Across the field they strode, patches of fog drifting by them
and a strange moonlight glinting off the steel of their armor
and unsheathed weapons. Startled glances to the left and right
betrayed the uneasy feeling they all shared this night. In all
they were five. Aric, the son of Altorn, was in the lead, his
well polished helm strapped tightly as if for battle. Neyla was
next, her jet black hair drawn back in a braid. Though bereft
of armor she held her sword ready in hand, her every move fluid
and graceful. To her side was Trimik, the stealthy one. Railin
and Azrim followed behind watching carefully to the rear. As
they approached the far side of the woods, the fog rolled back
to reveal the marked stones of their destination: the graveyard
of Forge Hollow.
Nervously they came to a halt. Each straining their vision
to pierce the darkened shadows of twisted tree and standing stones.
Azrim was the first to speak. Lowering his scarf to reveal the
ritual face markings of an Alhadim wizard of house Alnazir he
whispered, “It would appear our friends are not so anxious
for delivery as was implied.”
“They are no friends of mine!” spat Neyla in a venom-laden
whisper. “These maggots slew my brother and if...”
“Save it.” Aric interrupted flatly. “The group
decided to take the job. If you want to exact revenge do it on
your own time. This is business.” With that said each remained
silent, staring into the fog for any hint of their mysterious
contact.
Time passed slowly in the eerily-lit graveyard. Enshrouded
in silence, even the sounds of wild creatures strangely absent.
Railin fidgeted with his holy symbol, mentally warding of any
evil present.
“Do you have the item for which you were contracted?”
a low and menacing voice asked from out of the fog.
All five spun to face the intruder. The outline of his hood
could be made out in the fog, the red trim standing out against
flat black of his armor and tabard. A pair of swords hung sheathed
at his belt.
“We have the scroll. Do you have the payment?” Aric
replied, gathering his composure. "How do they move with
such stealth?” he wondered.
A leather pouch landed at his feet striking the ground with
the distinctive jingle of coinage. “Hand over the scroll
and depart this place. I have no further need of you.”
“No further need?!” Neyla blurted in exasperation.
“The gold was only half the bargain. Where’s the sword?!”
A sarcastic chuckle was the all the response offered. A tense
minute passed as the group nervously gripped their weapons. The
mysterious figure stood inhumanly still, betraying nothing of
his intent. “Consider the bargain renegotiated, you have
been paid in full. Leave the scroll and depart now.” His
voice a deadly whisper with a razor edge.
“What!” pronounced Aric stepping forward in outrage.
Before he could draw another breath, searing pain laced his leg.
Falling to the ground, he screamed in agony.
In the blink of an eye the stranger was among them, blood
dripping from his blades, now drawn and slashing viciously among
the tangle of weapons. Catlike reflexes allowed Neyla to counter
his slashing, her sword and dagger warding off the rapid onslaught.
Another scream rent the cool night air. Azrim spun to see
Railin fall to ground, lifeless. A hooded figure crouched beside
the grave stone Railin had been standing near. With the speed
of thought, Azrim summoned to his hand magical shards of ice
which he deftly hurled at the figure. Incandescent energy sparked
around the figure as the spell was countered by some arcane shield.
The shadow leapt forward a small blade whistling through the
air from his extended hand. Azrim spun avoiding the missile as
he drew his wide curving blade. Prepared for sword play he was
caught unaware by what did happen: the shadowy assailant fell
unconscious at his feet. Standing over the inert form was Trimik
his dagger in one hand, short sword in the other.
“Behind you!” he shouted in warning. Azrim spun
a fraction of a second too late to face yet another assailant
leaping from the fog. A crippling wound to his forearm was the
price. Ignoring the pain as his arm fell limp to his side, he
lashed out with his wide blade, the force of the blow nearly
cleaving his foe in two.
Neyla was still hard pressed defending against the furious
attacks of her foe. TWAAANNG!. A bolt loosed from Aric’s
crossbow bit deep into the leg of the black clad warrior. The
momentary distraction provided by her wounded comrade was all
the opening she needed. Swift strokes to the arms, legs and abdomen
finished the struggle.
Rushing to Aric’s side she examined the crippling wound
and knew it to be badly in need of tending. “Railin,”
she called, unaware of the shaman’s fate.
“Railin has passed from this realm for a time.”
Azrim spoke holding his own crippled arm to his side. Already
the eidolon of their comrade had begun its shambling journey
to the portal of Death.
“Just for the record,” Aric intoned, “I never
much cared for the Dark Elf contract myself.”
