, I want to do that too!" She tried to hold a pancake like a taco shell and scoop the eggs inside, although being the vegetarian type, she used some strawberries instead of bacon. Yolene bit into it, and it seemed she got more food on her plate than in her mouth, but she giggled regardless. "Delicious!"

Quickly done with one, Izira constructed another with sausage, bacon, and eggs. Only a small amount escaped, though the bits did not remain on her plate for long.

"Boy, last night it was just one injured person after another. I don't know how I kept them all bandaged and hydrated. Maybe I could get Perrigan to let Crawford become my full time helper, or maybe I could get a bigger house! I could have my own hospital!" She was nibbling on another biscuit and staring out the window dreamily, picturing in her mind herself as a Chief Physician.

More nodding from Izira. "Mhm." She went through the last of the food on her plate, now able to talk again. "Would Crawford wear a similar outfit?" Smiling, she stood up and went for seconds.

"Crawford in a dress?" Yolene giggled at the idea. "No, but I could picture him in one of those handsome male nurse outfits. With the button down white shirt and pants. He could hold my instruments when I have to perform surgery and dab my forehead with those little white napkins." More sighing and staring, not even aware Izira is back at the buffet line again.

A biscuit in her mouth on the way back, Izira sat down, swallowing the bite before talking. "Is Crawford out with the other rangers?"

"Yeah, Westerguard led them out this morning. Perrigan wanted to go, but Westerguard told him to stop it and get back in bed. It's funny you should mention Perrigan and Westerguard", which Izira totally didn't, "but did you notice the way that older lady sorceress was looking at them? The one who was in charge, Lady Larette? She was looking at Perrigan, and Perrigan was looking at her, and Westerguard was looking at her, and she was looking at Westerguard. I think something's going on and I'm going to get to the bottom of it!"

"Lady... Larette?" Having missed the meeting, Izira hadn’t met the woman Yolene spoke of. Izira put some butter and honey on a pancake, making another breakfast wrap.

"Yes! She was the leader of the Order of the Flaming Crow! Isn't that a weird name for a guild? I mean, have you ever SEEN a flaming crow? I haven't! What's that supposed to mean? Anyway, she's got long grey hair and was dressed in a long orange robe." Yolene put on a thinking face and pointed a strawberry at Izira. "I bet they're like old friends. Like OLD old friends! I don't know many people their age anyway. I always wondered why Perrigan was single. He's so handsome and gentlemanly. I mean, Westerguard, I could understand, he's so grumpy all the time."

A soft chuckle from Izira, she took a moment, finishing another bite. "Some like that strong... moody type?"

Yolene wrinkled her nose. "Maybe, but I don't see how. I know! Maybe Westerguard's all mad because Larette liked Perrigan more than him! Well, no, because Perrigan and Westerguard are still best friends." Yolene pinched her chin, thinking.

"I wonder what Westerguard was like as a young man... Crawford's age." She put the thought out there and went back to eating, though her mind still tried to think of a younger version of the man.

"I don't know, I can't even ask him about the weather without him getting mad. Why are you asking me all these questions, don't you have something to do?" Yolene pitched her voice a few octaves lower, imitating Westerguard.

Another chuckle from Izira, "A good impression. Do you have others?"

Yolene giggled and stood up, lifting a plate up with one hand like a waiter and waddling back and forth like Eamond. "Work Work Work! How can they eat so many pancakes?"

Izira chuckled with more amusement at Yolene's impression of Eamond. She thought, then suggested, "Haddon?"

Yolene laughed harder, and misunderstood Izira’s request as a guess of her previous imitation. "No! That's . . . . Eamond!" While Yolene had done her impression, Eamond had ambled up behind her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" He asked grumpily.

Yolene turned red in the face. "Eamond! I was just joking!"

"Oh, REALLY? Just a big joke, huh?"

"Uhhhh . . . .”

"Well, since we're having so much fun today, why don't you help me wash all those dishes?"

Yolene sighed and hung her head.

Izira covered her mouth, missing that Eamond had snuck up. "I would be happy to assist as well. Running an inn, I am used to the clean-up." Her second plate was empty. She could at least graze the buffet and clean at the same time now.

"Well maybe this day won't be a total loss after all. Come on, those dishes won't wash themselves." As Eamond moved back into the kitchen, Yolene sullenly followed after like a girl that got in trouble at school.

Picking up her plate, along with others, Izira followed the pair - grabbing another biscuit as she passed the buffet.

[Gren Blockman]

Back at the House That Hope Forsake . . .

"Your plan is as good a plan as any. Remember we have Arillon and Shann here. Can you three together distract the dragon for long enough that the Rangers can take the necromancers out?" Gren whispered back to Noira. The Bone Dragon shrieked and beat its skeletal wings as it was more and more infused with power.

"Yes. I can keep it grounded for a short time, which will make it easier for us to contend with it. Do we attack all at once?"

"If I may", interjected Arillon, "Bone Dragons are notorious for possessing strong magic. I suggest myself and Miss Noira here attack, while Shann defends us with a magical barrier." Shann nodded his agreement to the plan.

"That sounds good to me. Once the magic starts flying, it's up to us Rangers to take those cultists out. Try to aim for the head or heart. Everyone ready your bows. Each one of you pick a single target before we start to maximize our opening attack”, Gren said. The Rangers all crawled forward into firing positions, trying to draw their bows and arrows as quietly as possible. "Noira? Arillon? We go on your mark."

Noira dipped her head in deference to Arillon as she maneuvered into a crouch, getting herself a better line of sight on the dragon while leaving Shann and her impending barrier in her periphery. "I will be slamming it to the ground," she said through gritted teeth as she tensed her fingers in the air, shaking with the strain as her eyes darkened, then brightened, glittering with starlight. "Leaving it vulnerable to bursts of power... Ready...?" She hissed two breaths through her teeth, pulling slowly at something heavy in the air. "Now!"

She brought her hands down with as much force as she could muster at once, and the straining, shrieking dragon suddenly twisted into the air and slammed into the ground, its wings striking the earth, pinned by shimmering waves of force. "Nnh!" Noira stifled something behind her gritted teeth as she focused on keeping that power up.

As Noira held the dragon down with the force of her spell, Arillon's milky white pupils suddenly lit aflame. He pointed his hands at the dragon and waves of Holy energy poured forth, rolling over its skeletal body. The dragon shrieked in rage at the magical combo and struggled to flap its wings. Simultaneously, when Noira screamed "Now", the Rangers let loose a wave of arrows that fell upon the black robed cultists. Five were killed outright and the other two were flailing their arms and struggling to pull the missiles from their wounded bodies. As the Rangers readied another volley, they could see one cultist had reacted quickly enough to fire an energy bolt at them. Shann was ready, raising a white shimmering shield that deflected the incoming bolt.

"Keep firing! Keep firing!" Gren called, no longer worried about how far his voice travelled. A few of the cultists tried to fire back, but the arrows began to rain down upon them with deadly accuracy.

Noira's body was as tense as a knot but her arms were no longer shaking, locked firmly where she wanted them to be, the same as the dragon -- for now. She spat a curse at the beast in Elvish, something about its extraction involving an iguana and a drunken dare, and lashed out with her left hand. Something tore in the air, and with a horrible hiss and crackle of energy the Void appeared, snapping across the distance until it coalesced into a tiny black bead next to its head. She dared a split-second glance aside at Arillon and Shann and hissed breathlessly, "We can try to banish it...!"

Most of the cultists were either dead or dying at that point. Sensing the opening of the void, Arillon and Shann switched spells. "Let's send him back to where he came from!" Gathering their energy, they brought a stormy gust of high winds onto the dragon, trying to push it into the void. Still struggling against the weight of the spell, the bone dragon could only hiss and claw at the earth as the powerful winds then lifted it into the air, buffeting it around in a tornado like funnel. "Hold on, Shann!" Arillon cried as both men now had rivulets of sweat running down their foreheads due to their efforts.

However much she had been holding back, Noira let out a scream now when she collapsed the gravity spell, focusing all of her effort into that little black bead in the next split-second. It tore into two ugly patches of the Void, but there was another cry from her as she braced her arms together and they became one, pulling at the skeletal creature as Arillon and Shann's powerful winds buffeted it back.

"One last push! NOW!" Arillon and Shann turned their spell from a whirling tornado to a sharp burst of wind that shoved the bone dragon into the inky patch of Void before it could even let out a last cry of defiance. The two men fell down sharply at their exertions once the dragon vanished from view.

Noira fell to a knee as she collapsed the tear in reality, though not before it sucked up most of a dying necromancer. Oops. She was sweating much as they were, veins in her forehead throbbing away as she took deep, rapid, gasping breaths.

Gren saw the head and arm of the dying necromancer fall to the ground, and he turned green, holding his hand to his mouth. Arillon and Shann groaned and rolled on the ground until they got into a sitting position.

Haddon peeked his head up and looked around. "Holy crap, I think we did it."

Slowly they began to stand, surveying the scene of battle. Haddon tried to grab Gren and lift him up, but Gren put his finger up, saying he needed a minute to settle his stomach.

In the space of a minute, the elfess regained her breath. She was still tired and her heartbeat was still loud and swift in her ears, but she could at least speak again, though there was still a glimmer of that terrible power in her eyes. "That dracolich... please tell me those were merely red gleams in its eyes... and not rubies?"

"Rubies?" Arillon had made it to his feet as well. "It just looked like dark energy to me." Shann nodded in agreement.

"Maybe we should go down and see what they were up to", said Gren. "It doesn't look like they expected us to catch them. I want to make sure we have swept this place clear before we go back to Headquarters."

Noira nodded her agreement and proceeded down with the others. "I may be collecting a few things from the dead," she informed them, kneeling to crouch by the first fallen necromancer she saw to weigh his coin purse and search his body. "As I am a volunteer... I am not being paid for this... so, it only seems fair," she added distractedly, wiggling off a couple of silver rings once she had determined that they were mundane.

"Eh . . . uh, yeah." Gren said, not wanting to argue. The Rangers filed down the hill, with their bows at the ready. Inspecting the courtyard, they found no one else alive, so they eased up to the massive wooden doors of the House. Gren motioned Haddon and Moriana to open them, and with a loud creaking sound, they pushed the doors inwards. The foyer was just as dark as Gren remembered it from four years ago. There was a magical pentagram made with black tiles on the granite floor, and candles lining the walls. "We need to check the cavern", Gren said, as they moved down the main hallway.

Noira only had time to search two of the bodies before the others had moved on to the door, and she hurried along to join them. She could come back for the rest, hopefully, but she had pocketed enough coins for a week of rent and a few trinkets to pawn for her trouble. She looked at the lit candles with suspicion and kept one hand out, ready to lash out if the need arose.

The hallway featured more of the skulls that the outer wall did, some of them horned. It ended in a series of stairs that went down into the ground, which then opened into a vast cavern. The Rangers had taken torches out of their packs, and the flames danced in the air, as well as the shadows on the stalagmites. They came to the top of a ridge and there was a fire pit with a lone figure in a red robe, kneeling at an obsidian altar. Behind the altar was a large brass door, ornately carved with inscrutable magical runes. It seemed the figure was praying, his body swaying back and forth. Some of the Rangers notched arrows and advanced with bows at the ready.

"Have you completed the re-energization of our pet? Hmm?" The robed figure stopped its swaying and turned to look at them, obviously thinking they were his comrades. He turned to show his face, his pupils were completely black, and he sported a black goatee and a cruel smirk on his face. His face soon fell as he saw it was not his friends but Rangers pointing arrows in his face.

"Don't twitch a muscle, pal. Stand up and put your hands in the air", Haddon said.

Something dark, hissing and ugly coalesced above Noira's gauntleted hand as she scowled at the figure. She also fanned out a bit. Clustering could be dangerous.

The man's surprised expression was quickly wiped away, and the sneer resumed. Slowly lifting his hands in the air, he stood and turned to face them. "Well. I honestly didn't see this coming. Congratulations, Rangers. It is not easy to defeat a Bone Dragon. But I see you have had help in the magical arts." His black eyes fell on Noira, Arillon, and Shann in turn. "Most displeasing. But a mere setback I can assure you."

"Who are you?" Gren asked, keeping his arrow levelled at the man's chest.

"Me? I'm nobody. I'm the least of your worries right now. You should be worried about your friends who are . . . oh, but I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Haddon advanced menacingly on the man, and lifted up a meaty fist. "You want me to beat some information out of him, Gren?"

Noira used a nasty elvish word to both describe the man and call his attention, and she maneuvered a little bit closer, sweeping her eyes quickly over where her feet were falling, then the altar and the brass door behind it. "I can boil his blood," she offered, aside, to Gren and Haddon.

"You could try." The man exposed two rows of yellow teeth in a mocking grin.

"Wait a minute", Gren put up his finger, then looked at Arillon. "Do you think you can get anything out of him?"

Arillon looked at Shann, the stepped forward. "As the gentleman says, I can certainly give it a try."

Gren nodded and stepped back, as Arillon and Shann moved forward. The red robed man gave the pair a bit of a quizzical look. Arillon's milky white pupils brightened and two beams of light shot forth, landing on the red robed man's forehead. The man merely blinked for a few moments, then his eyes went wide. He clutched his temples and his mouth dropped in a silent scream. He fell to his knees.

"Tell us where your compatriots are." Arillon intoned in an otherworldly voice.

The red robed man's jaw wavered, then he spoke. "The . . . Iron Grove . . . we have . . . . set a trap . . . aaahhhhh . . . " As he spoke, he lowered his hands to his chest, then suddenly pulled an ornate dagger from beneath his robes and plunged it into his own heart before he could speak any further.

Noira watched the man kill himself dispassionately, far more worried about this ambush, as it occurred to her: No time to loot after all. Maybe I can come back. "Can either of you speak with the dead?" she asked Shann and Arillon, because what a boon that would be.

Arillon glanced at the body. "We could . . . if he wanted to. He doesn't seem like the type that would want to talk to us though. Might be more trouble than he's worth."

"Mm." She dipped her head in understanding to Arillon. "Then we are better off denying information to any of his comrades that may return," she said, stepping forward with a cosmic flare of white flame in her hand, intending to turn his head to ash unless anyone objected.

Nobody stopped Noira, they stood by as she lit his head on fire. "We need to get back as quickly as possible. Lord only knows what they have waiting for us at the Iron Grove”, Gren said.

She only lingered long enough to get the fire going, a few seconds at most, before she was moving with the others. "I think we should consider dropping any gear we can when we reach our mounts," she said quietly to Gren as she joined his side, so that if an order came of it, it would be seen as coming from him. "It may help us travel faster. Pots and pans, climbing gear, lanterns..." She could think of ten or twenty pounds she could shed from her gear, personally.

"That's a good idea, but so it doesn't go to waste, let's leave it at Old Man Wayburn's shack, that way we can recover everything. There might be more cultists in the area and I don't want them getting their hands on it. Alright everyone, back to your mounts, and let's head for the shack." Turning from the obsidian altar, they moved back through the cavern, up the stairs, and out the door. Back in the light of the sun again, Gren mused aloud. "I wonder what they could have waiting at the Iron Grove."

[Gren Blockman]

Riding up to the gate of the Ranger's Headquarters, the ten members of the group entered and proceeded to the guardhouse. Gren dismounted and hurried into the building. Grace and a few others were there, guarding the compound until the main body returned. "Grace, we need to send an urgent message to Westerguard. Do you have a carrier pigeon available?" Gren asked her.

Grace shifted her helmet a bit and motioned Gren to follow her. Climbing up a ladder and onto the guardhouse roof, there were pigeon cages there. "What's your message? Keep it as simple as possible."

"House secured. Beware of trap at Iron Grove."

Grace scribbled the note on a slim piece of paper then opened one of the cages. "Is that my little Boooo-kie? Boooo-kie Booo-kie Boooo-kie?" Grace reached in and got the pigeon, scratching its head and stroking its feathers.

Gren got a weird look on his face. "Do we really have time for all that?"

"Be quiet Gren, you have to talk sweet to Boo-kie Boo-kie if you want him to send your message! You're a sweet little Boooo-kie aren't you?" Grace tied the note around the pigeon’s foot. "Now go find Westerguard, Booo-kie!" She flung the pigeon in the air, and in a flurry of feathers and flapping, the pigeon went off eastward. "See?" Grace said with a bright smile.

Noira was in the process of changing horses and refilling her canteen. She looked as tired and haggard as everyone else -- it had been a rough couple of days, and riding hard back to headquarters hadn't been easy. "Are there any enchanted scrolls or spell-stones that can be spared?" She called out to whoever was within range, not particularly concerned at the moment about seeming overbearing. "I have need of them if there are!"

A lanky, blonde half-elf was meandering by the guardhouse when he heard Noira. A series of tired blinks at her was followed by an answer. "Whoa. Hey. Chill, lady. Waaaay too early in the morning for that. Where'd everybody go, anyway?" He looked around with bleary eyes.

"To battle at the Iron Grove. I'm going to help kill whatever is trying to kill your comrades there," Noira said as she affixed a saddle. "So any scrolls or spell-stones that can be spared would be," she grunted with effort as she tightened a strap, “quite useful!"

The half-elf stared at the gate for a long moment as if it was all news to him. "Someone's trying to kill someone. Huh. Must've been asleep again. Name's Malcolm. Black Magic. And stuff. Yeah. Sure. Okay. Well, they must have let you in for a reason. No sense holding things up. You can come to my room. Take what you want." He motioned Noira into the compound with a lazy wave of his hand.

"Malcolm. Black Magic will do nicely," Noira said with an easy smile, looping her horse's reins around a post and following quickly after him to stock up.

Malcolm shuffled along the street, moving towards the east side of the Compound. There was a little red shack with a trail of smoke coming from a chimney. There were various piles of books, boxes, and junk cluttered by the door. Malcolm slowly pushed the door open, leading her inside. There was a desk that had a messy stack of papers all over it, and there was a rumpled, unmade bed in the corner. Staves, potions, and magical books were piled to the roof, in no discernible order. "Take what you want. No big deal. Whatever." Malcolm sat in the chair at the desk, tipping it back. Soon he was snoring gently as Noira searched for what she needed.

Soon enough she had sapped the little daily allotment of arcana from a couple of trinkets he kept in his room, quaffed two of his potions, and had a frayed red scroll tucked into her belt, bound with frayed black ribbon. She was still physically tired, but at least now she could bring more power to bear against whatever terrors awaited them at the Iron Grove. There was also a faint, shimmering trail of energy that followed after her right hand whenever she moved it, like it was slowed down and blurring. Best not to pay that too much mind for now. "I like Malcolm. Energetic young man," she quipped to Gren as she rejoined him and the others.

Gren was checking Alfred's hooves for any rocks he might have picked up when Noira returned. "Heh. Let me guess. He slept through the whole battle, didn't he?"

"I would worry how much firepower he could have brought otherwise... but he was not awake long enough for me to ask," Noira added with a bit of a grin, and a grunt as she struggled up into her saddle. No one laugh!

Gren wouldn't laugh, honest. "I know we're tired, everyone, but we've got to make it to the main army now. We can sleep when we do. Let's move on and finish this." Getting back on Alfred, the others followed suit. Soon they were riding back out the gate and down to the wooden bridge, where they made a sharp right as if going towards the ruins of Outpost Blue. The river sparkled in the midday sun, and birds could be seen flying in the air above them. "Did you get anything useful from Malcolm?" Gren asked Noira.

"Enough to recover my strength, in case they spring that trap or something else terrible before we rest... and a little bit of backup." She craned her head to indicate the scroll tucked into her belt near her back. "In case of emergencies," she added with what she hoped was a cheerful, helpful, not-at-all-alarming smile.

Gren gulped. He knew they were riding into danger and he wished he knew what it could be. Rather than going up into the hills, then stayed by the riverbank. The road was broad and flat, mostly dirt, and many footprints could be seen it in from the armies that had been marching. Here and there they could see a pile of bones, or a black robed corpse, that must have been left over from the invading force the day before. After several miles, they re-entered the forest. Tall, brooding pines towered over them as the day wore on into late afternoon. "If they got my message, they probably set up camp for the night at Deacon's Mill. It's wide enough of a clearing for all our troops. Let's hope nothing major has happened yet." As dusk approached, the pine forest broke and they could see a wide grassy clearing near the river. A farmstead was set near the riverbank, and an old mill stood there, its wheel absently spinning due to the current.
Campfires and tents could be seen beyond the farm buildings. "We made it", Gren said.

Noira nodded to him, relieved at the sight, but she had not been able to shake a sense of creeping dread for the entire journey. "How far is this place from the Grove?"

"I'd say only a few miles. This'll give us enough of a buffer so we can sleep tonight, plus take whatever precautions we need to in the morning." As they approached the camp, they saw grey cloaked sentries stationed. They asked Gren to halt, then pointed him to the main tent where Westerguard had set up his command center. "You guys can go find a place to sleep. Noira, you can come with me if you want."

Noira nodded as she trotted her horse alongside Gren. "I will do my best to offer information in a way that does not subvert your general's manly authority," she promised him, though it was hard to suppress the curl of a mischievous grin given how she had worded that.

Gren couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Yes, let's try to avoid a scene."

They approached the tent and entered the flap. Westerguard was standing at a table, leaning on it with both hands. He was looking over a map of the area they were currently in, and he was flanked by some of his Captains. He looked up when Gren and Noira entered. "Well, Captain Blockman and his plucky Lieutenant. I received your good news, and set up camp here for the night. We'll advance at dawn. Do you have any more detailed information for me?"

Gren swallowed and spoke. "Sir, we made it to the House early this morning. There were cultists there, and they had raised and were empowering a Bone Dragon. It looked like they were going to attack us from the west while their main army hit us from the east. Noira and the sorcerers took care of the dragon while the Rangers took out the cultists. We entered the House, and found their leader. All we got out of him was what we told you, about a trap waiting for us."

Westerguard looked at Gren for a moment then nodded. "Very well. I will sent scouts ahead to see if there is anything waiting for us between here and the Iron Grove. If they can, I want them to enter it and bring back as much information as possible."

Noira's eyebrows climbed, another Vulcan-like expression, at being described as plucky... but she stayed silent and observant for the exchange. Only when it was done did she follow up with a simple question: "Have any enemies been encountered on the way here?" She looked between the General, his Captains, and their route as marked on the map. Though she didn't miss a chance to look at the Iron Grove on it, either, taking note of as many of its features as she could.

"There were a few remnants. Easily brushed aside. But that doesn't mean they've been completely defeated. Here is the Iron Grove." Westerguard pointed his finger at it on the map, it looked like a village up in the tree limbs. The river bent around it, bordering it on the west, north, and east. "There is only one real approach, from the south. They have some kind of wall around the outer perimeter. It's been so long since any of us have actually been there, it could be different now."

"A stone wall?" she clarified.

"Made of logs, like ours. But that was years ago, like I said. Hopefully we can get some clarification from our scouts tonight."

Noira nodded. “So long as it is a physical barrier... I can bring down walls," she offered, and looked from him to Lady Larette and the other mages present. "It is what I was drilled for. And I can do it faster if there are others with me, especially any who can conjure fire or shape earth. I do not know if that would be of greatest use to you here," indicating the southern approach he had mentioned earlier, "or with a smaller force fording the river to cause a breach behind them."

"It would be. Not only for the walls, but for what is probably beyond them. It's not that I haven't thought about approaching over the river, but I feel we will be too exposed should their necromancers try to use magic on us." He tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "I don't believe we'll be able to make any concrete plans until our scouts return. I suggest we reconvene in the morning and plan our strategy then. In the meantime, we can all get some rest. It's been a long couple of days, and we will need our wits about us in the morning."

Noira took a small step back and inclined her head at what sounded like a dismissal, or at least the prelude to one, falling in with Gren whenever he exited.

Gren walked out of the tent with Noira and rubbed the back of his head. "I haven't slept in twenty-four hours, so I'm not going to argue with him. I could go for something hot to eat as well."

Apparently Noira had the energy to discuss strategy with Gren, at least. "Hot food is good. It would also be good to create a breach somewhere their main force is not actively setting a trap for us," she said as she hurried along with him, her shorter stride meaning her steps fell quicker as they made their way to the canteen. "Though he is right that we cannot be sure until the scouts return." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think I impressed Arillon and Shann with the bone dragon. Perhaps they will lend me a few mages I can drill at dawn, before we reconvene with Westerguard."

Gren yawned absently as they approached a large tent with tables set up. A large fire burned in the background. A plate of deer meat, potatoes, and cornbread were being passed out to the hungry Rangers. Gren fell in line and got himself a plate. "I'm sure Arillon and Shann wouldn't mind. Hey, can I get some more cornbread please? Thanks." Gren said the last part to the cook, then he found a bench to sit down at and eat.

Noira sat on the other end of the bench. Despite the flurry of energy strategizing had given her, she sank down with a relieved sigh, and speared a few pieces of venison and ate quietly. It was the best she had eaten in the last two days. About halfway through she asked, out of the blue, "Do you know Jeremiah well?"

Gren didn't have much energy himself, just enough to eat what was in front of him, but he started a bit when Noira brought up Jeremiah's name. "Er, um, sort of. I mean, I've known him from the Inn for the last five years."

"What kind of man have you known him to be, then?" she asked mildly, feigning a complete lack of unawareness of the fact that this had caught Gren off guard. She started on the potatoes next.

"Uhhh . . . “Gren sat back now from his dinner plate, as if trying to think of something to say while dodging a particular fact. “He’s . . . very generous. Kind. Friendly. Well, he's . . . . “He trailed off, making vague motions with his hands as if trying to say something.

Noira set her plate aside and followed his hand motions with clear interest. "Broad-shouldered?" she guessed. "I had noticed that, it is rather hard to miss..."

Gren stopped moving his hands and stared at Noira, then gulped. He didn't know if he should be telling Noira Jeremiah's secret, but on the other hand, he didn't want her to not know the truth either. "There's kind of two things you should know about Jeremiah."

She clapped her hands down on the edge of the bench and looked at Gren. "Oh... oh, don't tell me... he solely prefers the company of men and not women! Ah, I have misread his intentions."

"No!" Before Noira could come up with any more theories of her own, he continued. "Well, first of all . . . he's a cat. Silas? That's him."

"Oh. He's a polymorph, then?" she asked, and stabbed another piece of venison.

'Well, sort of. You see . . . he's the guardian of the realm. That the Inn resides in. Which leads me to number two . . . . He isn't really alive."

"So... he is an intelligent guardian spirit that can assume different physical forms?" she asked, though it didn't come out 100% as clear as that while she chewed on her venison.

"I guess so. I don't know, they haven't really explained it to me very well. Jeremiah was once alive, and he tied his life energy to the Inn's realm to keep it alive. But now that he is dead, he remains in spirit form. Does that make sense?"

"Of course. But he's still physically there? You have shaken his hand, and the like?"

"Well, yeah." Gren got a confused look on his face as if thinking it over.

She watched Gren mildly for a moment, then shrugged and returned to her meal. "I wonder if he can still make love, then," she mused as she finished the last bite of her plate.

Gren was sipping a cup of water when Noira spoke, and he turned his head and spit it out in a broad shower, coughing explosively.

[Gren Blockman]

The morning passed as Eamond told Yolene and Izira tales of the enormous amounts of pancakes, potatoes, journey cakes, and biscuits that he has had to cook for the Rangers over the years. There were plenty of dishes to be washed, the tables had to be cleaned, and the food trays had to be changed and readied for the lunch crowd, although Eamond admitted it would be a slow day with most of the Rangers off to war. Despite Eamond's woes, everything usually got taken care of before the next meal, and with Yolene & Izira's help, things went quickly. Even as the last of the forks and spoons were put away, Eamond already had the ovens fired up and baking bread. "Well, not bad for a couple of amateurs", Eamond said, a pleased smile on his face.

"I do run an inn, Eamond. You should see my kitchen sometime." As she had during the entire time of helping out Izira found yet another small morsel to snack on, picking several grapes from a nearby bunch.

Eamond grunted dismissively. "Have you ever served 200 hungry Rangers at once? I kind of doubt it. And take it easy with those, we're lucky to get fresh fruit around here." He pointed at the bunch of grapes in her hands, and huffed his way over to one of the ovens, checking on his bread.

"Not yet." A brow quirked as Izira knew it would be doable. She didn't go after more grapes, but kept the ones she already picked. She looked to Yolene. "What's next?"

"Since I'm done helping Grumpy Eamond, I need to get back and check on my patients. Would you like to come and help me?" Yolene asked.

She nodded, "Eamond is more than capable to continue on his own without further assistance. He is the pro after all." Izira smiled, good natured. "I am not sure how much help I can offer, but I would be happy to assist, Yolene. It will keep my mind off other thoughts."

"Super duper!" Yolene jumped and danced over to the door. "Bye Grumpy Eamond!" They walked back to the House of Healing. Yolene first went over to Perrigan's bed. "How are you feeling, Headmaster?"

Perrigan shifted to get more comfortable. "I'm doing better than I was. I just needed a good night's sleep. I think I can go back to my duties now . . .”

"No no no! You have to rest some more! You've lost a lot of blood and are too banged up! Besides, you know what Westerguard would do to me if I let you out of this bed!"

Perrigan sighed tragically, but he sunk back down into his bed.

"Would you like me to read you something?" Yolene offered.

"No, you've already read me the story of the Seven Fairies and the Unicorn three times already."

"Aw, but I love that one!"

"Perhaps you could tell us a story? After we finish tending to the other patients." Izira fixed up Perrigan's pillows and blankets, resting a hand on his arm. "Maybe you know a good tale? Something about... young love?"

Perrigan chuckled softly. "Yes, I could tell you a tale. A tale I know by heart. Go ahead, I'll be right here when you're finished."

Yolene giggled and skipped off to check on the other Rangers that were hurt in battle. Some needed water, some needed fresh bandages, and some just wanted someone to talk to them for five minutes.

Izira followed along, helping Yolene as she could. Stopping by the beds to talk to any ranger that seemed lonely or down that Yolene was not tending to.

Once they had finished making the rounds, Yolene twirled back up to Perrigan. "Okaaaaay, I want to hear the love story!"

Perrigan put his arms behind his head on his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "Alright then. This story takes place almost thirty years ago, right here in our own forest. There were two young Rangers who belonged to a guild called Broderin's Rangers. These two men had been best friends ever since they were children. One was grumpy and anti-social, but the other one was . . . . well, let's just say he tried to be friendly and do his duty to the best of his abilities."

"That's you and Westerguard!" Yolene interrupted.

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves! I'm telling this story here", Perrigan replied.

Izira gave a soft chuckle at Perrigan's reprimand of Yolene jumping ahead. She settled into a seat, and listened, trying to pay attention to the story more than her stomach. "It nearly sounds like you are describing Gren."

"I didn't know Gren had a grumpy best friend . . . . well, unless you count Alfred. But anyway, these two Rangers had only been with the guild for a few years. They went on all their missions together. They were always there to back each other up, and they had been together so long they instinctively knew when the other was in danger, and how exactly to help them. They made it out of many a tight scrape, even as young as they were. One day they were sent to a sorcerer's guild. Very secret place. They had been having trouble with bandits, raiding their supplies and stealing from them. They wanted us to track them and find out where they were hiding so they could do away with them. We agreed, because it's always good to have a sorcerer's guild on your side in case you need them."

"Like we needed them yesterday!" Yolene said.

"Exactly! So, they gave us all the information they had, and set us loose in the forest to discover their hiding place. They sent a guide with them, a young woman about their age. She had fiery red hair, very tall and slender."

"Was she pretty?" Yolene asked.

Perrigan paused a while before he continued. "Yes, yes she was so very beautiful. The anti-social one said they shouldn't send her on such a dangerous journey, but the woman insisted. She was well versed in pyromancy, and she cast a fire spell that exploded a nearby oak, reducing it to ashes. The grumpy one didn't complain after that."

"Perhaps I should take pointers, if that's all it takes to make grumpy people stop complaining." Izira observed.

"Perhaps so, but I would object to you destroying trees just to make a point, Izira." Perrigan said with a smile on his face. "Now then, with their skill and her magic, they were able to track down the brigands’ hideout. They went back and alerted the sorcerers to their location, and they removed the threat to their guild. When it was all over, the two rangers asked if they could return to see the young woman, for they could not help but fall in love with the beautiful Larette."

"Hey, that's the same name as Lady Larette from the Order!" Yolene exclaimed.

Perrigan laughed, "Yes, that is true. They went back many times to call on Larette. She grew to love them both as well. But she could not choose one over the other. So she choose neither. She stayed with the sorcerers, perfecting her magic, and she never married. The grumpy one had his share of marriages . . . but the friendly ranger never married either."

"Aw, that's a sad ending, Perrigan!"

"You didn't say you wanted a happy ending, Yolene, just a love story."

"It does not seem to have a sad or happy ending to me, from what I see, the end has yet to be written." Izira rested her chin on one hand, propping it up as she thought. "Love does not end with youth."

"That is the truth. Although it would be nice if we could get a peek at the last page of that story, just so we know how it’s going to end", Perrigan replied.

"Mm, I am afraid there is no peeking." Izira looked at her ring and thought of Gren.

"Unfortunately, no. We can only turn one page at a time."

Yolene looked confused. "Are we still talking about the story?"

Perrigan laughed. Just then the door opened, and there was Gren. He had come to see her before he set off for the Iron Grove. He looked a little roughed up, but he had a smile on his face when he saw Izira. "Whew, I made it back. I can't stay long, but I wanted to see you before I left again."

Looking up at the door opening, Izira's features went through being happy, concerned, then a mixture of both. She stood up, moving over to him, giving him a hug and kiss. "It is good to see you whole if a bit roughened up."

Gren scooped Izira up in a hug, giving a pleased sigh at the kiss. "Other than not having slept since yesterday morning, I'm actually alright. Headmaster, we made it to the House. The necromancers had raised a Bone Dragon, and were going to send it here, probably to bolster their army from yesterday. Noira, Arillon & Shann took care of it, and we removed the cultists. We found out they've set some kind of trap at the Iron Grove. Grace just sent a messenger pigeon to Westerguard to warn him."

"Hmmmm . . . . “ Perrigan said, thinking over Gren's report. "This whole affair keeps getting more and more complicated."

Listening to Gren's report, Izira's eyes widened at the mention of a bone dragon. She kept a hand on his arm, knowing soon he would be off again. "Noira is safe as well?"

Gren nodded to Izira. "Yes, she is. She was a great help to us. I think we're going to owe her a month at the Inn at the rate she's going."

"I can do that." It would be nice to have Noira visiting more often again.

Gren chuckled. "I'll save it for a surprise. I hate to kiss and run, but I've got to go. I need to catch up with Westerguard and give him the full report." He gave Izira a deep kiss and hugged her close. "It's almost done. One more mission and we can end this."

"Take care, My Ranger." Her hand squeezed his after the hug. "I will see you soon."

Gren held her hand for a moment, then waved with his other before quickly leaving the House of Healing.

Yolene giggled after Gren left. "Gren always thinks about you, doesn't he?"

"He thinks fondly of me. I would say if I was always on his mind he might be too distracted to be as good of a ranger as he is." She looked from Yolene to Perrigan.

Perrigan chuckled at that. "Gren does just fine."

Yolene leaned her chin on her hands. “I wonder what Crawford is doing right now."

"I'm sure he's fine too, Yolene."

"Is Crawford with Westerguard?"

"Yes he is", said Perrigan. "He's been in battle many times before, he knows how to take care of himself."

"If he makes it back . . . I'm going to tell him how I feel about him. I don't want to wait any more", Yolene said.

Perrigan smiled at her. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear how you feel."

Izira moved back over to Yolene, patting her shoulder, "A great idea." Izira had her own idea, but it would have to wait for another time, after everyone was home and safe.

Yolene sat for a few moments with a wistful expression, then suddenly she popped up. "Oh! It's lunchtime! Everyone must be hungry! Izira, could you help me bring some food over from the Cafeteria for the patients?"

"Yes!" A bit too eager with the continued gnawing of her appetite, Izira cleared her throat, "I mean, of course."

"Alright, let's go!" Yolene charged back out the door and back up to the Cafeteria. Bursting inside, she yelled "Grumpy Eamoooond! I'm baaaaack!"

"Well, what do you want me to do, bake you a cake?" Eamond replied, upset.

"No, silly, I want the meals for our recovering Rangers!"

"Alright, alright, hold your horses." Eamond set down a tray of bread slices in the food buffet, then walked to the back of the kitchen to get Yolene's meals.

Izira gave a wave to Perrigan before she followed Yolene out the door. As the other made her demands of Eamond, Izira picked at the buffet. "A cake does not sounds like a bad idea...."

"What, are you hungry again?" Didn't I just feed you like an hour or so ago?"

"But Grumpy Eamond, we've got an appetite from taking care of all our hurting patients!"

Eamond grunted. "Oh, alright, just leave some for the rest of us."

"Some..." Izira agreed with a soft chuckle.

The buffet was loaded with food again, and a slow trickle of Rangers who had been left to man the walls began to appear. There was Roast Beef, Tomatoes, Lettuce, and thick slices of bread. There was also Fried Squash and little Potatoes for sides. "We got some fresh strawberries in for dessert, you'll get some when you finish your lunch." Eamond said like a parent trying to get their child to clean their plate.

Izia did give up the buffet when the rangers started to arrive, though she had made a little sandwich and tried to subtly consume it.

"Oh, now take a look at this. You should all be thanking me for a dessert like this." Eamond carried out a tray of strawberries that had been cut up and left to soak in their own juice with sugar. He then put out some slices of pound cake. "Strawberry Shortcake! Get it now because you probably won't be seeing it until next year."

"Perhaps I could bring you some?" Izira offered Eamond as she also took a few.

"I get enough to eat around here, I need to watch the sweets", Eamond patted his stomach.

"I meant for you to share with the rest." Izira said with a soft chuckle, "Let me know if there is something you cannot get from supplies. I have good connections."

"I might hold you to that, young lady", Eamond replied.

"Did you give some to the patients?" Yolene asked.

"Of course I did, they're all right here in the tray." Having finished loading Yolene's tray after dispensing the strawberries, Eamond wheeled it out for Yolene and Izira. "There you go. Bon appetit or what have you."

Izira took over wheeling the tray for Yolene.

"Bye again Grumpy Eamond!" Yolene waved as she held the door open for Izira to wheel the cart out, and did the same for her as they got back to the House of Healing. "You can start on that end, and I'll start over here. Just be careful, Devon doesn't like Potatoes!" Yolene finished by pointing at the Ranger in question lying in the bed next to Perrigan's.

Izira nodded dutifully, planning to eat Devon's potatoes then. Waste not want not! She behaved herself with everyone else's food. Starting at the end that Yolene directed her to, Izira handed out lunch to the patients.

"Good news, everyone! Grumpy Eamond made us Strawberry Shortcake for dessert!"

"Hey, how come we didn't get any whipped cream then?" Devon asked, looking at the tray Izira handed him.

"Because Eamond thinks we can't afford it."

"Awww, man." Devon sulked, but ate his food anyway.

"Mmmm, I haven't had Fried Squash in quite a while", Perrigan said.

"Be sure to eat everything! You need to build your strength back up!" Yolene said in a perky manner for the whole room in general.

No potatoes were on Devon's plate as Izira smiled to him and moved along. Once everyone had their lunch, she moved back to Yolene, "Is there anything else I can assist you with? If not I shall return to the inn to check on things there."

"Oh! No, you've done great, Izira! Thank you for all your help!" Yolene replied.

"Yes, thank you, Izira, your efforts are appreciated", Perrigan concurred.

"Is there anything I can bring back from the inn for either of you?"

"No, I should be fine. I would have asked for a book, but we have our new Library for that", Perrigan answered.

"No thank you, Izira. Come back again soon!" Yolene said.

"I will. I want to be here for Gren's return."

"Have a safe journey, Izira. I'm sure Gren will return soon", Perrigan assured her.

"Rest up. The rangers need you strong, Perrigan." Izira patted Perrigan's hand and kissed Yolene's cheek. With a light wave to the other patients, Izira headed back to the inn.

[Gren Blockman]

Midafternoon found Izira returning to Ranger Headquarters. She led a chocolate brown horse, carrying two loaded saddlebags. Her heeled boots matched the color of the horse and complimented the green shirt dress she wore, cinched with a lighter brown belt. Her hair pulled up as usual, she approached the gate.

Grace poked her head out from the window over the gate. "Izira! Back so soon? What have you brought with you?"

"Treats for the waiting rangers, such as yourself." Izira patted the horse's neck. "Some things for Eamond to make use of. Do you like chocolates?"

"I love chocolates! Hold on, I'll open the gate!" Grace popped back in, and soon the big wooden doors opened to allow Izira entrance.

The horse snorted, stomping a foot before Izira led him through the gate. As soon as she was through and clear of the gate, she turned to one of the saddle bags. Digging through the assortment there, she took out a small square box of four truffles and handed it over to Grace.

Having scrambled from the wall and down to meet Izira, Grace resisted the urge to give her the grabby hands. She immediately popped the mint crisp truffle into her mouth. "Mmmmmm. Thank you! I deserve a treat after pulling guard duty all day!"

"I agree." Smiling, Izira was pleased that Grace enjoyed the chocolate. "I think I will visit Eamond next, so I may stable the horse after unloading."

"Go right ahead! Have a good day!" Grace sprinted back to the guardhouse while sticking the raspberry one in her mouth.

Izira lead the horse through to the cafeteria building, finding a spot for the horse to rest. She patted his nose, cooing to the beast softly. Looking around she spotted a ranger that looked familiar, though she did not know his name. "Excuse me? Could you fetch Eamond for me? Perhaps help unload? I have some items for him and for the rangers." She dipped her head toward the saddlebags.

The young man turned around. It was Devon, one of the patients from the House of Healing. Despite a bandage around his head, he looked fine. "Oh yeah, the lady who was helping Yolene. Yeah, I'll get him." Then he looked at the saddlebags. "Those aren't potatoes, are they?"

"No." She softly chuckled. "Something better."

"Yeah, alright." Devon still looked at Izira suspiciously, but slowly walked through the Cafeteria door. A minute or so later, Eamond ambled out with Devon trailing behind him. "Well well, what have we here? I didn't think you were being serious."

"Of course. An innkeeper cannot have the habit of saying things they do not mean." Turning to the packs she unloaded a bag of strawberries and a large container of whipped cream that felt cool to the touch. Handing those off, she pulled out another bag of assorted squash. "Perrigan commented on the fried squash you made."

"My my, I never say no to produce. Devon, make yourself useful." Eamond handed the strawberries and squash over to him, who carried it into the kitchen. "Whipped Cream, now how did you manage that?"

"Magic and dedication." Izira gave a little wink. "As I said, you should see my kitchen. Perhaps someday you will have the time for a visit. I have a decent sized kitchen garden. Do you drink?"

"I'm usually pretty busy, but anything is possible, I guess", Eamond replied to her comment about visiting. "Do I drink? Anything I can get my hands on."

She nodded, turning back to the saddle bags, "I also happen to have a very extensive wine cellar. I try to have a bit of everything for everyone." She pulled out a dark green bottle with a simple cork. "Gnomish wine."

Eamond's eyes widened. He actually looked like he was smiling. "Holy . . . Gnomish wine? Let me see that . . . " Eamond gingerly took the bottle from Izira. Popping the cork, he gave it a deep sniff, then took a hesitant sip. Then he openly smiled. "Well, young lady, this is indeed Gnomish wine! Have you ever heard of Gorgondy wine? They make this wine from water from special magical pools, and if you drink deeply enough, you can recall memories of your past. I haven't even seen a bottle in years, let alone tasted some. This is a priceless gift you've given me."

Izira waited, watching to see Eamond's reaction. A smile equal to the one he offered was returned. "I hope it earns me a priceless gift in return... friendship."

"If that's all it cost me, I'm getting the better end of this deal. Friends it is. Come on in, let's see if we can do something with these strawberries and whipped cream."

She nodded, "I will join you shortly. I want to get Spirit here stabled and visit Perrigan and Yolene, I have a couple things for them. Perhaps Yolene and I can help you with dinner prep."

"That sounds fine. Thank you again, I'll be waiting for ya." Holding the bottle closely, Eamond moved back into the Cafeteria to start dinner for the Rangers.

A little wave to Eamond as he headed off, then Izira brought the horse to the stable, removing the saddlebags and getting him sorted with fresh water and oats. The last few items were removed from the packs. With a bottle, a book, and a small box, Izira headed off to the Healing Hut.

"You have to drink your juice! It will help you replenish the blood you lost!" Yolene was leaning over Perrigan with a glass of greenish & purplish liquid, while Perrigan was shrinking back away from it.

"I don't want to drink any more of that, I'm doing just fine! What is that stuff anyway?"

"It's prunes, kale and spinach mixed into a smoothie! It's super good for you!"

"Ewwwww", Perrigan covered his mouth.

"Yolene, Perrigan. How are you?" Izira’s arrival hopefully offering Perrigan escape from the concoction.

"Izira! I'm doing great, Perrigan here is being a difficult patient."

"I'm doing fine, and I'll be doing better if I don't have to drink that", Perrigan rebutted.

"I should think that is a good sign if he is well enough to be difficult”, Izira observed.

"Look, I wouldn't be difficult if it was something I like. I heard red meat is good for the blood. How about a steak?"

"Headmaster, you know we can't afford steak!" Yolene said.

"It was just a thought", Perrigan offered.

"I will fix you a steak the next time you visit Perrigan." In the meantime, Izira handed him over the bottle she carried. She distracted any protest from Yolene by offering her the small box of truffles and the book she carried, "Chocolates? I also brought you a cooking book to help you start with cooking lessons. There are a lot of delicious recipes in there."

Perrigan took the bottle from Izira and took a deep drink. He smiled and nodded appreciatively. "A Dark Honey Mead, wonderful."

"Go easy with that!" Yolene protested, then she opened her box of truffles and squealed with delight. "Ooooh! Chocolates!" She almost instantly stuck three of them in her mouth, which made her look like a chipmunk storing nuts. "Mmmm . . . I know one of them had mint and another had raspberry . . . . Cooking lessons! Yes, I can't wait!"

"Speaking of which, I brought Eamond some strawberries, whipped cream, and squash. I told him I would help him with dinner prep - want to join?"

"Sure thing!" Yolene inhaled the last truffle and the intake of sugar gave her extra bounce to her step. "I'm going to fix dinner everyone byeeeeeee!" Then she went twirling out the door before Izira could get a word in edgewise.

Thus Perrigan was saved from the smoothie. Izira grinned to him, "Enjoy." before heading out the door to follow Yolene to the cafeteria.

Perrigan silently raised his bottle of Mead to Izira in salute as she walked out the door.

As Izira entered the cafeteria, she would see Yolene skipping around Eamond in a circle as if dancing with him. "I came to help cook dinner Grumpy Eamond la la la la la . . .”

"What has gotten into you young lady?" Eamond looked dizzy as he tried to follow Yolene's movements.

"Sugar." Izira answered, stepping in. "I gave her chocolates. She should be extra productive."

"Well, what'd you do that for? For goodness sake . . . just go in there and cut up the strawberries!" Eamond said to Yolene. "Devon, get those rolls out of the ovens! Maybe I can get dinner out on time anyways."

"Next time I will bring her carrots." With a soft chuckle, Izira moved to the kitchen. "What shall I do?"

"Well, since Devon is here I can't work with potatoes, so I need someone to shell the peas, can you do that?"

"I can." Expertly even, but her doing the act would show more than her saying so. Izira washed her hands, moving on to the peas and setting up a little station to get the work done. She started pulling the stem string down, opening the pea like a book to get the peas out from the center.

"This might actually work then. Hey Yolene, I said cut them, not eat them!"

"Sorry!" Yolene apologized in a muffled tone of voice, her mouth full of strawberries.

"Devon, don't just stare at them, put them in the trays and out on the buffet tables!"

Quick with her hands and used to the work, Izira went through the peas with ease. Also, without eating anything. Her appetite had died down during her time back at the inn. "Eamond, now that you know my sincerity, is there anything you'd like for the rangers?"

"I can always use fresh produce, but that might be a lot to ask of you. I can always use jams, jellies, syrup for the pancakes, baked goods like cookies or pies. Shoot, you bring it, I'll find someone to eat it."

"What flavor of syrup?" Izira nodded, "Yolene wants to learn to bake, she could help me with cookies and pies."

"Maple always works. If you want to get fancy with Blueberry or Strawberry, that's up to you. Yeah, if Yolene wants to help, that's okay . . . just watch her around the sugar."

"Noted." Izira continued with the peas as she spoke, "I do have strawberry, blueberry, and a raspberry syrup back at the inn. Several jams and jellies. Produce too, I will see what else I can share. When fall comes around I will have to send you some acorn squash."

"I'll take anything I can get. These Rangers eat like horses. I might as well have troughs set up out there and just sling the food in right from the pots." Eamond lugged a tray of slices of chicken to the buffet.

"I plan to stay here until Gren returns. When I get back to the inn I will have to return Spirit to his owner. I will ask her to bring you some more supplies."

"Alright . . . . now since we had Strawberry Shortcake last time, I'm going to make a Strawberry Parfait with this Whipped Cream. We've got the Strawberries cut up . . . . Devon, the squash is ready put it in the oven . . . We're going to do this very simply. A layer of crushed up cookie, a layer of strawberries, and a layer of whipped cream. You get me?" Eamond gave these instructions to Yolene, who nodded vigorously. "Lord help us, alright give it a try."

Yolene began following Eamond's orders, putting the cookie crumbs in the little cups.

Watching Yolene as she constructed the dessert, Izira brought the peas over to Eamond.

"Let's get them in the pot and get them boiling." Eamond had several pots with water heated and ready. "Chicken, Peas, Squash, Rolls, and Parfait. I think that ought to keep them satisfied."

Into the pots the peas went, Izira gave it a look and then moved to help with dessert. "Indeed, a lovely meal Eamond."

"Wait a minute, I have an idea." Eamond stood next to Yolene with the cut up strawberries, and he set the whipped cream to his left. "Izira you stand here. When I pass you the cup, you put the cream in, alright?" Yolene handed him a cup of cookie crumbs, Eamond scooped the strawberries in, then he handed it to Izira.

Following the assembly line, Izira added the whipped cream.

[Gren Blockman]

May 15, 2018





Military hours meant waking early, and by the time the new day arrived, Noira was already dressed and assembled with ten younger mages she had been directed to last night by Arillon and Shann, students she was assured had solid discipline and focus. "Elda!" she said, and in formation the ten of them advanced across the small clearing within the large camp, already tamped down by others practicing formations the day before. "A!" As one, not merely following her gestures but matching them -- mostly -- they thrust out a hand without slowing their steps, sparks and little whiffs of flame dancing from their fingertips, with only a couple stilted hesitations in their march. They advanced a measured number of paces before she cried, "Atta!" and they 'attacked' again. She carried on until they had reached the edge of the clearing, and brought them in to a loose huddle to correct their missteps. For half an hour they had been practicing a march with measured attacks, keeping time from a fixed location, and casting from cover; though they had not been alone in their preparations. The sounds of activity now filled the camp.

Gren yawned as he pushed aside the flap of his tent and absently scratched his back. He blinked his bleary eyes at the morning sunrise, then turned his head with a bewildered look at the ten young students as they marched toward him, following Noira in battle formation. His gaze slowly did a 180 as they moved past him and to the edge of the clearing. "Well, that was quick." Using his fingers as a makeshift comb, he smoothed his hair back and made his way over to Noira and the students. "Drill instruction starting early this morning, I see."

Noira smiled over her shoulder at Gren, then said to the mages, "Please practice what we discussed during the last break -- illuminating the twisted branch atop the stump," she pointed it out at the other end of the clearing, "at distance. You shall do it one at a time, then five, then all of you." She dipped her head, a few of them returned the gesture, and they moved off to figure out who was going first and set up a good spot to cast their simplest spell from. "I was awake an hour ago," she confessed, and took a knee near the Ranger and checked her braids. Not as secure as she would have liked, so she began to loosen them. "It is a familiar routine. Have you just awoken, Gren?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I could have slept until tomorrow after what we went through the last two days. Eh, uh, why are you going to have them illuminate a branch?" He looked at the stump quizzically.

"Stamina is a battlemage's most important skill, but the second is accuracy," she explained, and decided to twist her hair up into a bun for now. The chopsticks gleamed strangely in the sunlight as she slid them in. "A wall is sundered that much faster if we can strike the same point time, and time, and time again, always as one." She straightened up, standing up to -- well, probably a head shorter than Gren, if not more. "Do you know if any scouts have returned?"

Haddon appeared behind Gren just as he opened his mouth to answer. "Hey, Sleepyhead, the scouts have returned." He jabbed his thumb behind him, then walked off to Westerguard's command tent.

Gren looked at Haddon walking away, then back at Noira, giving a shrug. "I guess that answers that."

"By your leave, Captain," she said with affected (though very well poised) formality and an amused grin as she fell in with him to head to the tent.

It was too early in the morning for him to argue, so he just trotted behind Haddon until the three of them made it to the command tent. There were Westerguard and his Captains, along with Lady Larette, Arillon, and Shann. "Alright, everyone is here. We have good news and bad news from our scouts. The bad news is the wall around the Iron Grove is up and fully intact. It still looks like it’s made of logs though. Plus, they've put wooden spikes and barricades up on the riverbank here." Westerguard pointed on the map to the curve of the river that bordered the Iron Grove from west to north to east. "That means they're expecting us. The good news is, our scouts reported they've barely heard a peep from the place. No one is manning the walls, and there's not a skeleton to be found."

Larette chimed in, "That isn't necessarily good news. We know they are laying a trap for us. It seems strange to me they would desert the place so suddenly."

Noira stiffened at the news. There was nothing about this that she liked. "The stakes... were they all facing west, away from the fort?" she asked, drawing a half-step closer to look between the officers and the map.

Westerguard gestured at Crawford, who stepped forward. "The stakes were planted in the ground, pointing towards the riverbank. There weren't as many of those as there were barricades. They probably didn't have time to build a proper wall, so it looked like they tried to improvise one with what they had. I'd say if they had a decent enough army, it would be enough to keep them secure inside."

"And nothing facing the far bank?" she said, leaning in enough to draw a finger along the bank closest to the fort.

"There wasn't anything on the far bank. And to be honest, the stakes looked like they were there for show. I mean, it’s not like we were going to charge cavalry across the river, or whatever they were expecting." Crawford answered.

Noira thinned her lips with a frown and shook her head as she straightened again, taking in Crawford's information but unable to understand the sum for all of its parts. "Has anyone been able to see inside the fort?" she asked.

Crawford continued. "The best we could do is climb up a tree and peer inside. Iron Grove is a tree village. Most of the main buildings are high up in the tree limbs."

"Which means if they get us inside, they could attack us from above", Westerguard mused.

Noira's eyes snapped to Westerguard at that. "Lady Larette, are any of your mages able to see through the eyes of a familiar?"

Larette was thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, I could, if we wanted to use a familiar. I would fear for the creature's life should it get too close to that place, but I would imagine it's a risk we would have to take."

Noira bowed her head respectfully. "Of course. Then perhaps we can see if they are hiding in the treetops," her gaze ticked to Westerguard there, as it had been his idea... then aside to Gren, curious how he was reacting to this.

Westerguard didn't look upset, more contemplative. Gren looked bewildered as usual. "I'm not against the idea. Do we have anything that can act as a familiar?" Westerguard asked those assembled.

Gren put on a thinking face, and snapped his fingers. "What about Boo-kie?"

"What the hell is a Boo-kie?"

"Grace's pet pigeon!"

"Messenger birds -- small, weak, easily missed, and extremely brave," Noira remarked with a curve of a smile. "If we are amenable to this plan, I believe I can draw whatever eyes may be watching away from our feathered friend..." Her finger moved back to the map, tapping a small rise relatively near the fort, west-southwest of it. "Assuming the bright weather holds, and that someone can spare a spyglass."

"We're placing our hopes and safety on a pigeon. Just wonderful. Well, it's not the craziest plan I've ever followed. Rodan, give her a spyglass." Westerguard pointed at Noira, while Rodan withdrew a spyglass from beneath his grey cloak and handed it to the battlemage. "Someone find that damned bird." Crawford ran out of the tent, complying.

Noira dipped her head to Rodan, then held out the spyglass for inspection -- not for quality or clarity, but just how sharply it caught the light. She polished it a bit. "I could be at that rise in a little under an hour," she speculated, with another glance at the map. "And when I am done?" deferring to Westerguard and the others for further orders, be they returning to camp, meeting up with a force en route, or something else.

Westerguard crossed his arms and thought. "I want to be done with this as quickly as possible. An hour should be enough time for me to get our troops together and marching. Whether there is a trap or not, I'm going in there and wiping that place out one way or another. You should have plenty of time to conduct your reconnaissance and alert us should something seem wrong."

"Lady Larette?" Noira had already made a half-step back, but needed to know the mage's plans for communication first before she left.

"Yes, I would imagine I need to make contact with the bird. I will go with you." Lady Larette stepped from beside Westerguard and moved from the tent with Noira and Gren.

Noira gave a quick, stiff military bow to the senior officers and exited the tent. "I do not imagine either of you has seen a steel helm with good visibility lying out in the open around camp, have you?" she asked them, a little brisk and breathy as they hurried to wherever they needed to go -- food, gear, horses.

"Heh, this is the Rangers, you may as well be asking for a million silver nobles. We've got leather helmets, would that help?" Gren asked as they made their way to a supply tent.

"It could not hurt," Noira said, picking up a leather helmet that kind of looked studded if you squinted at it hard enough, and tucked it under her arm. She spent the few minutes it took for someone to bring them horses braiding her hair, compact enough that the helmet fit snugly into place.

Crawford saw them and came running up with the pigeon, who was squirming around in his hands. "What do I do with it?"

"Ah, there there, small one." Larette said, and took the scared bird from him, gently stroking the feathers on its head.

"Hello, Boo-kie," Noira greeted the poor little bird with a smile. "Do not fret your feathers, I shall be gaining their attention and ire in your stead."

Boo-kie didn't look impressed by Noira's statement, but then again he was a pigeon. Larette cupped the bird in her hands and slowly began muttering. Her hands shone with a soft light, until the same light glowed in the birds eyes. "There. The spell will work for a few hours, and should be plenty of time. Good luck to you." She gently handed the pigeon to Noira.

Noira secured the bird within a fold near the brooch of her cloak. "Take care, Lady Larette. We shall see you again soon, though you shall see us sooner," she added with a smile. Then she nodded to Gren. "Lead on, Captain."

"Alright, let's get mounted." Gren led Noira over to the makeshift horse pen. Alfred was there and looked sullen. Gren gave Alfred's nose a pat. "Alright, we're going to go on a scouting mission, okay?"

Alfred whinnied in frustration. "What? I gotta go to that creepy place? Why do I have to do it?"

Gren blinked. "Because you're my horse!"

"I didn't sign any contracts!"

"Look, PLEASE just go with me, alright? We've got a lot of stuff going on here!"

"Oh, alright. What would you do without me anyway?"

"THANK you." Gren sighed and climbed up on Alfred.

This was the third -- fourth? -- strange horse Noira had mounted in three days. Time was difficult to track in times like this, she always found, but the mare seemed settled enough with its new rider. "I know that you and I are strangers," she told her horse, "but we will have to get along as friends for now, and then you will be back to a green paddock with carrots and apples," as she patted it. Then she directed it after Gren and his grumbling mount, urging it on.

Alfred said to Gren, "Why is she talking to that horse?"

Gren shushed him, then moved on towards the Iron Grove with Noira.

[Gren Blockman]

The forest was quiet in the early morning hours as Gren and Noira rode towards the Iron Grove. There was no wind, and no sounds of birds or other animals. The canopy of leaves cast a gloom upon them even though the sun was out and filtering through the tree tops. After a few miles, they came upon the hill that Noira had pointed out on the map. Dismounting, they crawled up the hillside and peered over it at the Iron Grove. There they could see the log wall, tall and with pointed ends at the top. A torch was sputtering here and there. The double doored gate was shut, but there was no one to be seen, not outside or on the walls. There were houses built into the limbs of the tall oak trees. Wooden bridges in the air connected the structures. They could make out the barricades and spikes set up on along the river, but it seemed haphazard, and was unmanned as well.

Noira found somewhere with Gren to tie off both of their mounts, just west of the rise and out of sight of most vantage points within the Iron Grove. She crept forward with Gren, frowning at what she saw. "I fear all of the caution in the realm and more is warranted this day," she breathed, taking in the sight of the haphazard and unmanned defenses. "Even without the words of that foul necromancer, what I behold now is a warning all its own..." Then she shifted her cloak, carefully removing Boo-kie with his glowing eyes, and petted the pigeon's head through the soft hide of her gauntleted thumb. "But you must be swift and fearless, Boo-kie, for the sake of Perrigan's Rangers and their many friends. Go," and she released him, and promptly removed the spyglass as the messenger bird took flight. She was quite interested in the river, the walls, and the treetops, but wherever she faced, she aimed the spyglass in an almost direct line with the rising sun, gleaming and flashing off of the well-polished brass and lens.

The pigeon flapped its wings and soared off towards the walled fort. Being gently guided by Larette's spell, the pigeon arced towards the gate, then turned in a 90 degree angle straight over the wall. Zigzagging through the trees, Boo-kie's eyes darted over the buildings and bridges. It saw shadowy figures peering at it from behind walls and furniture. Sailing through one window, a black sleeved hand absently swatted at the pigeon as if shooing it away. Banking away from the buildings and trees, the pigeon glided back out of the fort, and towards the gleam of Noira's spyglass.

Noira could not very well see the pigeon through the limited scope of the spyglass, and could only hope that its flash and gleam was enough to draw hostile eyes away from the bird. "Is our feathered friend safely away?" she whispered to Gren.

"It is", he whispered back. He continued telling Noira the track of the pigeon, until it came banking back around towards them. "He did it. I think it's a He." Gren looked a bit confused.

Boo-kie fluttered its wings and landed near the two, cooing softly.

"Then Lady Larette has seen all that we can reveal to her. You have been very brave," Noira smiled at Boo-kie, "but I do not wish for you to see the gruesome work of war. Shall we send him back to your headquarters?" she asked Gren.

"That would probably be for the best. Boo-kie, come here . . . " Gren stretched out his hand, and gently picked up the bird. "Go back to Grace, Boo-Kie! Go home!" Gren released his fingers, and the pigeon fluttered off westward. Gren looked at Noira. "Gee, do you think he understands me? I hope so."

"Most of the beasts are more clever than most men think," the elfess mused. "I have met many an old ass I have been grateful to, yet many men I have called an ass. Come," she added quietly, creeping away from the hillside and untying her mount, trusting the Ranger Captain's tracking to lead them back to the army en route than her own sense of direction.

Gren didn't argue, trying to keep as quiet as possible, he crept back down the hill, remounting Alfred. "Hopefully the army's on the march by now." Retracing their steps through the forest, they came back to the clearing at Deacon's Mill, as the Ranger and sorcerer formations were just beginning their trek to the Iron Grove. Finding Westerguard and Larette, they moved towards them.

Larette was smiling. "The spell worked. We caught the cultists hiding in the homes above ground."

Noira stopped her horse alongside Gren to face the two of them. It had been a swift ride, but little enough for the battlemage that she still had her breath. "How are we to proceed now, in light of this new intelligence?" she asked, looking between Larette and Westerguard.

Westerguard got an almost cruel smile on his lips. "Fire. We know where the bastards are now, so let's give them a taste of hell. Flaming arrows, with Larette's spells . . . . this shouldn't take long."

Noira inclined her head. "I am a wielder of flame, of great skill in ranged casting and stamina, and your servant in the coming fray. Arillon and Shann have allowed me time to drill a number of their mages as well, whom I believe will also be of great use."

"Then let's burn their asses. Gren, get to your troops. Noira, you can go find your trainees. Let's move out and finish this." Westerguard waved his hand eastward and the troops began marching in columns to the trees, headed towards their target.

The miles were soon past them, and Westerguard, Larette, and his Captains rode to the top of the hill that Noira and Gren had used. "I'm inclined to level this place right now. But maybe we should enter the walls just so none of these clowns can get away from us”, said Westerguard.

"Their barricades and unmanned walls have been deliberately shoddy work. I fear that if we enter, it will be because they wish us to do so," Noira said with a frown, looking from Westerguard to the Glade ahead of them. "If they flee, it will be a slow descent. Unless there are a hundred horses waiting within, your Rangers could run them down in the surrounding woods and kill them to a man."

"You don't need to tell me twice. I doubt any of them are going to try to ford that river either. Rangers, take up position on the right side of the wall, Sorcerers, take the left. When they're in position, Captains, you may fire when ready, and at will”, Westerguard commanded.

The Captains rode down to the men to relay the orders. Slowly the Rangers wheeled, then marched into their allotted area, as did the magic users. "Fire!" was yelled sporadically, and flaming arrows and magical missiles began assaulting the trees, causing the leaves and limbs to explode in flames.

Noira kept time with her group of trainees, screaming in elvish and commanding one volley of eldritch fire after another to the beat of a sourceless drum -- the rhythm of battle. She marked targets in the common tongue, "The unburned structure atop the split tree there!" and followed it with relentless, deadly artillery. Besides the counting and the marking of targets, the only other cry she gave was to a squire for water, bearing canteens up and down the line for the mages who were soon working up a heavy sweat.

Thick plumes of smoke began to curl up into the sky. The trees were burning heavily now. After their deadly work had been done, they still saw no one. Westerguard rode down the hill, looking at the rope bridges snapping and falling due to the flames. He put up his hand to stop the onslaught, then sat and waited with narrowed eyes.

There was another cry from Noira, an elvish command to halt, and she stood and stared into the thick smoke. There should have been screaming figures plummeting to their deaths, and instead... no one. She dared a look at their surroundings, finding herself even more suspicious of their circumstances than she had thought possible this morning.

Westerguard turning in his saddle, looking back at the forest, and saw nothing. Then he turned back to the flaming village in the trees. He seemed at a loss for words for a few moments. "Rodan. Gren. Open the gates."

Cautiously, the two Captains crept forward and each grabbed a door, which swung inwards. No sound came from inside other than the crackling of flames and the thud of limbs and wood falling to the ground.

There were few tools at Noira's disposal now, nothing within her arcane abilities that could give her information at this range, so she relied on something she had not yet returned: Rodan's spyglass. She peered into the treetops around them, scanning for movement the best she could through the haze of smoke...

"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take the Rangers inside. Sorcerers, stay out here and cover us. We need to know if this place is secure, and if it is, see if we can pick up their trail if they've flown the coop. Do you think you can do that?" Westerguard asked.

Larette nodded to Westerguard, "We will."

"Alright. Rangers, follow me." Dismounting, Westerguard led them inside the gate, while Gren and Rodan held the doors open. Carefully moving forward, they spied into the trees and burning buildings, looking for any signs of life.

Noira turned back to the mages under her command and arranged them into two lines, crouching for cover and spread out; one facing the fort, the other away. Even looking through the spyglass, there was nothing she had seen so far... so she slowed her breathing and attempted to focus on the sounds around them, tuning out one source after another. The muttering of the troops, the odd order called, the impatient stamping of hooves; the distant crackle of flame and crash of branches within the fort. Her long, pointed ears twitched involuntarily at each crack and boom of sundering, collapsing trees.

Westerguard had his sword out, and was poking a nearby tree with it, when a sudden rumbling could be heard. The ground shuddered and burst upwards, as skeletons and zombies began to leap out at the unsuspecting Rangers. Westerguard fell to the ground as several zombies leapt upon him, tearing his flesh with their teeth. "AAAAARRRRGGHHH!!!"

One of the black robed mages emerged from a hole and pointed his fingers at the doors of the gate, causing them to slam shut. Gren had instinctively whipped his wooden staff out and brought it up in time against the neck of a zombie that had jumped at him. Its rotting teeth gnashed the air just above Gren's face. With a shove, and a downward slash of his staff, he broke its decaying skull open. "GENERAL!" Gren ran towards where Westerguard had fallen.

The handful of seconds of complete chaos seemed to drag out into an eternity, as the cacophony of sound flooded her ears, signaling that their world had been upended all at once... "ELDA!" Noira screamed, and the ten mages marched after her, following her point to strike the gate with bursts of flame with each of her counts. "To us! To us! March and breach!" she called out to the other sorcerers between counts, advancing on the fort, tearing at its defenses with concentrated blasts, her heart pounding in her chest, setting a new, more frenzied rhythm to the battle. Gren could die in there. He could die! I will not let him! She grit her teeth before yelling out the next number, and a fireball slung underhand at the gate, blasting into it along with ten smaller bolts.

The gate exploded inwards at the force of Noira's spell. What she and her proteges would see was the chaos of battle. The Rangers were using swords, staves, and flaming pieces of debris to beat back the undead that had surrounded them. Gren was still running to the pile of undead that had buried Westerguard under their own weight.

Rodan was near the gate, thankfully not in its path as it was blown in. Looking to the explosion, he saw Noira and the mages approaching. "Noira!" He called, and pointed his finger at the black robed cultist who seemed to be the source of the undead's power.

The necromancer's eyes were glowing bright red, and he waved his hands, raising those Rangers who were unlucky enough to die in the first few seconds. Here and there a grey robed zombie shuffled after a fresh target. Gren was shoving and kicking zombies and skeletons off of Westerguard's limp body.

"You ten, stay in the gate -- and do not kill it unless you are sure it is dead! The wounded may stumble like zombies!" the elfess called as she pulled away from them, going from a march to a full sprint in the blink of an eye, studded armor thudding over the muddy, trampled ground. She threw out an arm and the ground fissured in a ten-foot line before her, bursting a splintering stone from deep in the ground and hurtling it towards the red-eyed sorcerer. It was still in flight, clouding the air between them with dirt and debris, when she pointed with her off-hand and three darts of flickering cosmic power spiraled around and past the stone, passing it to strike at her target.

The cultist saw the stone hurling towards him, and paused in his necromancy. A red shield appeared before him, causing the stone to break into pieces on impact. Not expecting the follow up attack, he was unable to dodge all the darts, and shouted in pain as they struck his arms and legs. Falling to a knee, he pointed a finger at Noira, and a swirling cone of flame shot towards her in answer to her attack.

Meanwhile, Gren managed to push Westerguard's attackers off of him. As he knelt to try to lift his bloody body up, Westerguard slowly turned his face to look at Gren. Westerguard's eyes had turned a pale blue, and his face had been zombified. Snarling and growling, Westerguard grabbed at Gren's throat and pushed him backwards onto the ground. "GENERAL! NO! NO!" Westerguard's mouth randomly opened and closed as he bit at Gren, trying to hold him down and tear at his flesh.

Noira reacted as quickly as she could, a shield of brilliant white light flaring around her, and when it faded she was whipping her burning cloak to the ground. Smoke rose from scorch marks across her armor, the flames doused but her skin underneath stinging with sharp pain as if it still burned. She was about to direct a spell at this necromancer, a dual blast of bolts of plasma meant to crackle through the body and burn through muscles and organs, but Gren's cries caught her ears, and she made a split-second decision -- pulling the bolts aside to whip at Westerguard's exposed torso as he pushed her friend to the ground.

While the necromancer was trying to stagger to his feet, the bolt buried itself into Westerguard's stomach, knocking him back at least a couple feet. Thrashing with his limbs, Westerguard tried to crawl back towards Gren, who had scrambled to his feet. Drawing his sword, with an anguished cry, he fell upon Westerguard, driving the point through his eye with a cracking of bone. Westerguard's limbs suddenly went slack, and ooze poured out of the wound.

With the necromancer recovering, the Rangers got the upper hand in the battle, bludgeoning their way out of the trap and back towards the gate. While Noira had focused on Gren, the necromancer had gathered enough power to resume the offensive, quickly raising more recruits from the dead bodies that littered the field. "We have to get out of here!" Gren ran up to Noira, pointing at the gate. "We can trap them here just like they did to us!"

"Tell me! If he dies, will they fall?!" Noira's words were sharp and clear, her expression was cold and grim, but rolling tears stood out among the sweat and grime on her face.

"I don't know, but it's worth a try! Take him down!" Gren said that more out of anguish than anger, and pointed his finger at the robed figure who was still having troubled keeping upright. The Rangers had mostly fled the burning fort, and the zombies and skeletons that were left were now bearing down on Gren and Noira.

"Then help me kill him." The elfess stalked towards the necromancer, seemingly oblivious to the undead that were currently tightening the noose around them as gleaming white flame erupted from her hands and trailed from her eyes. Columns of starfire erupted to either side of her, engulfing one shambling body after another, until seven were incinerated and groaning in anguish. "Flee before me on your belly, coward, or burn at my feet!" she called out to the necromancer, openly goading him.

Gren grimly lifted his sword and pushed forward stride for stride with Noira. Taking a hack here and there at a skeleton who got to close.

The necromancer leaned back and then planted his feet as if he finally got his balance. "I am but one lone star in the vast black night! Our numbers are endless!" He held his hands forward as Gren grabbed a zombie and held it face first in front of him. A shower of fiery sparks shot out at the pair, and Gren’s improvised zombie shield spared him most of the damage. Moving closer, he shoved the rotting corpse towards the necromancer, and shouted as he charged him with his sword raised.

Noira threw out a hand to reflect the sparks away from her, but scarcely winced at the few that passed by it and seared into her armor. Two of the skeletons closing in on them sprung at her side, one grasping and clawing at her arm, another staggering her as it clubbed at her back, but her focus remained unbroken. She shook off their grasp, reached out her hand, and the seven columns of flame whirled past Gren and the necromancer until they became a single bead of vicious, searing plasma. With a simple beckon, the plasma came racing towards her until it pierced the cultist's back and stopped inside his chest.

The necromancer cried out and sunk to both knees as the plasma pierced his body, just as Gren brought the sword down, cleaving through his shoulder and down into his rib cage. The necromancer spat blood from his mouth, and with the last of his magical energy, he grabbed Gren's sword and looked at him through red, glowing eyes. "Death is my reward, not a punishment, Ranger. Brallin and his men are dead. And now, the famed Westerguard. How much longer can you last against us? How much longer . . . . . “His energy spent, his fingers slid off Gren's blade, and his lifeless body toppled backwards to the ground.

Around them, the skeletons and zombies wavered and lifelessly pitched forward, the dark energy that raised them having dissipated. Hesitantly, those Rangers and sorcerers outside the gates began to peek inside to see if anyone within was still alive.

Noira came to a stop next to Gren and the necromancer's smoldering remains, burned by the bead of plasma dissipating within him. Her eyes were wild, bright white, but as she took deep, heaving breaths, the starfire faded and her feet came back to the ground, so to speak. She turned to look at him for a long, wordless moment... and looked away, bowing her head in shame, her brow furrowed as she said, "I am sorry..." Her gaze trailed to Westerguard, seared by her spells before Gren's blade finished him. "I had to."

"So am I. And so did I." Gren said quietly, putting a hand on Noira’s shoulder in silent thanks. He wearily moved over to Westerguard's body and sat down next to it, tears rolling down his face. As the others began filing in, poking at the dead bodies with their weapons, Lady Larette let out a shriek and hurried over to the fallen body of Westerguard. She dropped to her knees and put her hands over her mouth as she wept at the sight of his broken, dead body.

Noira's tears had stopped for now, though grief and anguish still tore at her from the inside. This was a bitter victory, if it could be called that at all -- the necromancer's words dug deep, sowing doubt and insecurity as they were likely intended to. She looked to the burning gate that she and "her" mages had crashed open and counted... nine of them, standing there. She blinked several times, and forced herself to refocus on the form of Rodan as she approached him, currently scrubbing his face and blinking in shock at the form of his fallen general. She tucked her helmet under her arm and bowed her head respectfully, though she maintained eye contact: "Captain Rodan... shall we form details to convey the dead back to camp, and reconvene there for your orders?"

Rodan looked like he'd been slapped across the face as he stood and stared at Westerguard's lifeless body. Slowly he blinked and focused on Noira. "Yes . . . yes . . . yes." He said absently, sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He then cleared his throat, and his voice gained the surety and authority of a man in charge again. "I want a detail formed. Let's get our dead out of this hole in the ground. Put them and the General's body on one of the supply carts. Then I want you to burn what's left of this place." Rodan moved forward and lightly placed his hand on Larette's shoulder, speaking to her softly in an attempt to comfort her and get her to rise.

Noira bowed stiffly and moved away, doing what she could to mobilize those most able to carry the dead and aid the wounded. It was some minutes until she returned to Gren's side, where he knelt by Westerguard's body. Her gauntlets had been tucked into her belt, seared and split, perhaps irreparably damaged by this fight, so it was a bare hand that reached out for him to take, to help him to his feet. "Gren." Her tone was soft and quiet, not that of a supportive officer any longer but a caring friend. "Let us leave this place together, and get you back to Izira."

Gren had stopped crying. He opened his mouth to speak, but just ended up nodding dumbly. Rodan finally got Larette to rise, and she laid her head against his shoulder, still quietly sobbing. As she moved away with Rodan, two young Rangers carefully lifted Westerguard's body and laid him in the supply cart. Gren's eyes followed their movements, and he finally remembered there were other people there. He tried to compose himself, and followed Noira and the cart as it rumbled out of the battle scarred fort.

[Gren Blockman]

It was a somber scene when Westerguard's body was brought back to the Ranger's Headquarters. They had a ceremony for his passing, and buried him by the north wall, along with the others that had died at the Battle of the Iron Grove. It would be the start of a formal cemetery for those who fell in battle serving Perrigan's Rangers. Rodan was made Acting General since there were no other Rangers with the seniority he had. Having been the son of a Duke, Perrigan hoped his upbringing and chivalry would make up for the expertise in tactics that he lacked. Since Brallin's Rangers were all gone now, Perrigan volunteered to train new recruits and take over the territory that was now defenseless in their absence. Scouts would be sent out to explore its depths, and see if they could find out if the necromancers were still there, or if any information could be gathered to find out who they were, and what their next move would be. Once things had settled down and Perrigan had sent his orders out, Gren & Izira returned to the Inn with Noira.

Noira was solemn, speaking no more than necessary during the return journey, and it was with effort that she kept her senses attuned to their surroundings. Her brow was constantly knit in a troubled frown, and her long, pointed ears hung lower than normal. Her burns had been soothed, to the extent that they could be in such a short time, but hard travel and a few bludgeoning blows added a hitch to her steps that would not disappear without rest.

Gren didn't have much to say either. His weariness and injuries from the fighting, coupled with his lack of sleep, made him feel almost dead on his feet. The only bright spot he grabbed onto was that it was over, and he was headed home. His grey cloak was slung over his shoulder in the summer heat, as he trudged along the forest path.

Izira walked with her companions, silent as they were - she did not pressure them to speak. Her heart went out, still, to Perrigan and the loss of his friend. She was not hurt, and she offered her comfort to the other two as she could. Entering into her realm, the air was cool and comforting. The inn waited ahead, lit and ready for their return.

It was when the air changed that the elfess spoke again. “Is there somewhere in this place where people pray?” She looked over at Izira, though her expression was reserved.

Izira paused, seeming to consider the breeze more than think on Noira's question. She smiled softly, dipping her head in a nod. "Follow the path. You will find what you seek." Izira pointed toward the woods where a small dirt path lingered, barely seen within the brush as though never used. Had it always been there? Izira looked to Gren to see what his needs were.

"Do you want some company?" He said to Noira after Izira looked at him. He didn't want to intrude if Noira wanted a moment to herself.

Noira looked over her shoulder at the two of them, and smiled a little at Gren’s question. “You are both welcome, if you wish,” she replied softly.

"Then I'll go too." Gren moved over to Noira, ready to follow her down the rarely travelled path.

Izira did not need to voice her choice, she followed with Gren.
The elfess followed the path deeper into the woods, twisting and turning, tangled by mossy boulders and gnarled, ancient branches. She came upon what appeared to be a featureless stone figure seated against a massive willow tree, with a faded crown of stars inscribed around its brow. From an unknown source, water spilled over its shoulders, then across its lap to a small, round stone before it. She removed her helmet, set her weapons carefully aside, and began loosening her braids. “Will one of you move the stone,” she asked, her voice still quiet.

Gren followed behind Noira, then lifted the small stone as she requested. He was surprised to find a small, darkened hole in the ground with many ancient bones, some whole, some in pieces, with the spilling water washing away the heavily caked ash.

It took several minutes for Noira to carefully create a tight, thin braid, murmuring names as she progressed. Most of them sounded elvish, but Westerguard’s name passes her lips three times before she was done. “Knife?” she asked Gren and Izira, with another momentary flicker of a sad smile.

Gren's prayer was more Christian-like. Kneeling beside the running water, he put his hands in his lap and bent his head. He closed his eyes and listened to the water splashing against the bones. He opened his eyes briefly, hearing Noira’s request, and he reached into his pocket to produce a slender knife, which he handed to Noira.

Izira stood close to the trees, leaving Noira to her work and Gren to tend to her requests. Her hand touched a nearby tree, fingers brushed against the bark.

Noira cut the braid carefully, laid it within hands. “Westerguard, Brallin, and the many brave Rangers who fell... my forebears, and you gracious souls who lend us your well... may you find the river, and flow into eternity.” She carefully dropped the braid into the hole and rolled the stone back into place. A few more moments were spent clearing moss and leaves from the monument; then she moved to collect her gear and climb to her feet. Gren and Izira both received a slow, grateful nod.

Izira dipped her head in return. She gave a small glance around the spot before turning and leading the way back to the inn.

Gren didn't have any words to say at that moment, so he got back up and followed Izira to the Inn. He would have to remember that spot and come back some time in the future.

Noira was no longer at war, as far as she was concerned, and she had mourned the dead, so there was no more use for a warrior's braid. She twisted her hair into a bun, secured by a pair of engraved chopsticks, and followed after Gren and Izira.

Upon entering the inn, the large main room was empty, but for the orange cat resting on the bar. His green eyes watched the door, tail flickering in wait. The candles of the inn glowed in welcome. A faint scent of cooked food was in the air, coming from the kitchen. Izira scratched the feline's head, looking to the pair. "Are either of you hungry?"

Gren hung his cloak on a peg and smiled faintly. "Yeah, I could eat." Then he found a barstool and had a seat.

"Hungrier than a growing child," Noira confessed with a bit of a smile, this one lasting a moment longer. Her eyes alighted on the feline and his watchful green eyes, but she said nothing to him. "I feel as if... an evening like this one calls for wine," she said to the Ranger as she passed him for the stairs. "I will just be changing," she added.

"I will find something suitable to the occasion." Izira went behind the bar, opening the cellar door. "Gren, would you plate what is in the kitchen for us?"

"Sure, I could do that." Raising up from the stool again, Gren walked past Izira into the kitchen. There was a simmering pot of lamb shank stew with root vegetables on the stove, with wispy trails of smoke curling to the ceiling. Finding three large bowls and soup spoons, he also filled a basket with rolls, finally adding a plate of butter. He took those out to the bar first, then came back to ladle the stew in the bowls. When the other two would come back they would find three settings for them at the bar to share a meal with each other.

As Gren prepared the food, Izira stepped down into the cellar. The orange cat jumping off the counter to follow her in her venture as she sought out a fitting bottle. She paused several times to consider one thing or another.

Silas curled around her feet, moving down an aisle before jumping up and walking down a shelf. He stopped by a deep red bottle, a silver cork decorated with stars. "You think so?" She asked the cat who did not respond. She picked up the bottle and returned to the entrance of the cellar. Up the steps, the cat slipped out behind her before she shut the door.

The elfess was quick at dressing and getting ready when the situation called for it -- she had once killed a soldier before she had finished wiping the sleep from her eyes. But she took her time, now that she was allowed it, returning to the common room in about a quarter hour. Her face was washed, and she was wearing a long white tunic with red and blue threading along the hem and flowers down the sleeves, cinched with a light brown belt without a buckle, tied off to tighten it. She found her place at the bar, and flashed a grateful smile to both Gren and Izira.

Gren smiled back, and felt hungrier than he had let on. Taking a large spoonful of the stew, he blew on it several times to cool it enough to stick in his mouth. A roll was soon cut and buttered. He glanced at the wine bottle with the stars and wondered what the significance could be.

Noira still ate like a soldier, though. It was hard not to. "Gren..." She paused for a moment, long enough to ask him, "How did you come to join the Rangers?"

Gren set his spoon down and looked at his bowl for a moment. "About twelve years ago, Arillon and Shann found me. I was burned and bloody as if I had just been in a battle. They said the only think I told them was my name, and I was wearing clothes that identified me as a Ranger. When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't remember anything. They asked around, but no one had heard of a Gren Blockman. They brought me to Perrigan, thinking that being with the Rangers would either jog my memory or help me find out about myself."

Izira was not as quick to start eating as the others, taking down three wine glasses instead. She poured the wine, a deep yet full red. It carried a flavor of cherry, fig, and red licorice in a subtle way. There was a warmth of comfort in it. A glass was set quietly before the other two.

Noira nodded slowly. "That is very mysterious... but, you are lucky to have found them, and they you," she added, scooping up her wineglass for a long, slow, savoring drink. "And Haddon and Moriana? How did the three of you come to be friends? The three of you seem close, among the Rangers."

Gren chuckled softly at Noira's comment, then looked at the wine Izira had poured. Maybe the five star restaurant he and Izira dined at gave him a taste for it. Just a little bit. He took a small sip and continued. "Izira kind of helped on that one. Haddon and Moriana were friends of my rival, Rhett. We were on a mission one day and they wanted some decent coffee. Izira had given me a bag of her best, and I helped Haddon make a pot. Suddenly I wasn't the butt of their jokes or a victim of their ire, and slowly we became friends. They stop by here, whenever Haddon is hungry."

"A friendship of convenience," Noira tsk'ed, but paired it with a warm smile between Gren and Izira.

With a small smile to that note, Izira took her wine and moved to her stool. The orange cat hopped onto the bar, curled up and watched. Izira sipped her wine, resting another hand on Gren's shoulder for a moment. "Perhaps it started that way”, she observed and softly chuckled.

"It did, but as time went on we trusted each other more and more. I'm glad they're on my side now, and not against me. They have their faults, but they are strong and brave. I owe them both a lot, as I do all my fellow Rangers”, Gren replied.

"Allies like that are to be treasured," Noira agreed, with a dip of her head... and then paused at something they had bypassed. "And what of this... Rhett? Your rival?" She arched an eyebrow, but her expression was amused.

Izira covered the displeased twist of her lips with another sip of wine. Once her face was schooled she turned to her stew.

"Boy, you're really asking the deep questions today." Gren momentarily glanced at Izira, then back at Noira. "When I first joined the Rangers, I made friends with two new recruits, Rhett and Janna. Janna was a pretty red-haired half-elf. We became close as we trained and went on missions together. Me and Rhett both had feelings for her, but Janna chose me. Anyway . . . “Gren trailed off, thinking about what happened next. He tried to put it into as few words as possible. "We were on a mission, to a village that had been overrun by orcs. I . . . froze up and he practically had to drag me out of there. He said I almost got him killed and he became my enemy. He wooed Janna away from me to prove his point."

Noira's face twisted into disgust. "People freeze. I have been dragged from the field once, and dragged away more than one of my comrades, because what we do is..." She trailed off as she shook her head, then hmph'ed pointedly and lifted her chin. "If I should encounter a Ranger named Rhett, you have my word that he will be bound and left naked in a pig pen."

Izira chuckled, quietly noting, "I would say it would suit him, but that would be an insult to pigs."

"Heh." Gren didn't tell her why he froze, but he didn't want to talk about that right then. He blinked a bit afterward, thinking. "Come to think of it, I wonder where Rhett has been this whole time."

"So long as he keeps his distance from here, I care not where he is”, Izira commented. The level of dislike toward the man was obvious in her tone. There were few in this world that earned such from Izira.

"I've been enjoying the peace and quiet myself with him not around, up until the last few days of course”, Gren observed.

"Chickens, then," Noira mused. “Irate chickens." She raised an eyebrow. "You do not want to be anywhere within pecking range of a chicken when it has made itself cross."

Gren broke into a broad smile at the idea of Rhett being pecked at by an irate chicken. "I wouldn't mind seeing that, actually. Even if just for a few moments."

"A few long moments”, Izira agreed.

"To Rangers named Rhett, and the wrath of chickens." It seemed an odd thing to toast, given their reactions, until Noira added, "May we be spared from them both." She lifted her glass to Izira and Gren with a wide smile, then drank.

"Agreed." Izira lifted her own glass in return and drank as well.

"I'll drink to that." Gren joined in, raised his glass, and took a decent sized gulp of the wine. "I've had enough trouble to last me a good long while. I hope to only see friendly faces, at least until I get a few weeks of decent sleep."

"You can get plenty of rest here." Izira leaned over to kiss Gren's cheek lightly. "You as well, Noira, feel free to keep the room as long as you wish."

"I was about to ask," Noira said to Izira with a warm smile, setting her glass down. It was close to empty, and as her hand closed around the bottle, she thought to offer to Izira and Gren first. "Is there aught you have need of while I stay? I have to admit, this place..." Her eyes danced around the room for a moment, narrowing slightly, though more playful than suspicious. "...it makes me feel that I should stay a while, until I am no longer so road-weary... but I do not wish to be a burden."

"I am well taken care of. You should stay, enjoy the surroundings here”, Izira offered.

"Please stay, Noira, it's the least we can do to thank you for your help”, Gren agreed.

"Then I cannot refuse," Noira laughed softly, refilled her glass, and took it up for a slow sip. "It will be good to be away from everything... from the city, from the farm, from adventuring... I do not think I wish to see another troll's face before this summer's end," she mused.

[Gren Blockman]

"Indeed, you have earned a long break”, Izira said with another tip of her wine glass to Noira.

"Yes..." Noira agreed quietly, though now her sharp eyes trailed around the room, quietly searching for any sign of a feline presence... or his taller counterpart.

Silas was sitting on the bar, watching them.

"Jeremiah is not with us to share the wine... more's the pity," Noira said, after her gaze slyly noted and moved on from Silas. "Gren, Izira... do either of you play?"

"Uh . . . yeah . . . Jeremiah's not here . . .” Gren gave Noira a subtle nudge. "Play? Cards or music?" He tried to change the subject.

"I am sure he is worn from watching over the inn in my absence”, Izira commented.

Silas turned to lay on his side. An ear flicked and his tail moved.

Noira chuckled softly. "Quite a chore, I am sure. Music," she clarified, for Gren.

"Well, you're in luck, because Izira plays great piano. And me . . . “Gren chuckled, "Well, I don't want to brag, but I've been known to play a mean lute in my time. Yes, I am a lute-er. I'm known for my lute-ing."

"There is a... I suppose the closest would be a fiddle, but we called it a mountain lute. It could be plucked or played with bow made from a high stag's mane..." Noira looked between Izira, the pianist, and Gren, the "lutist," she supplied helpfully. "We are both lutists, in our own right, though I am afraid I have not played since... some time ago."

"With your long break you will have time to reacquaint yourself to it." Izira drained her wine glass, standing up and moving over to the piano.

"I am afraid I will not, not unless you happen to have a few instruments from my homeland stashed away somewhere," Noira laughed brightly. "Is there somewhere that you have any other instruments? If there is more than one lute, I should be able to accompany Gren well enough... if he is willing to play," she added, with a look over at the Ranger as she rose from her seat.

"I've tucked one away for friendly get-togethers such as this." Gren stood up and moved down the hallway to the bedroom in the back. He reappeared with a small lute with its bent back neck. He was already strumming the strings, trying to get them in tune. "Me me me me ahem."

Noira, meanwhile, was busying herself checking any cabinet or container near the piano. "Notes... notes... a drum... no, no, no -- oh." Her voice became very small in her surprise. She extracted what looked like a rather bulbous fiddle of golden wood, with a rather long neck proportional to its stubby body, and a bowstring of pale pink strands. She looked them over with a disbelieving frown, then gave Izira a questioning look.

"The realm.... has a way of providing." With a knowing smile, Izira sat at the piano and strummed a few keys. "What sort of song are we in the mood for?"

"There is a song I hear often in the crossroads inns north of RhyDin, that I have played a time or two... when I used to travel with companions," Noira added with a soft, sad smile. "It has no words, so I do not know the name, but..." She hummed a few bars. It had slow, distinctive strains to start, that quickly built in energy.

Gren tried to noodle around with the lute and keep up with Noira, and soon he had the basic chord structure down.

Izira was quicker to pick up on it.

The cat watched, then hopped off the bar and slipped out from the room.

Gren's smile increased as the song went on. He forgot about his troubles, for the moment, and listened to Noira's fiddle and Izira's piano.

Noira leaned in close between Gren and Izira, her head bent, too intent on her work to look at them fully, but still sensing and smiling at both of them. Her softly booted foot stamped a beat against the floor, and though there was no drunken crowd to accompany them, she could almost hear the yip-yip-yeeha! cry when she did. Without seeing them, it was easy to imagine that in addition to her friends, it was others accompanying her whom she'd played with before, even those dead for years now. Her eyes drifted shut while the song transitioned towards a finish, the stomping beat giving way to longer, mournful strains to close.

The piano drew to a close before Noira's lute. Izira turned in the last moments to watch the other play. A muted smile upon her lips.

Gren tried to play rhythm to Noira's lead. It being her song, he softly withdrew his own lute playing with a few faint chords, letting Noira close it out.

She drew out the last note and released a breath she'd been holding, then huffed a few more as she laughed, a rich, warm laughter as she looked aside at Gren and Izira. "Thank you," she dipped her head, crossing her legs and bending at the knee slightly, affecting a bow.

Gren answered with his own sweeping, courtly bow, "My lady, you play divinely."

Izira offered a clap for Noira at the end of the tune, "Well played."

Noira giggled, shook her head and gave another, lower bow. "My good sir, and my fair lady," she turned the gesture on Izira, too, with a teasing grin, "it would be mere noise without your graceful accompaniment."

Izira waved off the compliment, standing and moving back to the bar. She filled her wine glass again. "Shall we play more or enjoy a bit of time by the fire before turning in?"

"Let us have both," the elfess declared. "Fiddle and drink by the hearth until we have had our fill of song and wine," as she tucked the instrument under her arm and topped off her glass again, taking it with her to the fireplace.

"More music! I'm always up for some more lute-ing. I've been working on a special version of Greensleeves . . . . 'Alas, my love, you do me wrong . . . to cast me off discourteouslyyyyy . . . '" Gren strummed the lute more as he followed them over to the fireplace.

Izira chuckled, unable to bring the piano with her, she curled up in a chair. "I will happily listen then."



End