He gets up slowly enough so that it doesn't hurt too much, and looks around him, checking to see if everyone is accounted for.

ooc:
There are several lengthy posts at the end of page six, so don't forget to check back

Ruvyen, while I was hoping for something more continuous, I'll let you wake up from a sort of haze instead. However, with that in mind, you have heard and seen nothing at all that happened prior to your post.

The trees begin as close as a few feet from the edge of the stream, and as you progress with the almost ritualistic motions of drying your robes, you soon find yourself nearly pressing your way through the underbrush. Most of the plants you find are small green and brown bushes and vines, whose leaves have just recently begun to sprout their leaves. I little ways in, as your garments have nearly dried, you come to a fairly small bush covered in tiny white and blue flowers.

Falaanla

The lizardman's path does not take him towards either your familiar or the rings on the ground. He also seems quite unfamiliar with familiars. It is quite possible that this creature has little or no knowledge of the magical arts.

Ruvyen

Of those who you arrived at the bridge with earlier on, only a few are visible now. Aust lies on the ground, either asleep or unconscious, it is difficult to tell. The robed elf is no longer robed, and he sits with a book in his lap, on the far side of the bridge from Aust. The rest of your companions seem to have wandered off somewhere or another.

He is quite fun to be around...Sure, he may only feem a little bird, but he is also my friend when I am out on long travels.

Maybe we could each learn a little something from each other. I for one, would like to learn more about these plants that you seem to know quite a bit about...

"These plants? I know nothing of them. This whole land is foreign to me." He reaches out to closer-examine the flowers grown by the plant he had just watered, as he keeps talking in a series of short sentences.

"I come from a land of stone to the west. Over the great pool of water on which your people can travel."

Khazmon looks at the handaxe in his right hand, then goes to wander around the area, looking for everyone.

Without further direction, the most obvious way to go is directly down the trail. After a while, though, it begins to seem odd that the others might have just moved on and left you behind without saying goodbye.

Reyolen

A vague memory comes to mind as you flip through the pages of your spellbook. When you first had to learn the spell Prestidigitation, you complained that it had no practical uses. How times have changed...

"An interesting tale, one fit for the telling. Perhaps a drink, later, to Bill Brandybottle, highwayhalfling extrordinaire!"

Jean chuckles, and grins.

"But not so fine a highwayhalfling as myself."

Khazmon decides to take one last look at the surrounding area, this time going farther out, and listening for anything.

After a brief pause to let her statement sink in, she continues in the same quiet tone, "We're headed for an Elven city. I'm sure they'll have the supplies I need, but newcomers are oft looked upon with suspicion. To do my work, I will need a distraction... something unusual enough to draw all prying eyes off my person for a goodly length of time. So that's my offer. Once I have what I'm after, I'll teach you what I know." Her voice perks up again, taking on a slight hint of sensuality, and she leans back once more for her closing question, "So, is this... agreeable to you?" As she asks, she slides her one free hand downward along her hip, and spreads her fingers over her thigh. A sharp smile crosses her lips.

As you raise your longsword to strike, the orc takes a heavy swing with one end of its axe. The strike aims not in your direction, but bears down at an angle upon your companion, slicing a deep gash in her side. Freya cries out, and falls to the ground. In that same instant, your longsword cleaves into the orc's armor, slicing into the side of its chest, spreading the binding between two bands of its armor. The creature stumbles, dropping its axe, then drops to its knees, and finally falls over on its side.

Freya lies bleeding, as do both of the orcs slain at the site. You now stand alone beside the odd construct. The structure appears at first as little more than a pile of stones, with a tinted glass orb sitting at its top. Four rods protrude directly from its surface, connected to each other by a polished steel band that wraps entirely around the construct. Four tents surround you in the camp, each at a short distance. There is no sound save for the insects chirping. The sun begins to set over the western horizon.

Ruvyen

You have now gone far enough down the trail that you have lost sight of Silvan and Aust. The trail begins to curve a ways up from where you now stand. So far, there is no sign of any of your companions in this direction. If they have indeed gone on without you, it's doubtful that you'd be able to catch up.

"Err... of course, I can help... how can I not help a lady with such succulent... err..."

Jean shifts uneasily.

"What exactly do you, err... have in legs?"

Jean blinks.

"Mind. What do you have in mind?"

The flowers are small, with pedals that stretch out no wider than the thickness of your finger. Each blossom has a ring of narrow white petals that fade to blue near the center of the flower, curving inward to form the shape of a tiny funnel. Nearly every branch of the plant is lined with blossoms, so that the whole bush almost looks white.

Taylen

While Freya's pack had a few small cloths wrapped around the meat she packed, none are large enough to use as a bandage for her side. Among your own equipment, you carried a large cloth sack, which might be suitable if it was properly bound and tied around her.

"I think I can do it. How long do we plan on staying in Destindeterre? Mayhaps I can make this distraction... profitable... for us as well."

"Well, I never!" she says suddenly, in a haughty tone, placing as much of an Elven accent as she can on her words. "Of all the nerve! Accusing me of such things, how dare you!"

But you seem to know something of plants, know to water them, and know just how much water to give them...as if you have taken care of plants for some time now.

And this land of stone...can you tell me some more about it? What it was called? Id like to know...

The lizardman's eyes go distant, and his next words are more a recitation than his own creations.

"Obad-Hai has created nothing for the lone purpose of being catered to. All things exist to be in the balance of this carefully-ordered world, and if they do not fit in its structure than they must be allowed to vanish from this world rather than jeopardize the grand creation of our master."

He closes his eyes, and does not speak further. But the recitation continues in his mind.

You must never violate this principle, my student. To live in the wilds of the Shalm's kingdom, you must be wild yourself. And that means you must never stay your hand, or act out of anything but instinct in your dealings with the world. If something angers you, act on that anger. Your instincts are given to you naturally. It is the gift of Obad-Hai. To deny their orders is to defy your god. And if following your instincts means death for another creature-

Drakkenclaw suddenly opens his eyes, and speaks quickly and abruptly as if cutting something off. "But this land must have just recieved a blessing in the sky's tears, and my theft of their life-water is unnecessary and outside the laws of the Shalm. So I try to return it to the land and its creatures."

He squeezes whatever last drops of water he can out of his robes onto the flower plant's roots, all the while talking.

"Your weather is very different from that of my home. Back across the great pool, it would not rain for several months more. Our land also is not as blessed as yours in the wealth of water we recieve. No plants such as these... these..."

He pauses, as if searching for a word.

"...'forests' grow in my home. Much has to go into them to grow so large in these few days of life. Nothing but magic has created so great a creature in my home, but those were grown only for the Order's feeding and they are supposed to live longer than I will.

Our land is like your clearings, too, during the wet times. But they only last for a day or so, and never rain enough for more than flowers to grow. Even then they live their whole lives in a briefer time than I have witnessed this land of yours in green robes.

Otherwise, your land must be very much like mine. There are the same rocks, the same soil. I am lucky to have had the chance to see this miracle."

At that, he bows his head gently towards the bush and whispers a soft exhortation to the plant:

"Fellow creature, I wish to trade with you in life. I have given you life-water, which I accidentally removed from your great flowing... flowing..."

He pauses again in thinking, before continuing with an odd choice of words.

"...basin. I have given you more than the others, for I wish to borrow one of your flowers. It shall be returned to the earth from which it came, but for now I will take one. I beg your forgiveness, and hope you approve."

With these words, the lizardman picks a small white flower from the bush and lightly trims the stem down to a managable size with his claws. Then, innocently, he turns his head and lightly places the blossom in the hair of his friend.

"It will not last, I know. But it is a good trade."

Taylen gently strokes Frey's cheek, tears springing to his eyes, "Please be okay."

ooc:
I need to see more activity from those of you still in play. For those whose characters have been preoccupied (Aust and Silvan), I understand the absense. However, for anyone else who has not posted in a while, I need to see some more activity from you. I have tried to give everyone something to work with in this post.

The binding quickly grows red around Freya's wound, but it appears to hold fast. Your companion remains unconscious and unmoving, and her breath is shallow, barely present at all. You might be able to carry her, but there's no telling whether moving her now would be safe.

The sun quickly sets, and the earth around you grows dark. You can see most of the orc camp, but not much beyond. As with the night before, the moon will not rise for some hours yet. The remnants of a small fire, now long extinguished, lie just on the far side of the odd construct.

Ruvyen

As you draw closer to the bend in the trail, your darkvision begins to kick in. The sun has set, and you've still no sign of the others in this direction.

Arttemis

Ara's sudden outburst nearly drives away your wits, and you feel a small knot form in your throat.

Reyolen

As you near the end of your meditation, you hear an outburst from across the river. The call comes from Ara, though you cannot entirely say what may have motivated her. She does seem to change her mind a lot. It will take you only a moment more to complete the ritual for securing your choice of spells. Your spellbook remains on your lap.

Willias

Your dreams are haunted tonight, by images of orcs and goblins screaming and howling. You see flashes of battles passed, from times you cannot recall.

After a moment, the images resolve into one. You stand alone, amongst a hoard of your kin, all lying dead or dying upon the dark earth. Your father is among them, his eyes vacant and cold. You cannot see your mother in the darkness.

"Nighttime... Not only will I probably needa hurry up, but there's no tellin' what'll come out..." Khazmon says to himself.

Suddenly, he pauses, and looks behind him, as if looking at something.

"I hope Aust'll be okay, and able to catch up... Maybe I should go back..."

Why, its beautiful! Thank you very much!

I would one day like to see the land from where you came, too...

I am guessing that you would be studying the teachings of Obad-Hai? I have heard of him in my studies, but not much more about him...

Silvan then says to Ara, "Indeed.....quite amusing, Ara. If that's how you're going to be, I have better things to do. I have no time for fools and girls who can't grow out of their childish games. However, I am willing to forgive you if you tell me what you were really up to." Silvan's expressions change accordingly while speaking, and the first sentence carries a sarcastic tone.

"'Sides... There might be more of those orc bastards around."

Silvan then says, "Alright, first of all, most elves do not act like myself. I am an exception, even by high elven standards, because of my strange upbringing. Of course, none of that is any of your concern. However, to be an elf they will expect perfect elvish, which you come closer to then I expected from a half bre....elf. The mechanics of it are far too complex to go into detail here, but I can make you pass for an elf if you don't open your mouth, I think."

"Of course," Silvan continues, "you still haven't told me what you and the halfling were up to."

[ 05-28-2002: Message edited by: Reyolen ]

ooc:
It seems that Arttemis is on vacation; he hasn't posted on the main EC board in a few days, and it's been more than 10 days since his last campaign post.

As you return to where you left Silvan, you notice that two individuals have returned, and now stand across the river from him. One is obviously the halfling. The other looks a lot like Ara, but her ears are distinctively taller. Aust remains on the ground where you left him. There is still no sign of anyone else about.

Drakkenmaw

Another night has come, and you have yet to rest. Your legs have begun to remind you of the length of their burden. It is a rare creature indeed that does not hold in some fashion to the cycle of the day, yet here you have passed two days without rest already. It has also been several hours since you ate. You can feel your belly growing angry at you.

Willias

A flash of lightning fills the night sky for a brief instant, and the crashing sound of thunder breaks in your ears. Silence follows, and for a brief moment, you are left to your tears. Then you feel a darkness cross over you. Towering before you stands a hideous creature, with hideous tusks and a forward-hunched stance. A rancid stench surrounds the creature, and it makes a rasping growl somewhere in the back of its throat. In its gnarled hand it grips an equally gnarled blade. This is one of the orc-monsters, like those from the sprite tales your mother sometimes read to you, yet now it stands as real as the morning sunrise, more than twice your youthful height even in standing. A chill runs down your spine.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I had said something that did not sit well with you. I seem to have a nasty habit of doing that, you see. It has gotten me into trouble with more and more guard-types."

He decides to take that course of action... Mostly because the first failed. He runs towards the group, and shouts, "HEY!"

Silvan then turns back to Ara and awaits his answer in the meantime.