Purr
Kaerri's Man. =)
(Mood Music. Singer: Helene Boksle. Nighttime Journey Through the Eiglophian Mountains from the Age of Conan Hyborian Adventures soundtrack)
A simple treasure map.
It all started with a simple treasure map that Nivirea the Sorceress had procured in the shimmering city of Summerset with its lofty spires, looming castles, and shadow-filled alleys. Lowin the Crafty, a convincing old dwarven merchant if there ever was one, had sworn upon his own family name that the yellowed vellum scroll the sorceress held in her hands was indeed a treasure map buried by Galefas the White, the age-old wizard who had carried his legendary Staff of Power to riches but was not found buried with it when he finally passed from his adventures upon Sharseya's shining lands into realms beyond life.
Of course, now it dawned on the magical miss that Lowin had never once spoken of his family name even in greeting, and odd too, the little chuckle he gave that made his white beard quiver with delight when the sorceress handed over all of the gold she had procured from her previous adventure. Hard-earned gold at that...
But the chance at a fabled Staff of Power? Or perhaps the wizard's Robe of the Archmagi? Or any of the number of the enchanted wands and ensorcelled rings he was known to possess with great prowess? It was the sorceress's first real lead to items of this kind of power and rarity - how could she afford to pass it up?
How indeed, she may have wondered, was she here after weeks of long searching in Shandra's Evergreen, enduring day after day of evading wandering monsters and natural denizens of the forest? And the storm! There had been no evading that! For two miserable days and nights, with no refuge to be found, the sorceress's clothing was soaked through with the biting chill of rain borne from angry, haunted thunderclouds. Only now was it dry again.
Perhaps she felt wonder when she saw the falling, flaming ball of fire that zoomed like a god out of the star-lit heavens not a week before. Something in her told her not to chase it, and she knew full well that she would not be the first to reach it. But perhaps that was for the best.
And now. The clear afternoon had drifted above her through beautiful oak and maple trees, their branches swaying softly like dancers in the wind. The sorceress was standing above the very spot the cracked treasure map had indicated. "X" had indeed marked the spot. Doubtless, this was it. There the sorceress stood with no shovel, no Dig spell at the ready, and absolutely no reason at all to need either...
...for the cold pit before her was long-empty.
The old hole in the earth gaped up at her like the open mouth of a laughing madman, unmercifully ridiculing her for her failure. These past three weeks had come to naught but starry nights out in this dangerous wild and empty hands to what should have been sweet discovery.
Had Lowin known? Only a scholar or wizard could be sure, really. The scroll was on old vellum and the pit seemed just as old. Galefin the White had passed two years ago almost to this day and both scroll and pit were about that age, if the sorceress had to hazard a guess. It was a pickle her striking beauty and effortless charm could in no way help her with.
What did help her was her trusting of her own human senses. It did not take female intuition to know what to do when the stomping sounds of large, bullish creatures reached her ears. Their dull, moronic voices were almost always loud, and the sorceress may have wondered if all ogres were partially deaf as well as incredibly stupid. She heard them blasting through the green, swinging their tremendous clubs mightily and carelessly, roaring about in their own language. Certainly, this was not the first time she had to dodge such creatures in the past weeks.
What else was there to do but flee? As skilled and sure as the sorceress was, a quartet of ogres was not only a bad match in terms of odds, but the chances of them carrying any reasonable treasure worth such a battle were as slim as a pixie's wings.
Deeper into Shandra's Evergreen her feet swept her. She knew to be quiet and careful, for ogres were hunters of a kind too, and the hungrier ogres were, the more likely they would long to taste the fey-blooded, fine flesh of a young creature like the sorceress. Better that they not catch wind or sight of her at all.
Looking over her shoulder, she heard their voices coming closer and closer. She remembered that their strides were longer than hers, especially given their great size. Great also was the argument they appeared to be having in their native tongue of Giant, but what they spoke, the sorceress could neither say nor understand. Their brutish tongue was as crude and ugly as they were. Not that it mattered if they caught her.
So could anyone blame her for not seeing the hole hidden by the grass there before her hurrying feet? What critic could critique her if she cursed as she fell pell-mell down the hard, natural rock shaft? And what cleric could rightly reprimand her as that downward tunnel battered and bruised and otherwise failed to improve her journey? No. There were no critics to crack at her and no clerics to cooperate with her as she finally smacked the bottom of the rough, mossy hole.
She had fallen far, yet not so far as to miss the sounds of the ogres rumbling like storms above her. Like a raccoon in its burrow, the sorceress stayed soundless and watchful until those trudging, lazy feet ushered past. Silence eventually resumed, but the feeling of safety did not join it, for there was no light down here in the belly of the earth.
But the sorceress was not without her gifts. One such sharp gift was nearly always at hand; her blade. With a spoken command word, it lit like a torch - a torch that the wind could not touch and water could not douse, for this was magical light from a magical blade.
It was then that she discovered two more tunnels passing through the earth. The climb back to the top would be treacherous. Perhaps, logic suggested, there might be an easier route? Neither of the tunnels bore any hint of wind, but one smelled "cleaner" than the other. It was as if wildlife was growing down here in the brown earth far from where the sun could reach with her golden fingers.
Light in hand, the sorceress followed her nose through the straight corridor of earth until it wound upward ever so slightly, where her radiance could not reach. There, the scent of evergreen was stronger. As the sorceress lifted herself up the ridge and climbed over the top, she found herself looking down a corridor large enough for her to stand in. Her magical light filled the room with odd shadows. The way before her spoke of natural cover and yet, there was a stirring uneasiness forming in her gut, like the feeling one gets when they are too close to something that perhaps should be left alone.
It was at that precise moment that the sorceress heard the ever-so-faint sound of a string being pulled. At the edge of her blade's radiance, an arrowhead could be seen protruding from the dark; a blood-red arrowhead aiming straight at her bosom. A guttural, savage growl, from something perhaps humanlike, filled with unmistakable feminine warning and wrath echoed through the tunnel like no light ever could.
Eyes. Eyes in the dark. Or rather, one eye to be sure. Green like a wet fern in a springtime dawn.
One eye, one arrowhead, and one petrifying snarl at the edge of the magical light the sorceress held in her hand - all aimed at her.
And one question: What now does the sorceress do?
A simple treasure map.
It all started with a simple treasure map that Nivirea the Sorceress had procured in the shimmering city of Summerset with its lofty spires, looming castles, and shadow-filled alleys. Lowin the Crafty, a convincing old dwarven merchant if there ever was one, had sworn upon his own family name that the yellowed vellum scroll the sorceress held in her hands was indeed a treasure map buried by Galefas the White, the age-old wizard who had carried his legendary Staff of Power to riches but was not found buried with it when he finally passed from his adventures upon Sharseya's shining lands into realms beyond life.
Of course, now it dawned on the magical miss that Lowin had never once spoken of his family name even in greeting, and odd too, the little chuckle he gave that made his white beard quiver with delight when the sorceress handed over all of the gold she had procured from her previous adventure. Hard-earned gold at that...
But the chance at a fabled Staff of Power? Or perhaps the wizard's Robe of the Archmagi? Or any of the number of the enchanted wands and ensorcelled rings he was known to possess with great prowess? It was the sorceress's first real lead to items of this kind of power and rarity - how could she afford to pass it up?
How indeed, she may have wondered, was she here after weeks of long searching in Shandra's Evergreen, enduring day after day of evading wandering monsters and natural denizens of the forest? And the storm! There had been no evading that! For two miserable days and nights, with no refuge to be found, the sorceress's clothing was soaked through with the biting chill of rain borne from angry, haunted thunderclouds. Only now was it dry again.
Perhaps she felt wonder when she saw the falling, flaming ball of fire that zoomed like a god out of the star-lit heavens not a week before. Something in her told her not to chase it, and she knew full well that she would not be the first to reach it. But perhaps that was for the best.
And now. The clear afternoon had drifted above her through beautiful oak and maple trees, their branches swaying softly like dancers in the wind. The sorceress was standing above the very spot the cracked treasure map had indicated. "X" had indeed marked the spot. Doubtless, this was it. There the sorceress stood with no shovel, no Dig spell at the ready, and absolutely no reason at all to need either...
...for the cold pit before her was long-empty.
The old hole in the earth gaped up at her like the open mouth of a laughing madman, unmercifully ridiculing her for her failure. These past three weeks had come to naught but starry nights out in this dangerous wild and empty hands to what should have been sweet discovery.
Had Lowin known? Only a scholar or wizard could be sure, really. The scroll was on old vellum and the pit seemed just as old. Galefin the White had passed two years ago almost to this day and both scroll and pit were about that age, if the sorceress had to hazard a guess. It was a pickle her striking beauty and effortless charm could in no way help her with.
What did help her was her trusting of her own human senses. It did not take female intuition to know what to do when the stomping sounds of large, bullish creatures reached her ears. Their dull, moronic voices were almost always loud, and the sorceress may have wondered if all ogres were partially deaf as well as incredibly stupid. She heard them blasting through the green, swinging their tremendous clubs mightily and carelessly, roaring about in their own language. Certainly, this was not the first time she had to dodge such creatures in the past weeks.
What else was there to do but flee? As skilled and sure as the sorceress was, a quartet of ogres was not only a bad match in terms of odds, but the chances of them carrying any reasonable treasure worth such a battle were as slim as a pixie's wings.
Deeper into Shandra's Evergreen her feet swept her. She knew to be quiet and careful, for ogres were hunters of a kind too, and the hungrier ogres were, the more likely they would long to taste the fey-blooded, fine flesh of a young creature like the sorceress. Better that they not catch wind or sight of her at all.
Looking over her shoulder, she heard their voices coming closer and closer. She remembered that their strides were longer than hers, especially given their great size. Great also was the argument they appeared to be having in their native tongue of Giant, but what they spoke, the sorceress could neither say nor understand. Their brutish tongue was as crude and ugly as they were. Not that it mattered if they caught her.
So could anyone blame her for not seeing the hole hidden by the grass there before her hurrying feet? What critic could critique her if she cursed as she fell pell-mell down the hard, natural rock shaft? And what cleric could rightly reprimand her as that downward tunnel battered and bruised and otherwise failed to improve her journey? No. There were no critics to crack at her and no clerics to cooperate with her as she finally smacked the bottom of the rough, mossy hole.
She had fallen far, yet not so far as to miss the sounds of the ogres rumbling like storms above her. Like a raccoon in its burrow, the sorceress stayed soundless and watchful until those trudging, lazy feet ushered past. Silence eventually resumed, but the feeling of safety did not join it, for there was no light down here in the belly of the earth.
But the sorceress was not without her gifts. One such sharp gift was nearly always at hand; her blade. With a spoken command word, it lit like a torch - a torch that the wind could not touch and water could not douse, for this was magical light from a magical blade.
It was then that she discovered two more tunnels passing through the earth. The climb back to the top would be treacherous. Perhaps, logic suggested, there might be an easier route? Neither of the tunnels bore any hint of wind, but one smelled "cleaner" than the other. It was as if wildlife was growing down here in the brown earth far from where the sun could reach with her golden fingers.
Light in hand, the sorceress followed her nose through the straight corridor of earth until it wound upward ever so slightly, where her radiance could not reach. There, the scent of evergreen was stronger. As the sorceress lifted herself up the ridge and climbed over the top, she found herself looking down a corridor large enough for her to stand in. Her magical light filled the room with odd shadows. The way before her spoke of natural cover and yet, there was a stirring uneasiness forming in her gut, like the feeling one gets when they are too close to something that perhaps should be left alone.
It was at that precise moment that the sorceress heard the ever-so-faint sound of a string being pulled. At the edge of her blade's radiance, an arrowhead could be seen protruding from the dark; a blood-red arrowhead aiming straight at her bosom. A guttural, savage growl, from something perhaps humanlike, filled with unmistakable feminine warning and wrath echoed through the tunnel like no light ever could.
Eyes. Eyes in the dark. Or rather, one eye to be sure. Green like a wet fern in a springtime dawn.
One eye, one arrowhead, and one petrifying snarl at the edge of the magical light the sorceress held in her hand - all aimed at her.
And one question: What now does the sorceress do?
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