Andrew Amongst Arrivers...  :)

In reply to Tadeusz (msg # 1):

Spinning balls dive past you.  From the right, and the left, above, and below, as you tumble down a giant slide made of pizzas to land in a parking lot full of clownmobiles.

And then you realize that you do hear a few running cars near you, and you are laying on grass.  You also hear cries of fear and shock in German.

The air is thicker, possibly normal.

You feel no pain.

Sunlight hits your closed eyelids as you lay in low grass.  Edit. You do feel your gun with you.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:17, Sat 09 July 2016.

As the bullets rip through me it occurs to me just how spectacularly bad of a decision I'd made. And proves once again why letting your anger do the talking is a horrible idea. Then suddenly I'm... Okay, I have no idea where I am. Just that I slid down a pizza slice and there's a bunch of clown cars. Also, that I'm somehow not dead. As I numbly realize the rifle is still with me I preform the most well known of maneuvers... the facepalm.

Slowly I get to my feet and look around. Well, at least it looks like there's civilization here. I can't understand what anyone is saying, but I do recognize the panic in their voices. So instead of acting threatening I calmly shrug out of my pack and retrieve the water bottle. Well, as calmly as someone who had just been shot in the chest can be that is. Still don't know if the water's safe to drink yet. But it's there, and I'm still thirsty. As I wait for whoever is going to come I sip at the water I have with me while donning the pack once again.

Deep breaths and calming down are the order of the day. After thinking about it for a moment, I take off the pack again. From inside it I pull out a copy of the Pathfinder core book. I sit down on in the grass with my pack next to me, and start to read. My guess is that someone is going to be arriving in the near future. Maybe they'll know what's going on? And maybe they'll be willing to accept that I'm not some alien invader? Seriously, what is a thanos situation suppose to be anyway?

Wait, thanos... name for one of the death gods, can't think of which pantheon off hand. Also a major league villain in the Marvel comics universe. As in 'almost wiped out two thirds of all creation in one storyline' level of threat.... Oh. They thought I was some sort of megalomaniac monster?!

You're sitting down with your Pathfinder book in an open pasture of about twenty acres. In the two acres around you are eight vehicles.

One Volvo, three Mercedes Benz's, one car you don't recognize, an APC or Armoured Personal Carrier marked 'Polizei' on its side, a Ducati motorcycle that's skidded and crashed, a man with a dolly, and a lady with a baby carriage are the vehicles.

There are no signs of roads or tracks of more than skidding distance long.

There are about fifty people in that same area, most with looks of shock, or dismay on their faces. One is bowing, and praying.  Another fellow twenty feet away seems to be napping on a pillow with his textbook on his chest.  He's snoring.  There is a policeman near the APC who is trying to call HQ on his walkie-talkie with no luck.

"was ist atomwaffe?"
"Russe da." Is one conversation you hear.

Reading a book had definitely helped me calm the rest of the way down. And when someone finally arrived my fears were confirmed. Nope, I didn't understand what they were saying. Not surprising since I don't speak German. Okay, introductions take two. At least they aren't pointing guns at me. That's an improvement at least.

"I'm sorry, but I can't understand you. Do any of you officers speak English?" I call out while closing the book. "Don't be alarmed, I'm just going to put some things down."

With that I slowly pull the rifle's shoulder strap over my head and place it on the ground, with the trigger away from me. I do ensure the barrel isn't pointing at anyone though. I then slowly pull both sheathes from my belt and rest them next to the gun. Maybe this will prevent me from getting killed, or whatever had happened earlier. It had been a rather unpleasant experience after all.

'You are American? British?  NATO? Did you see the bright flash of light. NATO and the Russians were jockeying over the Ukraine." The police officer says.
Next to him is another officer.
"Heinrich,he knows all this. Don't be stupid. Oh, pick back up your weapons, ja?"
"Franze, the American ask me, so I answer. Maybe he's in shock."  He peers at your eyes, and feels your wrist for your pulse.

 A man comes up, starts talking to the police, ignoring you.
Another guy comes up.
"How do I get to my house near Leipsplatz?"
Several others also come up to the police, begging for answers, but in German.  There is a sense of barely suppressed panic, and you can see by the officers faces that they are very far from the killers you met, and they are baffled themselves.

OOC: You have 21 rounds in your AW-17 which is what it says on the side of it.  Mfg. by Finnish Firearms is also there.

"American, but not military. Actually, I'm not sure what's going on. Last time I saw a brit, they started shooting at me for some reason. Come to think of it, so did the people I got this thing from. So I figured disarming would be a good way to show I'm not hostile. Say, where is 'here' anyway? I was kind of just dumped in the area without any explinations."

Okay, the brits shooting at me was probably my own fault. Always knew my temper would get me in trouble. As I gathered my stuff back up, and it felt wrong to consider a rifle mine, I had to think. I don't usually carry money. And I didn't have any local currency anyway. Which meant I needed paying work soon, otherwise I'd be out of food real fast. Unfortunately, I didn't exactly qualify for much beyond unskilled labor. Maybe if there was need of knowledge involving medieval siege warfare and identifying ancient weapons, but how likely was that.

"Wouldn't know if there's any work for a medieval warfare and weapons expert by any chance?"

Heinrich asks. "Are you criminal? We do appreciate your good manners, Amerikaner."

Franze says.  "If you get permit, then yes, in Berlin....But where is Berlin?"

And then from the edge of the very tall and sturdy tree five acres away you hear a metal bendingly loud screech. A creature with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, and wings thirty feet from wingtip to wingtip rises from the treetops.  Its huge eyes are looking your way.

"Criminal? No, but I've had my share of encounters with them. Usually I can convince them to back down."

Then a creature right out of myth and legend appeared. A griffin, an actual griffin. Just great, how much more insanity do I have to deal with. I consider pulling out the dagger, but to be honest I don't want to get that close if I can help it. Can't believe I'm actually considering taking this thing on either. Maybe it's the fact I just got shot up, yet am alive and whole. Or maybe I've played too many roleplaying games and first person shooters. Or maybe I'm just crazy. I vote for being crazy.

As I pull up the rifle I say "You only live once I guess... I'll keep the griffin busy, start getting people out of here."

I aim at the monstrous animal as best I can. If first person shooters have taught me anything, it's that the whole 'spray and pray' method doesn't work. The problem is I have no actual experience firing an assault rifle, it's all from video games. Still, when I pull the trigger it's as brief as I can, trying for only one round. I fire into the air, not really trying to hit the creature yet, just not hit anyone else. I then start moving away from everyone else.

"Come on you overgrown turkey, let's dance!" I scream at the griffin before trying to fire a three round burst at it. Hopefully the experience from firing the first time will help me account for the recoil. Equally hopefully any missed rounds hit a tree or nothing at all. I do not want to hit anyone.

"Ja, remember that thief, he tried to ...what is that?!?" Heinrich says as the griffin launches itself.

"Jawohl, mein herr." Franze snaps out a salute, and begins to yell at the people.  Heinrich joins in a second later.

As you move in on the beast, your first shot only endangers a passing cloud.  And then the griffin locks in on you.  Before it had been looking at everyone wondering what tasty, snack treat it should try first.  Now, its angry that you've challenged it.

Your first shot clips its wing, and two more bullets speed out, hitting the tree line.  People are running, helping each other, screaming, and diving under cars.  It screeches in shock loud enough to be heard a mile away.

You fire again, and this time hit it with one bullet spent in the left leg.  This time it screams loud enough to slightly deafen you.  Its now fifty feet away, and starting its sloping dive down toward you.

1@1 autorifle.

"It's called a griffin," I call out as I line up the next shot using the iron sights.

I aim for a little below it's head, hoping to actually hit that spot. But more likely I realize it'll go wild, thus hopefully at least hit the creature. If my aim is true, then I have the pie in the sky hope the recoil will put a round or two in the thing's brain. Unlikely as it might be.

"They're mostly solitary hunters, but can be encountered in mated pairs so there might be another one nearby. Carnivorous, animal intelligence. But the high end of animal intelligence. Thankfully they aren't supernatural, so you don't have to worry about weird powers and abilities. Watch out for the beak, it can tear through steel."

I pull the trigger and do my best to keep my aim true. And may I say, holy moley that thing's fast. I prepare to dive to the left as it gets closer, hopefully to avoid being disemboweled. Doubt I'll get another shot, so knife fighting it is after this. Since when did my life become an action movie anyway?

Your first shot goes just over its head you think. Yanking it down, you go for another shot, and hit it in its throat.  You see blood spurt, and it crashes to the ground twenty feet from you.

It staggers back to its feet, one wing hitting a Benz's windshield shattering it.

Right, I think when it hits a car with one wing. Don't get hit by the wings. I fire off one last burst at the thing, trying to aim for center mass. After that I move to the left as originally planned. I consider letting go of the rifle and drawing my dagger once more. I eye  the beaks and wings warily. This is an alpha predator after all. Trying to engage in hand to hand is likely suicide. I know this intellectually. But I also know I've been getting lucky. I don't know enough about firearms to rely on them.

It's times like this I wish I owned a good hunting bow. Or at least had my crossbow with me. Keeping my distance is a great idea. Maybe if I had more training, good armor, and a trustworthy sword I'd be more willing to get in the creature's face. But I don't have those things. So I decide to continue using the rifle, for now. I don't dare take my eyes of the thing. I need to be ready to dodge at a moment's notice after all.

"Are the civilians out of the area yet? Because I could use some backup!"

Okay, not something your typical action hero would say. Then again, I'm not an action hero. I'm a slightly overweight middle aged man who plays too many video games. And I am so far out of my depth it's not even funny. It's only my usual reaction to fear that makes me seem as calm as I do.

You hit it once in the wing bone, and the rest climb into the sky.  It looks at you with hate and fear, and you realize no matter what, you've saved the people.  Its got a mortal wound, and it knows it, but its determined to take you with it.

It leaps and you dive just a little slowly to the left.  It rips open your right arm.

As it does, Heinrich fires, or tries to.  His gun doesn't shoot.

Franze hits it in the head.  And it dies, and you pass out.

You wake up a bit later, your right arm throbbing, and a beautiful fraulein bending over you.  She's just finished clipping a gauze roll around your arm.

She hands you some pills and another concerned looking man hands you a water bottle already opened.

"Ibuprofen. Its not much, Amerikaner." She says.  "I'd like to have you in the hospital.  The griffin went down to your bone."

+@1 to your shooting skill for using burst successfully, and +@1 for the fight so 1@3 shooting which translates to low amateur.

"Hospital... good," I manage to get out past the incredible pain.

I've felt worse, the time I broke my ankle walking down a flight of stairs for example. But this hurts entirely too much. I accept the pain medication because again, OUCH. And yet I'm still alive. A fact which almost makes me start singing a certain song from the end of Portal. In fact, before I can stop myself I begin to quote the song.

"This is a triumph. I'm making a note here, huge success. It's hard to overstate my satisfaction. I take it you don't deal with mythological predators often?"

The nurse  you guess bursts into tears.

"No hospital, mate. Just this pasture.  Good sheep land.  And the trees, and some mountains aways off that don't look like the Alps. This is bar none, the weirdest trip I've ever taken, and I include that time my socalled friend put magic mushrooms on my steak." The concerned man, revealed to be Australian by his voice, squats down next to you.  "All of us were in Berlin when it looks like the balloon went up, which is what you Yanks say, yeah?  I saw a missile go over head, and then the big light, and ....here. Oh, my name's Mike."

You speak to the nurse, and she dries her eyes.

"No. I was on lunch break from the hospital, and then I was here.  We have no monsters in Berlin, well except for the tigers in the zoo. My name is Sharon."

"Good thing I'm something of an expert on them then. Mostly I research the fair folk. But you'd be surprised how often eclectic knowledge comes in handy. Name's Andrew, by the way. And might I say... Ouch."

I groaned due to the pain. Still, pain and me are old friends. Unfortunately.

"Wish I had my crossbow. Today's been weird enough that I should have brought my bob."

Someone runs by.  "We're having a meeting over by the trees." Sharon translates what the runner says.  Mike and Sharon help you to your feet.

You walk about an acre over to the shade under some very tall trees.

Heinrich begins to talk, and Sharon translates.

"All of us are alive.  Thanks to the Amerikaner."

This provokes some applause.

"Clearly we are no longer in Germany, or Berlin.  I do not think we would want to be because I've a half dozen eyewitness accounts who say they saw a nuclear fireball.  I think we must assume the war with the Russians started.

But we are alive.  By some miracle.  Somehow we have been translated to Oz."

Mike chokes out a laugh at that.

"I have made contact, poor tho' it is, with a British tank squad of ten tanks an unknown distance away.  He says he is in a forrest with a cobblestone road, and a 'fair bit of trees'

I am open to suggestions as to what to do.'

Still wincing in pain I followed the others to the meeting. The entire time I was thinking on the implications of fighting a griffin. They weren't very nice implications. The comment about being transported to Oz I found amusing. And yet, that would have been preferable to what I thought was going on.

"To start with, I'd suggest someone who likes hunting should probably deal with the griffin carcass. We're going to need food after all. And weapons. What ever happened, ammunition is probably not a renewable resource. That means we'll need to make spears, knives, and possibly javelins. Of course, if anyone here knows how to make one, I for one would appreciate a bow and some arrows. The griffin's beak and talons are incredibly sharp and could be used to make some crude knives. The bones likely aren't hollow, so could make some effective short spears for fishing and self defense out of them too. And if anyone knows how to cure the pelt, that could be useful too. And of course, we'll need to find a source of water.

"Safety wise, keep on the look out. Griffins are generally solitary hunters, but they do mate for life. So there might be another one in the area. It's presence also tells me that other mythological creatures are likely around. The woods suggest there may be a colony of fair folk around, among other things. Which means respecting nature is a Good Idea. Since we don't have any cold iron, and salt is probably not handy either, one effective means of defense if they are around is turning your cloths inside out. They'll laugh at you, but leave you alone. Also, if you see a circle of mushrooms Do Not enter it.

"Until we know more about the area, that's the best I can think of. Oh, whoever is in contact with the armored division should relay these warnings too. A cobblestone road could indicate a13th century European style civilization. In which case our money is likely worth less then the materials used to make it. On the other hand, it does indicate that a barter system is likely in place too. Which means trading services for goods my be a possible means to acquire supplies.

"Another thing the griffin's presence indicates is that while we may have superior weapons in the form of firearms, we do not have superior firepower. Magic likely works here. So the possibility of eating a fireball or lightning bolt, or even a bolt of acid to the face is very real. If we come across a group of armed and armored men and women, I'd suggest being polite to them. They could probably kick our rear ends from here to the nearest mountain range... without trying. Similarly if you see a giant flying reptile do not annoy it. For according to dragons we are crunchy and go good with ketchup."

"I know a bit." A skinny guy says.  "I will start chopping up the beast if someone has a good knife."  That is available.  Another couple guys volunteer to help.

"We need to do an inventory of everything we have." Franze says, and a couple inventory takers are appointed.  They check your stuff as well as everyone elses.

"I used to work in an archer shop." Mike says.  "I can probably put together a bow suited for small animals."

"I can cure the pelt.  I own, or used to own, Black Forrest Leather." A gray-haired man says.  This provokes some comments as it seems several others had shopped there in the past as it was nearby where everyone vanished.

Inventory turns up two shotguns, and three pistols, all properly and uselessly stored inside containers in the trunks of cars.  The next griffin might have a harder time however.

There is a two person tent, and a tarp.

Franze goes off with a few guys to look for water.  The griffin is getting butchered led by the skinny guy who is a butcher.  He's wishing loudly he had proper tools.

A campfire is started.

OOC: A fair bit of this was GE or General Effect Rolls.  If I did it properly, it would be 3d10 with the number distribution in a bell curve.  This is used to decide sometimes when the ref hasn't a position yet.  16 is 'normally expected'.  3 is beyond your best dreams.  30 is massively, totally awful.

Like to the question of a pelt, my inclination was to say no, but the dice liked you.  Now if you'd gotten a 3, you'd have an excellent taxidermist with all his tools perhaps.  A 16 and nothing.  A 30 and a weird guy would say 'yes, yes, let me get my knives from the trunk.' and then he would giggle.  Because every stranded extradimensional group needs their very own serial killer.

Don't worry, the odds of getting a 30 are almost 1 in a 1000.

While not ideally suited for the task, I offered up my dagger for dealing with the griffin's remains. It wasn't like I could do much to help out until my arm healed. Although, it occurred to me I did know some things that might aid in defense if another one showed up, or something more dangerous. From my pack I pulled out my copy of SAS Survival Handbook, revised edition. While I mostly used it as a gaming reverence, this was the type of situation said information was ideal for.

After checking the table of contents, I quickly found myself reading the information on pages 306 and 307. This seemed ideal information since it dealt with making tools out of stone and bone. After reading the information I headed over to where the others were working on the griffin.

"It's not much, and will take work. But I have information on how to make stone axes, as well as saws and needles out of bones. You guys need any help?"

They use the dagger as well as some other tools.

"Yes. Da. You help." One says.  You and he start working on the procedure of making a needle since it seems easier than making a bone saw.  You and he make a crude one, then a good one, then one breaks and another just doesn't work.

With the work, the stress of constantly listening for another griffin, your arm's pain you're finding yourself tired.

The water hunting party comes back with tales of a sparkling creek a hundred yards into the woods, and they have some fish.  Food is gathered from various stores.  Its heavy on snack bars.

You get a bite of fish, a mug of tea, a Snickers bar, and a handful of crackers with Cheez Whiz on them for dinner.

Night is coming on.  You and the lady with the toddler are offered the only spots in the tent.

With my injured arm in a makeshift sling, shaping bone is a difficult task. With one of the razor sharp claws in hand, I spend the afternoon laboriously chipping away at a large shoulder blade then trying my best to shape the bone chips into needles. It's a hard task, made harder by having to do it one handed. By the time it's too dark to continue working I've only managed to make four acceptable needles. On the other hand, there are fourteen chips that might do well as arrow heads. And the shoulder blade is just starting to take on the shape of a crude sword. It's not pretty, but it just might eventually be functional.

After supper I pull out the ruined saber's blade. Using the same talon I begin sharpening the top half of the edge. While it's useless as a weapon, it might be useful as a tool. And may be possible to turn it into a sort of pole arm. Maybe a naginata or yari. After that I tend to my dagger, cleaning and checking it for nicks that need to be taken care of. The rifle probably needs to be cared for too, but to be honest I have no idea how to do that. I figure someone else might though.

That night chivalry and practicality war with me. In the end practicality wins out, so with I thank them for the honor and bed down in the tent. Sleeping in the dirt isn't a great idea when injured after all. My dreams are troubled. The fact I killed twice finally hitting me through the shock of the day's events. By the time morning comes along I'm not feeling particularly well rested. Then again I'm not a morning person and I was up sort of late caring for my weapons.

Taking my own advice from the previous day, I reverse my pants before laboriously pulling them back on and buttoning them. My shirt's being used as a sling, so I don't worry much about that. Not feeling particularly hungry due to being use to eating a few small meals a day, I continue working on the bone sword, as well as turning what bone chips I can into needles and arrow/spear heads. Those could be useful. After a short while I stop and retrieve my survival guide again. This time I flip to page 136 and start reading about how to identify edible plants.

Gods, my arm hurts. Dag nabbit, what was I thinking taking on a griffin?! Hopefully my guess that magic exists in this place. Even further, hopefully white magic exists. The thought of infection is not a pleasant one. After turning over the few needles and arrow heads I've made to those who can use them, I gear up. Once that's done I kneel on the ground and pray. Not to God, I don't exactly believe in the christian god. Instead I take a gamble and pray to nature herself to guide my steps.

Finally I stand and call out. "I'm going to look for edible plants. Anyone want to come with me?"

OOC: Your strong arm is right?  If so, you're using  your left arm for a lot more than you're used too, and that gets you +@1 to partially offset the weak hand disadvantage.

Sometimes it feels as if the bone wants to be a sword.  Its an odd feeling that comes and goes.

One of the guys knows how to clean a rifle, and introduces himself.  "My name is Max.  This is an odd weapon.  I've never heard of Finnish Firearms.  And it shoots an 8 millimeter or 8 mm bullet, which I've never heard of.  However, cleaning it is simple."

The lady's toddler is well behaved, but he is very curious about your shoulder.  When you wake, the two of them are already gone.

You do notice that the gravity seems a bit lighter, and you feel a bit stronger than you would expect.

You pray, and you feel a searching mind, not human, terrifyingly old, and contemptuous touch yours.

"You pray to Yanon, human.  But, I, the Count Irizyn Dilianvamecia do answer...."

If you survive that, you and two others with reversed jackets find some dandelion.

OOC: "Gods".....no.

"Never heard of bullet that calliber either," I told Max when he mentioned it. "Got it off a cartel member who was shooting at me."

Now, hearing voices is rarely a good sign. And I hadn't been expecting a response to the prayer at all. It's just that I know a lot more about the fair folk then most people, and have seen enough to be respectful of nature. Especially considering I fought a griffin the previous day. Speaking of which, again... ouch. So when a voice responded inside my head I blinked a couple times in shock. That shock quickly morphed into a low level of horror

"Pardon me if this seems rude, but may I ask who you are?" I think, trying to project it towards whoever or whatever it was that had contacted me. Even as I did that I started searching with the other two.

"How are you holding up?" I asked them as we searched.

"Cartel? Like Medellin Cartel? And you survived. This is guten." Max says.  He seems a bit impressed.

.....Did you not hear, I am the Count Irizyn.  I am Ellala, Human.  And I am your master.  Soon I will send cavalry to the Northern Sheep Meadow.  You would do well to tell your fellow slaves to not resist, or else it will go poorly for them."

You catch a flickering image of poorly....a tall, thin man with paper white skin, and pointed ears, and dark eyes in chain mail on a horse using his sabre to chop someone's arm off.

....if you do this, I will promote you to the leader of your rabble.

There is no question in his voice that he will have his way, one way or another.  And as cold and nasty as the Cartel guy's eyes were, this being feels worse.

You've been picking a half basket of dandelions...

As the voice spoke I paled slightly. The words relayed were not good ones. And while normally it's a bad sign to be hearing voices in your head, I had a feeling this time it was much much worse. I suspected this was because the other voice was probably an actual entity outside of my own pain addled mind. And while I had somehow survived being shot multiple times in the chest, I didn't like the idea of being a slave. Favored or otherwise.

Then again, I'm not a fan of bullies. And those who keep slaves, well, they're some of the biggest bullies. The question was, did I have the heart to stand up and fight? I've always liked to think I do. But until this insanity had started I'd never actually been tested. Oh sure I've intimidated a few incompetent muggers. But I'd never actually been forced to face my own fear. Let alone fight a real battle. The cartel idiots had been my first actual life or death confrontation. And the ill advised confrontation with those soldiers had been more a case of me running on pure adrenaline and stupidity.

Now here I was, injured after doing battle with a griffon of all things. I was armed with a griffon claw, a ceremonial dagger, and an unfinished bone sword. Really, more of a club at the moment. If honest with myself, something which I try to be, I was scared. Well... terrified was more like it. Yet pants wetting terror wasn't in any way shape or form useful. Not when everything was stacked against you. Yet the question still haunted me. Could I really step up like one of my roleplaying  or video game characters?

“We need to get  back. Now. There's some serious trouble heading our way and the others need to be warned. So do those people with the tanks.”

While traveling I wracked my brain for anything I knew of ritual magic. Which admittedly wasn't very much. What I did know had been learned as a sort of happy accident while researching for  a short story. From what I remembered, it's more intent then actual structured spells. Real magic, or rather magik, as I understood it is rather understated and subtle. Unlike in the  movies where it's all flashy fireballs and throwing lightning. Still, when combined with my rudimentary knowledge of symbol and knowing the name of what apparently is this place's goddess of nature maybe it would be useful.

“I've been contacted by something old and powerful. And it is sending troops, probably horse mounted but maybe more exotic animals instead, to take us as slaves. With my arm like this, I'm pretty useless in a serious fight. And make no mistake, a fight is coming unless you like the idea of being a slave. So while you tell the others, I'm going to try a hail mary. Ideally it'll fix my arm. Hopefully it will get us some much needed backup. If lucky it'll actually do one of those two things. But there's a good chance it'll do nothing, or explode in my face.”

Once back at the camp I used the claw to carve a nearly complete circle in the dirt. This circle was large enough for me to sit in the middle with a series of symbols surrounding where I would be sitting. Remembering what I had read years ago, I was careful not to close the circle yet. I had to think for a moment about what symbols to use since I'm not an expert in runic languages. Finally I settled on several I'd read about and studied in The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs nd Symbols. A rather large tome which I'd used as reference multiple times in various games when playing a spellcaster or occult detective. Within this circle I first drew an elvenstar, or seven pointed star. I did so carefully and without removing the claw from the ground at any point. Doing so would have ruined the purpose of this symbol. The center area formed in the drawing of the elvenstar would be where I would sit. I chose that instead of a pentagram due to the elvenstar's symbolic connection to nature via representing the seven planets and seven days in a week. The fact it's also called the faerie star made the choice easier still

As I worked I told anyone watching me "I'm about to try something possibly dangerous, and likely stupid. So what ever you do, don't damage the circle or anything I draw inside it. And don't cross the thresh hold until I break the circle from the inside. It's there to protect you from any backlash from what I'm attempting."

In the northern part of the star I used the claw to draw a caduceus to call forth healing and guidance. Not my best artwork to be sure. Not my worst either. I hoped it would be good enough. Other symbols of healing, purity, and protection were drawn within the other tines of the elvenstar as well. These included a fleur de lys to call forth purification. I was seriously hoping that my mix and match magic circle wouldn't blow up in my face. Once the entire thing was drawn I stepped into the center, being careful not to disturb any of the lines or symbols I'd previously drawn. It probably would have been better if I could have used salt to draw it. Finally I used the claw to make a small, shallow, cut on the palm of my hand. The blood I used to draw an infinity symbol across the open part of the circle to connect the two ends, thus closing it.

It was a gamble to be sure. Odds were nothing would happen. If something did, who knew what it would be. Would my kitbashing a ritual circle even work as intended? Would it explode in my face? Or would my makeshift ritual do absolutely nothing? If this was my world, ritual magic is subtle and slow acting. I was gambling that here there were far more active deities, and that magic was far more responsive then my own world. Even so, I followed the rule of three. Three refrains of the chant and three requests. I also made sure to affirm that I am indeed a friend to Faerie. I've respected them and given offering to the wee folk.

And I too fully expected to be hit with the fallout, for good or ill, of said rule of three: Whatever you send out, shall be returned three fold. Of course, the fact I am even willing to entertain the idea of using magik is something many would laugh at. And once I would have been one of  the people laughing. Of course that was before I started researching faerie lore and magik for a story I was writing at the time. And as a friend once said, the more you learn about the supernatural, the more the supernatural pays attention to you.

I'd always believed there's things out there that can't be explained. Growing up I'd encountered too many odd occurrences to not believe this. But magic and the supernatural were not an explanation I had originally considered. That changed while writing a short story I'd called “The Dragonlord”. In that story I had a scientist who was obsessed with proving magic was real, and a pixie as his friend and mentor in magic. Mind you, I tend to research things for my stories. So I did a lot of research at the time on the fair folk and magic.

Not stage magic either, the real thing. And not the whitewashed disney fairytales, but the old ones. Celtic folklore, Germanic folklore, Scandinavian folklore too. You know, the real thing. And then the weird stuff had began happening. Books vanishing from plain sight, only to reappear right where they vanished from the day I had to return them to the library or to a friend. My modem constantly losing power was another of the unexplained things. In fact, at one point I set up a digital camera to record the back of my modem. And when I watched the playback, the power cord for the modem had been pulled out and pushed back in by something unseen multiple times.

Other odd things also kept happening. That had continued happening until I announced aloud that that if whoever was messing with my modem stopped, I would leave out a saucer of milk at night twice a week once I was able to buy groceries in a week's time. The problems with my modem stopped immediately. And they didn't start up again until I forgot to buy milk while at the store. A run down to McDonalds since the stores were closed already for a couple chugs of milk and the problems stopped once more. I'd been leaving out milk twice a week like clockwork since then. And each morning the milk would be gone.

Since then I'd had other weird things happen.  Including the central character in a story I wrote actually arguing with me. The words typing themselves on my screen as I watched. That had gotten... scary by the time the story was finished. But it had given me some possible evidence to support the multiple world theory. And now it seemed I was living proof. Hopefully the fact I had been faithful to the compact I made with whatever fae liked bothering me would be in my favor.

Sitting in my newly created ritual circle, I began to chant. “As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent. As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent. As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent.”

The fellow herb hunters give you strange looks, but they seem to take your word as valuable due to your griffon hunting, so they set off.

The people are greatly worried once they hear what you have to say back at the camp, and preparations are made for defense, and for leaving.  Several vehicles are pushed together to make a fort, and others are readied to leave.  The tank men are contacted.


You hear a rumbling laugh roar through your mind, and with it pain is gone, and fear subsides.

"I am Yanon, the Lord of Nature.  If you wished to speak to my wife, Aramintha, the head of the Pantheon of Light, you may."  You smell intense green grass, and hear thunder booming in the distance.

"I come because of the Prophecy, and your kindly nature.  Be not worried about the minor spirits of mischief and malice in this world, Worldwalker. I am pleased that one of you came with the Arrivers. But fear not the minor spirits, even the Gods of Chaos do not want their kind here. But I would make Compact with you.  As a token of my nature..."

....Look....

And looking up over the next five minutes you see a dense fog appear between the trees to the south of you.  And as you sit there, you realize the contact is gone, and your arm does not hurt anymore.

As I sat there watching the fog I was unable to truly think strait. It had worked after a fashion. I hadn't truly expected it to. As I had told Max, it was a hail mary play. And you never expect those to provide more then an "at least things aren't worse" result. In this case, I had figured that with an injured arm I wouldn't be much help preparing defenses. So a one in a trillion chance had sounded like a good shot. To be honest, I had thought the whole thing would either fizzle or blow up in my face.

To continue the football analogy, I had thrown the ball as far down field as I could in the vain hopes of getting a touchdown, but at least getting the ball further away from my end zone. In this case that was not disrupting preparations. I was sure others here knew more about creating fortifications and defending an area then I did. Actually making contact, that had been my vain hope. And yet it had happened. As thought returned to me I couldn't help but wonder just what I'd gotten myself into.

Forgive any implied insult Lord Yanon, I thought. In my land it is the earth mother Gaia who protects the natural world. And my research into other worlds shows it is usually a Mother who represents nature and it's duality of life and death, creation and destruction.

Aloud I said "Thank thee for thy gift Lord Yanon. Thank thee for thy guidance Lady Aramintha. With light of wisdom do I now prepare. In your honor, in service of Light and Nature's Balance shall I do battle. So mote it be."

With the contact gone, or at least the sensation of another gone I used the claw to slash through the oroborus of blood I'd made earlier. When doing so I was careful not to mar any of the lines or sigils I'd made beyond that figure eight. Everything I'd read about ritual magic had been quite clear about that. The circle must be properly broken or else catastrophe could occur. Only after I had cut through the figure eight did I leave the circle. Tentatively I tried to move my right arm.

If it truly was healed, which I suspected it to be I decided to use what time we had to practice. With unfinished bone sword in my right hand and ceremonial dagger in my right, I practiced like I usually do. with imaginary foes surrounding me. I had no true style. It was all self taught. My attacks were what felt natural. My defenses consisted mostly of dodging. What defending I did that was. I've never been much for defense.

Overwhelming offense, aye. Quick light strikes followed by power hits, aye. Being a whirlwind of punches, kicks, or slashes, most definitely. But even at a young age I wasn't too keen on defense. Rather my fighting style had long been to charge in hard and fast. When hit, I would soak it up. If knocked down I would get back up and come again even more brutally. That probably was related to the fact that as a child I was prone to berserk rages. And even now still struggled with my fiery temper at times.

Normally when practicing I go for slow precision. It's a form of exercise after all. Not to mention I often practiced in my apartment. Thus space was limited and there was the risk of damaging expensive electronics. Now however I practiced with my full strength and speed. I needed to know how the bone weapon was balanced and how it would affect combat. I usually dual wield using twin daggers after all. Swords I usually wielded two handed in practice, using a katana or hand and a half sword. If using a one handed blade such as a long sword or kukuri style machete I didn't use an off hand weapon usually. Thus I needed to figure out how I would fight this way.

Even so, I knew not when the attackers would arrive. So I only practiced for maybe ten to twenty minutes so I could rest and recover my strength. Going over what I had learned, I came to a few conclusions. As such I approached whomever was planning the defense.

"Got good news, bad news, and take however you want it news. The good news is that I've managed to contact Lord Yanon, the local local god of nature and his wife Lady Aramintha, who leads the local pantheon of Light. As such I've learned a bit more about this Count Irizyn. It's a minor spirit of mischief and malice apparently, nd even the gods of chaos want to kick such entities out of this world.

"The bad news is that even a minor spirit can be big trouble for us. Such things typically need either specific spells, general combat magic, or an enchanted weapon to deal with. And we have none of these things. And it's also likely to have supernatural creatures in it's army. This means that we may need anything ranging from weapons forged from specific materials to magic weapons to hurt them.

"Fortunately such forces also typically require special diets and aren't too keen on taking prisoners. So it's pretty safe to say we'll probably be dealing with orcs or something similar. Which means normal weapons will be just fine if that's what we're facing. And it's doubtful counts forces will be prepared for firearms like what we have. Or even tanks should they go after the armored division.

"Trolls are unlikely since it's a Calvary unit being sent. But if there are any, they'll be big, ugly, probably smell like rotting flesh, and possibly have greenish skin. If you do see a troll, remember that while they can be hurt by normal weapons they do regenerate quickly. As such fire is your friend when fighting a troll. Giants are even less likely for the same reason. You'll recognize a giant if you see one. And while they don't have any particular weaknesses, they are rather tough. I'd suggest aiming for their head with any high caliber weapons available.

"There is the slight chance they will be riding something like a dragon. In that case do not stand in close groups. That's just asking to be hit with a breath weapon. And make sure you aim for soft targets. Eyes, inside the mouth if you can, or even if you're a good enough shot into the nostrils. Dragon scales are tough. It's possible modern firearms can punch through them. The ability for a musket round to pierce full plate is why armor fell out of use until kevlar was invented after all. But I wouldn't risk that without an anti-material rifle or armor piercing rounds. Dragon scales can, and are used to create suits of armor far superior to ones made from steel. While I don't think we'll see anything like that, yet, I felt I should warn you.

"And speaking of magic, spellcasters are a real concern. If you see someone in the attacking forces who's wearing little to no armor, and possibly carrying a staff or rod... shoot them in the head. Do not give them a chance to speak or gesture. Otherwise you may be facing a fireball or lightning bolt. Or any number of other magics both damaging and mind affecting.

"As for the final bit of news... there's apparently a prophesy. No, I don't know what this prophesy is. And I'm not a particular fan of them. They tend to be self fulfilling and rarely good for the ones they involve after all. But considering a major goddess of Light contacted me because of it, this could be good for us. So, any questions or concerns?"

It occurred to me that I'd never thought my years of roleplaying would possibly make me an expert on things I'd actually be facing in real life. And to think, mom use to consider it a useless hobby.

It seems as if Lord Yanon has a bluff attitude, and would consider getting offended over an innocent mistake as lessening himself.  Challenging him would result in conflict, but mistakes are just that.

The Australian, Mike, comes over and joins you in practise, and indeed your arm is fine, except for some scars on the skin.  He has fashioned himself a club.

You're able to out do him with your two handed attack.

You brief the other members of the Council, and again, you get the feeling that if not for your results, they'd be kicking you off the Council, but its hard to argue with a healed arm.  And the dense fog to the south as Franze the Cop points out will slow the arrival of these 'bad guys' a lot.

Sharon asks about herbs gathered for medical purposes.

Heinrich, the other cop, asks if they should just leave now.

Pater, the owner of Black Forrest Leather, says 'nein, the frau with the liebchen, would be hard on such a little one. Instead, we build pits.  Cavalry does not like pits. I know a littel about this, because one of my suppliers would kill maneating tigers in India."

"Sorry, my knowledge is more along the lines of how to deal with things that want to ruin your day. Need a siege engine, I know how to build one. Need battle tactics for using swords and bows in large scale conflict, I can help you. Need to know if that mythical creature is a threat, and if so how to deal with it, I'm your man. But without my reference library I don't know much about holistic medicine or the magical uses of various plants. That said, my survival guide does have information on natural remedies, what to use, and how to prepare them Starting on page four fifty-six. I'll lend it to whoever is gathering supplies. I'd suggest whoever gathers them is respectful to nature. The gods here are active, unlike back home."

When Peter mentioned pits I said "They also hate spears. So palisades of long sharp sticks at an angle will slow them down. Assuming it's ground based. Don't forget, there's things like griffons here. So this may be an aerial force. I don't think it will be since such forces require more training, but the option is there. I can see what I can do to keep the noncombatants safe. I'm not a mage, but I do know a few things about ritual magik which might help."

With  sigh I thought about what else might be needed. Off the top of my head I couldn't think of anything else. But that just concerned me that I was forgetting something. The situation was too dire, too big. And that worried me. It was also rather crazy. Only the weirdness that normally is my life and the craziness of the past day allowed me to be this rational.

"Sorry, I know this is a lot to take in. And it's all so unbelievable. Welcome to my life, weirdness and crazy happenings and all. Fortunately I am something of an expert on the mythical and supernatural. It's helped more often then you might expect. Granted, it most often helped when roleplaying. But you wouldn't believe some of the things I've actually had to deal with. Let's just say that in my world the supernatural is real. And while it's usually subtle and hidden, stuff does come up."

Speaking of words, I was wondering what the goddess had meant when she called me a worldwalker. It sounded important. Made me sound like I myself am some sort of mythical being of great power. Which I suppose if true could account for how trigger happy those soldiers had been. Maybe I shouldn't have tried implying I was more capable then I am.

In reply to Andrew (msg # 31):

"I would like to look at your survival guide, mein herr Andrew. I can advise the herb gatherers.' Sharon says softly.

Its agreed to put a line of outward tilting spears around the inner redoubt of four cars parked tail to nose in a square with an empty space in the center. Peter agrees that spears are a better investment than pits as pits take a lot of effort and time and they have few, or only one shovel.  The Council asks Heinrich to supervise this.

They ask you to do this ritual magic. And as soon as they do, you feel a sense of greater strength in small measure in magic flow into you.

You do notice your consoling words have the effect of reassuring them, and also of raising your status with them as they see you as not just 'that weird magician and brave fighter' but also as somewhat wise.

Those soldiers had been scared of you, you recall, and anything that scares a SAS soldier has to be pretty severe.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:01, Fri 05 Aug 2016.

"Sure thing," I said as I handed the book to Shanon.

There was a reason why I'd had this particular book with me instead of one of my other survival guides. It was compact, about the size of a normal paperback book. Maybe a little taller. And it was packed full of more information on more situations, even ones most survival guides I've looked through overlooked. How to make bone and stone tools was one such thing. The other guides I owned often assumed having manufactured tools and pharmaceuticals. This one covered how to survive if you basically have nothing but the cloths on your back (if that). As such I'd considered it a better resource for the game we were playing then my other survival guides.

Now I was rather glad I like bringing in such reference guides when gaming. Actually, I was rather wishing I had my full B.O.B. and kit with me. Having a hatchet, couple machetes, crossbow with bolts, and all the rest would have been nice. As it was, I was quickly deciding that if stuff like this was going to keep happening to me, I was going to have to put together a new kit. Surviving the next few days however took priority.

When they confirmed the desire for me to try setting up a means of protecting the non-combatents I nodded. This I did have more resources for. Granted one of those resources was a roleplaying game book. But when I'd looked up the sybolism used in the illustrated magic circles it was correct for the intended purpose. I had to wonder if the person who wrote the book had been in contact with a practitioner. The activation words was likely wrong. But maybe that didn't matter since magik was mostly intent and will. I chose the one in the Revised Heroes Unlimited book listed as a circle of force.

Before I started I told those I'd be hopefully protecting "I'm going to be drawing a circle of protection. This should keep you safe in the event of attack, but it'll be important not to mess up any part of it when you enter. Before I begin I'll need to know everyone's full name. I have a pad of paper and a pencil so you can right it down. This is important since the circle of protection wont let you in unless your name is inscribed inside of it. When the bad guys arrive you'll need to gather in the empty part of the largest circle. You'll know what I mean when I finish drawing it. I'll then activate the circle. Since how long it'll last is variable, I wont empower it until the protection is actually needed. Everyone understand?"

Once I had people's names I used the broken saber to draw first the innermost circle into the ground. This was then followed by a much larger one surrounding the first circle. Four lines were next engraved to form a giant X which extended past the outer circle, but didn't pierce the inner one. I had to recheck multiple times to ensure everything looked good. The end result was that the outer circle was separated into four equal quarters. At the ends of the northeast, northwest, and southwest lines I added another small circle.

Next I pulled my dagger and used it to inscribe the names of those who this was intended to protect around the inner edge of the larger circle. Next I carefully used the broken saber to draw a sun in the northern quarter of the circle. In the western part I drew a cross formed by four triangles which almost, but didn't quite touch each other. Finally in the eastern part I drew a second cross, this time what was commonly called a southern cross. It consisted of two lines of equal distance which intersect in the middle, with a line at each of the ends to form four crosses which meet in the middle.

The surge of energy as I finished creating the protection circle surprised me. As I told the council, I'm not a mage. Theoretical knowledge is not the same thing as practical knowledge. And before today I'd never actually attempted ritual magik. Tarot readings which had been frighteningly accurate the few times I did one, but no actual magik. Privately I said a prayer of thanks to Aramintha and Yanon, convinced it had to be them aiding me. The entire inscribing took me maybe half an hour. I wasn't sure, but from the sun's change in position that sounded  about right.

Looking around, I tried to find something else I could help out with. If nothing came to mind, I decided I would continue working on the bone sword.

In reply to Andrew (msg # 33):

The herb guide helps her get some basic medical supplies like moss for covering wounds.  Another of her workers suggests cutting up some of the seat covers for bandages, and the Benz with the crazed windshield from the griffin has its seats sacrificed to health services.

The idea of getting a carry kit seems a sound plan.

You get twenty-six of the non- combatants names.  The other nine noncombatants are 1)two atheists who snort at your plans, and one offers to call upon the Great Spaggetti Noodle for you. 2) Three who are 'we're leaving, staying here is crazy'.  3) A devout Messianic Jew who says "I cannot worship other gods than Yeshua." Thing is, when he says this, you feel a Power in the air for a second like it could crack the planet between its fingers. 4)Two who don't say what they are, but shake their heads. 1) A girl who fingers a cross, and says 'no.'

You get started, and then Franze comes over and asks you to restart.  They are willing to add another car to the car fort to make an interior space big enough for your ring.  Once this is done, you get started, enjoying the feeling of greater strength that you got from being commissioned by the Council.  Evidently, authority to work magic on behalf of a community matters, at least a bit.

And once you're done, the energy surge is matched by a flash of white light that outlines the elements of the spell for a second.

+@1 to Ritual Magic of Refuge.

You practise for two hours, and stop for an early dinner.  Its Cheez Whiz salad.  The Cheez Whiz is the dressing, and there are a lot of greens, and something like radishes.  The toddler runs about the circle during the communal meal around the campfire. At first the mother is embarrassed, but Mike tells her its good for everyone. Cheers everyone up.

By the time dinner was being served I had gotten the bone into a rough sword like shape. This I decided was probably the best I could hope for right now. It was my first attempt at making a weapon or tool using primitive techniques. I'd sharpen it after dinner. Which as it turned out was a salad made from various plants and topped with cheez spread. Eh, not the worst  thing I've ever eaten. And as the polish proverb says, hunger is the  best sauce. So I complimented the ones who prepared this dish.

After eating I  spent a few minutes sharpening my newly created weapon. I then took the bone shavings over to those who could use them. Man, it's true. Waiting is the worst part, I thought to myself. Intellectually I knew that whatever forces were being sent after us could take days to weeks to arrive depending on distance and travel method. But at the same time I could see how the stress of waiting could negatively affect everyone. Heck, I was already starting to worry myself into a frenzy.

Thinking about the child having fun running in circles, it gave me an idea. People needed to take their minds off the coming danger. And with options for such distraction limited, why not an age old camping tradition of storytelling. So I gathered anyone who was willing to listen and began telling stories of the more humorous  things that had happened in my life. Tales such as the inept mugger who decided to rob me inside my bank's lobby after I had already deposited my money. And who then was still standing around dumbfounded when the police arrived several minutes later because the criminal was baffled that I only had fifty some cents on me, and not a single credit or debit card.

Or the time when the management at a fast food restaurant I worked at had locked the keys inside the manager's office. And they asked me to climb through the ceiling to retrieve the keys. That day had been a comedy of errors which would have fit in a Three Stooges or Charlie Chaplin movie. With the capstone being that when I finally did manage to get into the office, find the keys, and open the door (never figured out why the door needed a key to unlock on both sides), it was discovered that the shift manager had locked his car keys in the office and not his manager keys. Which left me locked in the office until the sheepish manager found and retrieved his other key ring and opened the door.

After that story I said "Come now, surely some of you have had interesting experiences too. I've  been willing to share mine. Anyone else care to take a turn?"

The cooks smile at your kind words, and one of them giggles.

Also, you notice with the dense fog in the woods, that their travel to get to you is going to be far more difficult.

Franze the Cop tells about a thief who bought a soda drink with his credit card, then robbed the place.

Mike tells how he slept over night in the Outback, and woke up to find a poisonous snake in his sleeping bag.  And how he had to go to the bathroom, and yet could not move, so he waited for four hours until the snake decided to leave.

Sharon tells about a patient with a chronic but mild condition who would get bored, and wander the hospital giving out medical advice to random people.  Weirdly enough most of the advice he gave was pretty good, and he had actually helped out a doctor or two, even though he had no medical training.

The young butcher tells about how he fell in a tidal pool, and lost his glasses, and was about to get them when an octopus snagged them.  No one's sure he's telling the truth.  Peter ends the night going the rest of the way into Tall Tale territory by telling a tale of how he almost caught the Loch Ness Monster with a fishing rod and a ten pound test line.

Laughing, they make their way to bed, many of them giving you a friendly nod as they pass.
Reflecting on the true stories, and the not so true stories, you think that life is weird but splendid, and go to sleep out on the ground with someone else taking your place in the tent.

The next morning I amusedly considered that my screen name, as well as pen name, for years had been Faerie Knight. And here I was in a place where the mythical was real. Still wasn't entirely sure how I felt about putting my life on the line. You always like to think you will step up when push comes to shove. Yet you never do know until it happens. Attacking a griffon hadn't been my brightest idea. In truth I had no clue what had come over me. But it had  been the right thing to do.

Similarly using what knowledge I had to help these people felt like the right thing to do as well. I didn't know them and they didn't know me. I could have easily walked off, leaving them to whatever fate awaited them. Instead I cast my lot with these lost souls. It occurred to me that if I really was going to be a wanderer from here on out, knowing how to hunt and clean my kill would be a good thing. Yet this too would probably have to wait. Speaking of waiting, I realized someone would have to scout the area.

I'm use to not eating much throughout the day. Breakfast was a meal often skipped. Even then I would typically eat a quick sandwich at most three to four times throughout the day. As such I wasn't that hungry yet. Approaching the night watch, I informed them of my intentions. I shouldered my pack and buckled the chest strap to ensure it's weight was evenly distributed. For the moment I had my hip pouch inside the pack. With dagger sheathed on my left hip and  bone sword (really, more of a sharpened club) in hand I set out towards the fog.

I gambled that the fog would hinder the enemy, without hindering myself too much. If not true of course I would turn around and scout for edible nuts and berries. But if my guess was true it would be a huge tactical advantage. Suddenly I wished I had my trenching shovel with me. Oh well, something else to replace when I could. As I walked I took a sip from my water bottle. Which reminded me of another b it of kit from my B.O.B. that would need to be replaced. Namely my canteen and mess kit. Getting a new hobo tool would be nice too. But all of that required getting back to modern civilization. Or at least getting to someplace where I could pick up a water skein or three.

The night watch are not sure you should go, but after a bit of dithering they decide you know what you're doing, and let you go with cautions to be careful.  They look nervously after you as you leave.

In the woods, the fog seems at first to block you, but then you notice its drifting back from whatever you pay attention too.

You're looking for food, and after a half hour, despite the fog's help, you've found precisely two stalks of vegetables that might be edible.

When suddenly a guy jumps up in front of you with an automatic rifle aimed at your face, and a flickering flashlight also aimed at your face.

"Wh...Who goes there?" He asks in English.

"A fellow traveler, lost in the multiverse. I arrived here with a group of civilians from someplace in Germany. Think one of the others mentioned Berlin or something. Could be wrong about exact location though, before recently I'd never set foot out of Iowa." I quickly replied. "You're from the armored division that got caught up in this mess, right? This actually might work out since I've got info the commander might need regarding possible dangers here. Both natural and more immediate. Name's Andrew, by the way."

The gun and flashlight told me this man probably wasn't local. And assault rifles generally weren't owned by law abiding civilians. So logic suggested he was military. And the only military unit I knew of here was the tank division and the forces of Count Not-Very-Nice. But if he was from an infantry unit that got caught up in this mess, his commanders really needed to know what was going on.

Of course, having a gun pointed at me was making me feel a little nervous. Getting shot at then shot and presumably killed tends to do that. Hopfully the US military surplus field pack I had with me, as well as my distinctly modern earth cloths would help identify me as not a local. Granted, the fact I am armed was probably a point against me. Didn't have a sheath for the main weapon, so I instead held it pointing at the ground with the crude blade pointing away from me.

"Jim. Jim Swanson. Pfc." He lowers his rifle, and with real feeling says, "I'm glad to see you sir. I'm from Ohio, and was supposed to be up on the Polish-Russian border, but we missed our transport, and so we were halfway to Poland in a Humvee, trying to catch up, when things got weird." His voice catches. "I know about the dangers. But I don't have a working radio. It died in the first hour we were here."

He backs up, and by the light of his flashlight, you can see a well-hidden camp without fire.  Nextto the sleeping bag, you can see a pile of shredded mushrooms.

"Then you may not know about the forces heading this way. Didn't learn about that till yesterday morning. A nasty sort decided to take those who've arrived here as slaves. The fog was called up by an... ally, I suppose you could say, I was able to contact to slow down the army. I was out here scouting for food supplies, and for good places to set up a few traps."

My grin was rather predatory. While normally a nice person, I do have a bit of a vicious streak. That's usually channeled into video games and snark. But in this case I was willing to make an exception. The very idea of slavery was one that I severely disliked. While intellectually I knew it happened even in modern times, it still got on my nerves. It was just that I couldn't do anything about it. I'm no revolutionary. But I had the sinking suspicion that provided I survived the next week or so, I'd be drawn into conflict with Count Arrogant. Wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Actually, no I did know how I felt. The idea was quite frankly terrifying. The idea that an army was approaching to enslave and/or kill those near me (and me too) was enough to cause a panic attack. Which was why I was constantly trying to stay focused on other things. Such as preparation for the inevitable attack.

"You wouldn't happen to have a trenching shovel would you? I'm thinking a few pit traps hidden in the fog could really ruin the day of mounted calvary."

"Slaves?!?" He grunts. "Not okay. I'm an American." He says that last like a warcry.  He opens up his back pack and pulls out two trenching tools.

"We, ah, well, I took this off Hector's backpack." He shows one.

"As the saying goes, give me liberty or give me death. But between you and me, I'd rather have liberty. Anyway, I should get back to the others soon with what food I've scrounged up. I don't know how much time we have. But it may only be a few days. Wouldn't happen to know where the rest of your men are, would you? I'd imagine when the troops arrive it's not going to be safe to be alone. Mean time, anything you can set up to hinder the attackers would be good."

"Patton or ah...anyways....said ...let the other guy die for his country.  I can dig some holes, but I need to know where this opfor is coming from.  Can't just dig holes all over the woods, need to find a chokepoint or something."

When you ask the question about his others, his face goes very still.

"Carl Johnson, specialist, and Hector Rose, pfc. were killed by some creature that looked like a woman, but lived under water.  I was gathering mushrooms to go poison her water.  About two clicks that way." He points deeper into the forrest.  He goes on to tell you that his main group is about 250 klicks back your way up near the Polish-Russian border.

I point out the direction of the camp I'd come from. "The people I arrived with are back that way. And since my contact put up this fog bank here, I'm thinking the forces will come from this direction Beyond that, not entirely sure myself. Wait, a woman in a lake killed your friends? Can you describe her better? Just from that description it could be anything from a mermaid to water nymph or naiad. And depending on what it is, she may be a guardian for the area or actually be hostile to surface dwellers. While all supernatural are dangerous, not everything is actively hostile."

"OK...I'll head that way, look for a chokepoint.  Um-m, she was clear skinned like glass, then beautiful, then her mouth was teeth.  She didn't have a tail, I don't think.  I don't know any more about nay-adds or whatever."

"Not sure exactly what that is, but I'll look into it. Wouldn't count on the rest of your unit being here though. As far as I can tell, we're not on Earth anymore. Stay safe Jim," I told him before heading back to the encampment.

What Jim had described sounded kind of like a naiad. But then it also sounded a bit like some of the nastier unseelie I'd read about. As such the others needed to be warned about it. Not to mention delivering the food supplies I'd scrounged up. Running into Jim however did also bring up a new and alarming thought. How many others were out there? How many people who didn't know about the dangers this world had to offer? While any units of soldiers were likely to be capable of defending them self, civilians weren't.

That thought brought me up short. Since when did I stop classifying myself as a civilian? I'd promised a soldier I would look into something which had already killed two soldiers. That was, quite frankly, rather insane. I'd told those cops I'm an expert in these types of things, sort of. But in truth I was probably as far over my head as they were. I just had enough theoretical knowledge to know I was in deep trouble. And I still couldn't believe I'd actually volunteered to distract an honest to gods griffon.

Yet all I could do was keep moving forward. If I didn't then the I'd be overwhelmed by the sheer overwhelming terror this whole situation inspired. I had to project a calm facade to keep moral up among the others. They were looking to me for answers and protection. It was that fact which terrified me the most. I'm no saint. Nor am I a scholar. Hero material? Ha, I wished. Yet I was the best they had.

As I neared the camp I called out "Hello the camp!"

The guards jump up, and for a second you think you're going to shot by accident.  Which would stink.

Then you're let in, and a weight drops off your shoulders as you stop looking over your shoulder, and straining to hear something approaching you.  You brief the guards who nod solemnly, and redouble their peering into the dark.

Sleep comes quickly, and with it bad dreams, but then they go away as a sense of peace fills the air.

That morning, you meet with the Council.

An hour later, Jim comes in, saying that he's dug fifty small pits, and set a few other traps.

Three hours later, the edge of the wood stirs, and a dozen creatures built like short apes with tusks coming out of their mouths, and very widely spaced eyes, clad in leather armor, and armed with axes or spears emerges.

Behind them, a man, no something man-like, but tall, thin, pale rides out on horseback.  His armor seems to be copper scales.  His ears are pointed.  He looks with contempt on the lot of you.

He makes a small gesture.

"KNEEL SLAVES!!!" Booms out over the North Sheep Pasture.

After the night I'd had, trouble was almost expected. Maybe that was why I'd made sure the children and non-combatants were within the circle after the council meeting. Or maybe it was paranoia. Either way I was rather glad when the nutjob yelled for us to kneel. I knelt all right, and closed the circle. Then after a brief incantation to activate the protective circle I stood and pulled out my bone sword. I joined the others at the perimeter and snarled.

"You think to intimidate us with beast men? I have seen death rain from the sky and cities burned in toxic fire. Alone and unarmed I have stared into the face of death, and death blinked. When Apsu the Destroyer awoke, I was there to force the dark god back into eternal slumber. Dragons tremble when they hear my name. I am Andrew Wellington, Knight of Faerie, Realm traveler and champion of Good. And beside me are warriors the likes you have never imagined. And you think we'll bow our heads in slavery? Then may Aramintha guide my hand."

Okay, granted it had been while playing in a superhero campaign that I'd fought Apsu, not in real life. And it was only when playing my high level fantasy characters that dragons trembled upon hearing my name. And also granted I had only seen atomic blasts in historical footage and movies. Similarly I hadn't personally seen any bombs being dropped, that too was in news footage. But this guy didn't know that. And neither did his troops. Staring death in the face though, that was true enough. I'd terrified a few muggers who tried accosting me. And I really did make it a point to be on friendly terms with the fair folk. It was less annoying that way.

"I give you one chance. Turn around and head back home. Otherwise we will destroy you all."

Mocking catcalls with a nervous edge to them come back to you from the beastmen.  The rider frowns, and the Germans near you clap your shoulders.

"I am Sir Telisawyn Ipricor, a Knight of the Ellala Empire, and vassal to the Count.  This sword has drunk the blood of hundreds of Red, and Yellow, and Purple Humans.  You will die as easily as they did Sir Wellington. Kneel now, and you will have mercy.  Fight, and your souls will feed the Emperor."

He's not making any effort, but his voice is easily heard over the whole area.

Okay, it was true that I was rather scared. But my back was against the wall here. These people trusted me. They believed in me. And that was kind of frightening. I was no great hero. I was a normal man. Maybe one with a few unusual experiences and oddball knowledge. But still just a normal man who was in over his head. The only thing special about me was my temper, and that I struggled with constantly. But perhaps that was what was needed here. Not some legendary hero, but an average joe who refused to back down in the face of evil.

"So be it then," I said with far more confidence then I actually felt. "You had your chance to back down. Fire when ready. I'll deal with the so-called knight."

With that I drew my dagger and prepared to fight for my life. Not to mention for the lives of everyone with me. This elfin man was armored and probably using a magic sword. Me, I was wielding a crudely made griffin bone sword and a dagger. I was unarmored too, which meant I had to avoid being hit far more then him. This was, in a word, bad. But in all my research into myth and legend I learned there is a magic in intent. That one of pure heart can, and in the past often has accomplished things others might consider impossible. That the greatest of heroes were normal men and women who stepped forth when things were at their darkest.

I was no hero, but in that moment, on that day I would step up to do what was right. And perhaps it would be enough. Or maybe not. Maybe we would all die here. But even in death, heroism can be found. As I strode forward these thoughts swirled around in my mind. The rage I had struggled with for years I embraced fully for the first time. And with that embracing of my fury I found a sort of clarity I'd never experienced  before. The next words I spoke were a surprise even to me.

"Of my own free will I pledge my service to Lady Aramintha. With a glad heart I swear to fight true Evil where ever I may find it. My life in service do I offer, my sword in defense of innocent. So I swear, so mote it be!"

With that I brought my bone sword down in a downward arc from left to right. My dagger I held ready to try parrying the elfin knight's sword.

Rage fills you, and a crystalline clarity sharpens the scene.  In an instant you can count the scales running up the rider's armor, and just as quickly discard it as non-essential.  There is no place for fear or doubt.

And your voice rings out in the clearing even as the first guns blast out violent justice.

Four of the beastmen stagger, but its going to take more than one bullet to bring them down quickly.

And you hear in your mind.Accepted, Champion.

The rider yells at the beastmen to get out of the way, and he charges forward to meet you.  The beastmen rush behind.  And as you get closer, you notice a half-dozen more beastmen, all wounded behind them in the treeline.  Most have leg wounds.  They are not charging.

He's riding low and fast, looking to pierce you thru the left shoulder, and you throw up the dagger to block, and suddenly his blade flicks just below yours and stabs you through the left lung.  You wheel, not feeling any pain, and slice a little bit under his scales and into his back as he charges past you.

And then you look down to see the hole and realize you're dead.  And then the wound closes.  It still hurts, terribly, but you can breathe, and you're not bleeding, anymore.  Maybe you're not dead.

The knight is coming back at you after he wheels his horse about, and kicks it into a charge.  The crack of gunfire forms a distant backgrounnd, and you hear the bellowing roars of anger, and pain from the beastmen as they surge past you.