Month: June 2017

Xenn reached the red oak where Birney stood guard, beckoned to the veteran, and scurried up the tree. Birney stared glass-eyed across the expanse. The lesser light of the Dark Period still allowed full view of the expanse. A small group of Purple Moolers munched on grass on the far side of the meadow. Red deer, orange rabbits, yellow grouse, wood ducks, and flying squirrels moved around the meadow. Predators seldom came near the meadow. The presence of the fauna furthered the idea that Drolls and Kiennites for the moment were away.

Xenn politely asked, “How goes the watch?”

Birney said, “Quiet.”

Xenn sat for a moment and followed, “We missed you in the common area, Birney. Your voice compliments Forbin’s lute so well.”

Birney said, “Spellweaver, you should remain within alms Glen. Wandering about places you at risk. I appreciate your visiting me, but I am content to continue my watch.”

Xenn replied, “Sergeant Birney, I don’t take a step outside my tree without a Ranger companion. I gather it’s on your orders. Nary a Droll has shown his face since we returned from, I’m sorry. We all miss my father.”

Birney said, “He was my greatest friend. We shared so many adventures, including the encounter with the wizard, who mysteriously appeared on the night you were born. His life taken needlessly by Drolls. My eyes tell me none are nearby, but my bow longs to exact revenge. I’d volunteer to travel beyond the River Ornash, find the enemies, and kill many. My need for vengeance consumes me.”

Xenn decanted smoky fluid from the purple esyuphee hide sack into the cup and then one after the other poured uncolored, yellow, red, and green potions into the chalice. Auras filled the room with each addition. Xenn eased the ornate vessel to his pale orange lips and gently sipped the smoky warm effervescing liquid. Goose bumps covered his carroty skin and he felt chilled to the bone. He tipped the cup and quaffed the remainder of the liquid. Words appeared in his mind.

“I give you my blood through which you will receive all you seek. You in turn give to me your all.”

Inexplicable surges of strength raced through Xenn.

The redness cleared. A young orange skinned male stood with his back to Xenn. The visitor to Xenn’s dream wore a green robe identical to the artifact Xenn’s mother had found in Sylvan Pond.

Xenn spoke, “What trickery is this?”

The visitor turned and Xenn looked upon himself.

Xenn said, “Leave my sleep! Rest has eluded me.”

The visitor to his dream answered, “All in good time! Tell me… why do you not wear your robe?”

Xenn said, “Obviously, it’s green. I’d stand out in the forest like a sore thumb!”

The Dream visitor replied, “You stand out anyway. It’s a Robe of Sagain, you dumb ****** ******! It’s just hanging in your closet! S**t fire! You don’t know its value. Only a handful survive. A Light Sorceress seamstress constructed the robe from silk of Sagain, the feathers of the snow-white Phoenix, one of the three shypoke scales remaining in the Laurels, and the scales of a prismatic dragon. Moreover, the seamstress risked death as she tenuously placed a jet-black Tuscon feather within the fabric of the device. Once placed in the robe, the Magick of the robe harnessed the malevolent force within the jet-black feather and instead instilled a protection against Death Magick upon the wearer of the cloak. The robe was indeed patterned like the ancient robe of the Order of Light Sorcerers. The two were barely distinguishable. The properties of silk of Sagain included the facility to adapt to the size of each wearer of the garment. The Light Sorcerers cherished the spiders that created the silk. The tiny arachnids required two centuries to produce the silk needed to create the robe. The silk had been used to create little black dresses which had adorned many young women during their ceremonies of commitment. Even more rare were the adamantine spiders that created the slender cords that the sorceress used to bind the silk and other materials. The robe has many hidden pockets. It’d give great advantage in a conflict with another Spellcaster, and it hangs in your ****** closet!”

Xenn timidly said, “It’s green!”

The visitor replied, “Amazing! It contains a prismatic dragon scale within its folds! It can be any color you want! Its last wearer wanted green!”

The big Droll growled. “I’m going to enjoy tearing you up, Spellweaver. Your ilk has tormented my ancestors. Stole the heirloom that controlled the Firehorses! Destroyed the Firehorse brigade! Know Dewrong Korcran will be your end.”

A Droll shook his unmoving comrade and said, “Dewrong, Tummus isn’t moving and does not speak.”

Dewrong said, “He seldom says much of import, Norgle. It was a simple spell. Smack him! He’ll probably wake up. I’m more interested in getting our prize back to camp.”

Norgle slapped Tummus. The force of the blow knocked the Droll down and aroused him. Tummus jumped up and said, “What’d you do that for, Norgle. Dewrong, Farong, Fluggle! You’ve captured the Spellweaver! May I tear off a few of his fingers?”

Dewrong said, “Patience, Tummus. There’ll be plenty of time for it. He’ll sing like a bird and tell all about Drelvedom’s defenses. Let’s make ready. Farong and Fluggle, carry his sorry a**!”

Farong said, “Boss, it won’t take both of us to carry his scrawny a**!”

Dewrong Korcran said sternly, “Listen to me, you t**ds! Keep that a******’s mouth covered and his hands secure. I don’t want spells thrown against us.”

Fluggle timidly answered, “You got it, Boss!”

Norgle asked, “What about Zagnar?”

Dewrong said, “What about him? He got bested by a Drelve! He’s just carrion. Do you want to carry him back to camp, Norgle?”

Tummus, Farong, Fluggle, and Dewrong shared a laugh. Norgle growled under his breath. Only Xenn saw the movement in the dark waters of the Ornash. Farong and Fluggle threw their axes over their backs and picked up the struggling Spellweaver. A dark form silently moved across the water.

Shypokes had soft scales. Sadly, shypokes were long extinct. The little dragons had minimal ability of Magick. About all they could do was change color and warm their eggs. The animals and their eggshells were powerful spell components and had always been sought for this reason. Their scales were soft, not as soft as Prismatic dragon scales, but soft. Shypokes purred and sang little songs to attract mates. The songs of the last shypokes were said to be hauntingly sad. The shypoke was little more than half a cubit long. That’s about two hands length. Only fossilized eggshells remained on Sagain, but the shells maintain their potency. The distinctive, pleasant aroma of the shypoke eggshells mimicked the scent of basil and allspice. The powdered eggshells were a bit irritating to the eyes and nasal passages and induced tearing and sneezing. Many scholars debated whether the little creatures were dragons. Obtaining the rare spell material component of the Translocation Spell required great effort and a lot of luck. The Head of the Order of Dark Sorcerers Boton Klarje-Jhundi rationed his shypoke eggshells carefully.

“I told Gruggle he was too old to fight Draiths. He should have stayed with the females,” growled the giant who had checked Ubough’s hiding place.

“Fenytek, you know as well as I do that King Krable has pressed everyone into service. In case you didn’t notice, we just got our butts kicked out there!” the third giant muttered.

“Topmacks! You blowhard! We might have fared better had you fomented a better plan! They baited us! And we fell for it! You ordered us to charge into three of ‘em! Thirty others were just waitin’!” the kneeling giant growled.

“If I wanted your opinion, I would give it to you, Tegrah Tall! Your name belies your deeds. It’s only the luck of having tall parents that makes you a half a finger taller than anyone else. You should have been called the teller of tall tales,” Fenytek growled.

Tegrah the Tall harrumphed, “I’m glad it’s you, Fenytek, and not I, who must inform King Krable of this debacle. With old Gruggle’s demise, we’ve now lost eight on this foray! You jest at my height, but were you not old Krable’s spawn, you’d not be in command.”

The third giant Topmacks raised a thick furry sixth finger and shushed his quarreling comrades. He said, “We may have been followed!”

The commander Fenytek chided, “You old fool! You are older than this pile of rubbish lying before us! Draiths can’t descend into the depths. They can’t see in the dark. Their torches can’t reach these depths! As far as our ‘debacle’ goes, I have learned the location of their females and young. Yes, we lost a few comrades, but we learned much in return. So Krable, my father, will laud my efforts. Now, if both of you will grovel before me, I’ll forgive your impudence and impotence in battle. I might even give you a bigger ration of ale. You may start begging now.”

Topmacks and Tegrah the Tall sighed and then whimpered together.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Tegrah the Tall, whined.

“I’m sorry, too, boss,” Topmacks chimed in.

“That’s more like it,” Fenytek gloated.

Piara said, “I don’t understand. There are only two identical stones. This effect required three activated Omega Stones.”

Inyra muttered in gibberish speech, “I see your Mind’s image of the Omega Stones. These are not Omega Stones. But more than that… I see… everything you have said is true. Your baby’s father is… the leader of Vydaelia! Your other child is the spawn of the liege of Doug-less! Piara of Elder Ridge, you do get around!”

Nila quizzically asked, “What are you saying?”

Piara replied, “I understand you. Two Omega Stones empower communication in an old dialect and compel the truth. Three Omega Stones enable the bearers to look into each other’s mind. We never discovered the effect of four and five stones, and I never knew of more than five of them together. Now the Twin Stone ‘speaks’ to me. The Twin Stones mimic ALL effects created by multiple Omega Stones. Nothing special happens with four. Five stones produce a Protection from Magick effect. Six and seven do nothing special. Eight Stones effect enables Continual Light. I don’t know what that means. No added effect from nine, ten, eleven or twelve Omega Stones, but thirteen stones produces Time Saving Effect. Time will remain constant when passing between realms. 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20 do nothing more. 21 Omega Stones will irreversibly form into a Xennic Stone. Xennic Stones helped the Gray Matron create UK. 88 revolve in the geodesic dome in Vydaelia.”

Thd redness cleared and an image formed. Kirrie sat upon a wyvern.

Yannuvia muttered, “Drop the illusion. That ship sailed long ago. Kirrie chose my brother Gaelyss over me. Are you going to press guilt upon me over our venture?”

Kirrie spoke, “My… you have been busy, Wandmaker? Do you like the title? Are you a big fish in a small pond? Are you enjoying your whore from Meadowsweet? Think of the Lone Oak, The Invisimoss, Sergeant Major Rumsie, cleaning boots, and Old Yellow. We shared many childhood memories, Fire Wizard. Now we share that moniker too. If it makes you feel any better the tree shepherd has labeled me the same. I have now killed more Drolls than you. I am not welcome in Alms Glen and Meadowsweet. Green Vale allows me entry, but the Tree Shepherd shuns me. Sound familiar?”

Yannuvia replied, “Good Witch, you’d know these things. Just appear as your Good Witch persona. At least on the surface it’s appealing to the eye.”

Kirrie answered, “I come as I am. I don’t have the ability to change my look once I have appeared. I appeared differently when I spoke to your fish-man comrade Bluuch. He knows little of your escapades Wandmaker, but now I know a lot. I’d love to let your whorish life-mate know the whole story. The Good Witch sends me in her stead. You fixed her up pretty well. It appears it’s something you’re good at. Oh, my! The sea elf too! I’d love to tell Morganne about it! But I’m here to give you a message. I don’t know what all this means but here goes. You have created new wands with each dark period. During the Approximation you created the exceptional USA Wand. Your nodule can get no larger. When the Dark Periods arrive you will be able to create wands, but they will be of the same power and that power will be limited to Magick Missile Spells. When the grayness returns you’ll be able to create another exceptional wand. The Central Sphere and the 88 stones will direct you. Your nodule will then tell you what to do. Grayness will recharge the wands.”

Yannuvia said, “Kirrie? Fire Wizard? Are you now a Dreamraider? Have you mastered translocation? If so, come to us. You can help us.”

Kirrie replied, “I am a sister of Grayness and only a messenger. You’ve made your bed, Yannuvia. Now you must lie in it.”

The Wandmaker answered the visage in his dream, “We’ve chosen similar beds, Kirrie.”

Kirrie answered, “I don’t share mine with another.”

Yannuvia said, “Perhaps no longer… but before with my brother Gaelyss!”

Kirrie said, “Touché! I got mine! Your brother shares his bed with a whore from Meadowsweet, just as you do.”

Red lights flashed around the image. The dreaming Wandmaker watched her eyes. Kirrie’s image did not speak again. Blueness surrounded her and she faded from Yannuvia’s mind’s eye.

Noting the wyvern’s wounds, Morganne asked, “The beast is seriously wounded. What can we do?”

“I know nothing of healing wyverns. I’ve primarily avoided becoming a snack for such a beast. Have you read anything of them in the Gifts of Andreas to the People of the Forest, Gaelyss?” the elder Ulysses asked.

“It’s an animal. It eats, sleeps, breathes, and…well, you know. Give the critter some enhancing root stew and aloe juice. A Healing Spell might work. Wyverns are Magick and Nature. I…I can’t do a heal spell at this moment,” Gaelyss answered and slumped beside Edkim on the thick moss.

Rigorous spell casting again sapped his energies.

“Try placing healing balm on the beast’s wounds. We owe it. Bring enhancing stew,” the Teacher struggled to advise.

Blanchard and Debby, elders of Alms Glen, and Morin from Meadowsweet brought enhancing stew and thick amber balm. Tentatively, the elders placed the balm on the wyvern’s wounds. Kirrie offered the fragrant stew and the beast wolfed it down. The great beast sat on its haunches, snorted, and covered the elder Blanchard with purplish mucous. Blanchard grumbled something about a filthy beast. The wyvern glanced at Debby and licked its chops. Kirrie glowered and stopped the beast’s philandering.

The púca sighed and relayed, “I have a secret talent. I’m telepathetic.”

Sidheag disdainfully chided, “If you mean telepathic, like the Cloudmare, I doubt it!”

Cupid rubbed small hoof along the thin orange moss and repeated, “No, I’m telepathetic!”

Sidheag laughed derisively and drew some confused gazes from the beleaguered Drelves.

Oilill questioned his friend, “Cupid, we don’t have time to waste. What do you mean?”

Cupid reiterated, “Telepathetic! I’m púca! I have the ability to project feelings of distressing inadequacy upon others. They’ll feel pitiful or scorned, depending on the situation. I’ve used it on occasion to get out of a jam. It’s gotten me out of Aulgmoor once or twice. My victims don’t realize I’m the one fomenting the trouble.”

Sidheag grumbled, “What a pathetic talent, no joke intended. How’d that help us now?”

The púca suggested, “I thought I’d lower the Drolls’ morale a bit.”

Oilill replied, “How many can you influence? There’s too many of them!”

Cupid answered, “I don’t know how many or how far I can reach. I know I bamboozled three Kiennish Protectors in the General’s dining room. I’ll do what I can.”

The púca furrowed his cherubic brow and concentrated. The big Droll Maxim who stood about a hundred paces away tilted his head once or twice and shook his flowing mane. Maxim then looked upward and wailed mournfully.

Thirty paces behind Maxim the Droll Lieutenant Val looked at his stalwart colleague perplexed and said, “I think Maxim feels bad.”

The Droll warrior Davilano stood next to Val and replied, “I think I feel bad, too.”

Val followed, “Come to think of it, so do I.”

Davilano and Val began a chorus of wails. Soon dozens of nearby Droll warriors joined in and howled despondently. The gloomy chorale spread over the meadow. Kiennish archers threw down their bows and cried. General Saligia witnessed the spectacle and groaned, “What the ****!”