Ghost of the Wilds - Rotten Wound! uh.. Rotting Wound!

[Kerby]

Part I - The Hunter Hunted

Everything was perfect. She was in her own element… the forest. She looked along the line of traps she had set along the deer trail she had found. She has even placed a bit of deer meat at each end of her kill area to make sure no deer wandered through.

Looking around she grins widely and looks to the nearest deep shadow. She stares intently into it and whispers in elven, "May Fenmarel Mestarine keep my feet silent and my eyes true." She glides from tree to tree... like the ghost the humantown to the east thinks she is. She smiles at the thought.

She can smell them before she can even see them. A pungent unwashed smell. But the one she hunts has a particular smell to him. It smells like burning rock. Their guttural tongue bounces off the forest canopy and she pinpoints their locations from behind the tree she has chosen. Like most wild elves... she can see with her ears almost as well as her eyes.

Thier are four of the lower ranked ones grouped around a fire. She can hear one sharpening it's blade. A litle further she can hear the chant of one of thier circle. She almost agrees with thier kind sometimes. Perhaps this forest would be better served being protected by the like of a shadow druid.
Everything in balance. But she does not approve of their methods. It would make the forest a grim place if they became too powerful. The chant continues and she picks up on a new noise... from the tree above her. She can hear that the chanting is faced towards her, so she dare not look from behind the tree. She feels the creeping vines of the tree move under her hands. Startled she looks over her soulder at the tree. The vines that grow up it are alive with movement. Has the Shadow Druid detected her? The vines quietly creep towards the fire the four warrior creatures.

She breaths a sigh of relief. The shadow druid seems distracted by the actions of his own clan. A grunt, a shout, the creak of vines. Then harsh laughter. She chances a peek. One sliver of her face darts from behind the tree and one eye takes in the scene in a flash. Before she can even think about what she has seen... she is hidden again.

She thinks about the scene and smiles herself. The large batlike ears and wide thin lipped and heavily tusked mouth is all that can be seen of the bugbear. The rest of him is covered in a cacoon of vines that he strugles again. The shadow druid has a look of concentration on his furred face... along with an evil grimmace that must be a smile.

She looks at the vine and thinks, "That was fast. I must be quick if I am to avoid being an unwilling caterpillar of that one."

But these are not her prey. She walks the woods at the edge of thier outpost camp... choosing her path and even her steps carefully. Looking back over her shoulder to make sure the path behind her is straight and true.

Finally, there is the scent she was looking for. That dark and musky smell of a creature so dark... it belongs in the Abyss. A place she cares not to return to. She can hear him. His back is to the tree that looks over the rusted metal door he guards in the side of a huge dead tree. Kharbeh can hear him casually ripping the bark from the tree he leans on. It is as if he were shelling a peanut... not ripping the iron-like bark from a huge oak tree.

Deciding it is time to spring her elven trap, the tiny elven woman removes a leather wrapped pack from a pouch. She unwraps it and wrinkles her nose. The rotted meat wriggles with maggots. She places it next to the tree... making sure she sets it far enough from the trunk that she will have a clear shot. She retreats to another tree a few body lengths away.

without thought a smooth action pulls out one of her special arrows from her quiver and knocked it into her bow. In her life, she has made that movement thousands... if not hundereds of thousands of times. The tipped is made of a creatures tooth and condenses with water as the ice cold tip hits the wet air of the Rawlins. She pulls the bow string back and it vibrates slightly with the tension of the special wood. She breathes quietly and slowly... and waits.

Sure enough... the huge bugbear tilts it's head back and smells the air. She waits. He looks around him casually to see if any of the others are near. He scans the tree line... and looks right past her. She is one with the tree that she leans against. Her skin has changed to perfectly blended with the bark of the old tree. He is alone.

He snuffles and grunts. Growling under his breath. His armor is the color of slate... dead and lusterless. He moves with menace and power. He looks down at the meat and his knuckles go white as he grips the huge axe at in his hand. He snorts and looks around. Trying to see if anyone is trying his patience with a trick. He growls and snatches up the piece of meat with an unexpected quickens.

Checking the distance to her target... she quickly decides that only two shots will make it to him before she will have to run. She releases just as the meat hits the mottled yellow skin of the giant. She will have to keep him off balance since she has seen them call upon the fire women with the black wings and the venomed teeth before. If he is able to get the encantation out... she is done.

Silent death hits him in the spot between plates she had chosen. He chokes out a yell around the rotted meat in his mouth and is almost instantly on guard... he scans for the movement and out of the corner of his eye... he spots the branch move. Wait... not a branch... an elf. And elf with a bow. A second sting in his left thigh at the very edge of a dark plate. He grunts... expecting the pain... almost looking forward to it. He looks down and sees the flesh freeze. He grimaces and and his eyes go red. He bellows and charges but as he looks back up at his quarry... he only spots her back for an instant and she is flitting through the trees.

He is faster than she thought, but she is leading him out of earshot of the others and towards her treats. Had it not been for the trees and the narrowness of the deer path... it is certain that he would have overtaken her.

She slips through brush as if it is not even there. Dancing and ancient dance. With each tree she skirts in front of it and uses it to steady a quick shot through the brush. Each zing of her bow is followed by a satisfying bellow from the dark furry knight.

"Keep him angry. Keep him thinking I am just an annoyance." She fakes a trip, rolls and lets him get close. He explodes through the brush and screams when he spots her on the ground. Like a carging bull he launches himself at the pixie-like brown woman. He spots the twine at chest height but it is too late. A small animal bladder explodes with a fine dust. The dust of a shadow. He breaths it in and life is sucked from him. He stumbles and goes off course. Hitting two more triggers as he tries to slow his charge. His left leg goes numb from cold and a coiled branch burst from a low hanging branch... the sharpened spike attached to it punctures the beasts chest. He grabs for a branch as he falls... mere feet from the crouched elven and a thick vined net falls on him. Hopelessly entangling him.

His axe shoots out and catches the elf woman unexpectedly. She had not realized she was within arms reach. The blade gashes her leg and throws her like a doll. But she rolls and and crouches... her face contorts into a feral grin.

He screams with rage and begins chanting... for the first time he realizes the danger. He rips at the netting as the elf rises... bow knocked. The last thing he sees is the arrow heading staight at his eye. The last thing he hears is the fey creature in a sing-song accent of the human trade tongue say, "Never run after an elf in the woodsh." She laughs like a bird, and he fades to meet his fiendish lord.

[Kerby]

Part II: Troll Rot

She limps towards her prey, pulling a blade as she closes on his body. She is still on guard, but she doesn't see the thing's chest rising or falling. She plunges the slim blade into it's other eye… the yellow orb now staring lifelessly toward the sky. She takes the blade and snicks off it's bat-like ear. She strings it on her necklace and leaves the oldest one on the blackguard's chest.

Only then does she blink hard a few times. Her eyes will not clear. She squints at the gash at her leg. She sits down heavily and looks it over. There is a strange odor to it. She clambers over to his axe and sniffs the blade. There is a thick liquid on the edge. This is not good. The wound will not seal. She tries everything. The drink she buys from the god man in the town. The moss that her people use to staunch wounds. Nothing... the red flows slowly from her and the edges of the wound grey and fester before her eyes.

The beast may kill her yet. She needs help. She rummages through her back and pulls out a small wooden vile. She drinks the thich thick sap carefully. Her heart slows.. the treant sap will slow the poison. She need her pack brothers and sisters. They will know what to do.

It is like moving through a thick fog. Her concious thought slowly slip from her as her body continues. Each step pumps more of her life through the wound. Her instincts take over and she is near invisible as her pixie blood reacts to the danger and forces her body to hide. Day to night. Night to day.

Approaching the crevase that leads to the vale of the Wolves, she is in a walking trance. She does not see the Eastlander heretic until it is almost too late. His back to her, he watches the entrance to her home. He must die if she is to make it to her friend. Automatically she draws an arrow to her bow and lets fly. It pierces his leg in a scream. He spins and her second arrow ricoches off his shield. She throws her bow down as he rushes her. As she pulls her blade he screams out a word and she feels his dark lord crush her remaining strength. But he is distracted in the calling and her blade fits neatly in the center of his throat. They both fall.

Panting... she crawls to the crevase. Up the narrow path to the thich gate in the rock canyon. Darkness fills her eyes. She fumbles and finds the tooth. Slips it into the lock and the door creaks open. She moves without vision or thought. She hears voices, but she does not know them... or maybe... she does. Then nothing.

The two elven men speak in hushed tones. One with anger, the other... soothing.

Too be continued when I get home…