Chapter the Second: Badger and Rangers

Shandaal awoke, and immediately wished she had not. Pain flooded into her body accompanied by a grudging coherence. Her head throbbed and each heartbeat served as a painful reminder of the swelling which had overtaken her face. Her muscles were sore, ribs stinging sharply each time she inhaled, and her lower back ached terribly where it had impacted the tree root.

As her awareness gradually returned however, by far the worst sting was her wounded pride. She had not been victorious. In fact, the fight had never been close. She had suffered humiliation in front of many onlookers who had born witness to her shame. Quite a beginning to her new majestic legacy to be pounded into the earth by a Gaellian soldier plebe…

She tried to open her eyes but was blinded by daylight streaming in from a large opening in the structure. It took time to adjust, but as her bleary vision cleared, she could see that she was in a small wooden structure similar to the cabins they had previously stayed, if much smaller. The bench built into the wall furthest from the opening called to mind a hunter’s blind, akin to several that the refugee group had passed within the North Forest.

Sitting cross legged and taking up the majority of the space not occupied by Shandaal, was the old, dark-skinned warrior who had been her Second for the duel.

The elder Tanhai smiled ruefully, acknowledging her return to wakefulness. The man’s hand reached into a small wooden bowl which held a thick salve in it. He proceeded to layer the paste over a cut above her right eyebrow. A fresh sting of the cut and foul smell of the salve pervaded her senses. Shandaal attempted to cringe away and sit up as his dark hand reached back into the bowl.

“Paff! What is that foul unguent?” Shandaal spat toward him, raising her arm to block his advance.

The man caught her flailing wrist with his free hand and firmly pressed her back down before slathering more of the ointment upon a raw patch of shredded skin on her exposed knee. She hissed at the resulting burn.

“Goat urine,” he said offhandedly after some time, “boiled down and mixed with herbs. It will keep the decay and rot away from your flesh and help you to heal.”

“GOAT URINE??” Shandaal snarled, starting suddenly and much more forcefully this time. “You keep that filth away from me!” Her freshly treated leg lashed out and kicked the bowl from the old man’s grip. It flew a short distance before rattling against the side of the wooden structure. She scrabbled as far away from the man as possible and began to rub at the paste frantically, trying to remove it from her face. A fresh surge of agony stayed her efforts and caused her to moan.

“You were far easier to care for while you slept, Milady” the man remarked, calmly collecting the bowl. Though it had landed upside-down, the substance within was so viscous that nary a drop had run onto the wooden floor.

“A good thing that none spilled. This is harder to collect then you would imagine.” The man broke into a white toothed smile and let out a healthy bark of laughter.
Shandaal was less than amused.

“Keep it for yourself then and bring me water! I cannot bear any further indignities this day. My body aches, the company I keep is ignoble and that snake Garvaal ran off with my coin and surely crafted some lie to make that beastly Gaellian cow assault me!”

“Garvaal? You refer to the sickly looking fellow with the ghastly skin?” Asked the old man, producing a waterskin an unstopping it, allowing Shandaal to take a greedy swig.

“The very same.”

“Hmmm, perhaps he is more loyal than you think… He has been following us since we left the camp yesterday evening and I marked him several times during the night. He is elusive though; has a gift for stealth. I would wager that he is not far, waiting for an excuse to kill me or rejoin you but has proven difficult to track. A useful skill, wouldn’t you agree?”

“He knows where the coin is and without me, the full-share becomes his. I expect he will slink off and lose in within a week to drink and whores. Why would he be such a fool as to return?”

“I expect that the first possibility is that he is either too cowardly or unable to look after himself… Of course, the other, more likely outcome is that you will discover he is in love with you.”

“Hah! Then he truly is a fool to have any expectations that a Priestess would ever return his affection!”

“Perhaps that is so, but it was not foolish to leave that camp when he did... Whatever the case, like myself he must see some unrealized potential in you. It is why I remain committed to your protection for the time being.”

Scrutinizing the man’s stoic and subservient demeanour through her puffy, bruised eyelids, Shandaal could not help but remain suspicious of him, despite his apparent charitable actions.

“I wonder again; Old Man, as to why you have chosen so willingly to serve as my retainer? Your services are of course welcome, provided you can follow orders; however, I cannot fathom as to what your motive is, if not to sell me at the next outpost or use me for your own perverse pleasure. After all, you have not even had the courtesy to provide me with your birthname.”

“Nor have you provided yours, Young Lady. For my part, you may call me Bashir… Or Badger, as it pleases you.”

Though she had never bothered to study or engage with Tanhai previously, Shandaal knew that they were renowned for taking on the names of animals that were said to match their personalities; an absurd custom, to be sure.

“Very well… Badger…I am Shandaal Demura of Throđin; Daughter of Eythaal, Daughter of Sophaal, Priestess of the most Unholy Order of Eternal Shade,” Shandaal rattled off, sparing none of the appropriate animated gravitas of her station, but paying for it with another sharp stab to her ribs as the phrase expired.

Bashir merely nodded, allowing Shandaal to catch her breath.

“But you have not answered my question,” she rasped, biting her lip against the ache.

The faraway look had returned to Badger’s eyes and she thought he would refuse to answer or just remain silent until she inevitably collapsed back into a recovery exhaustion. After some moments though, speak he did; his voice a deep and slow, but with an intangible energy like faraway thunder:

“Lady Shandaal: I take from your heritage that your order was allied with the Death Queen Vanacuiel; may her ashes never scatter… My Tarak… My… Clan were once also loyal servants of the Ageless Lady. You are surely too young to remember the end years, but we fought and died… Died for her, while many of her more worthless and craven followers fled or pledged allegiance to the cursed descendants of Kuros. Some of my clan fight still, in Khronmar and along the Karnaki border, awaiting her return… Though it is futile, I should be with them. The Tanhai do not fear death you know; not like the lesser folk…

I wonder Priestess, do you know how many denizens of this land, friend or foe ever managed to glimpse the Death Queen in her corporeal form?”

“None who survived, if the tales are to be believed,” replied Shandaal. The energy within her was fading fast, but she struggled to remain awake long enough to hear the end of Bashir’s tale, laying her head back upon the bundle that served as her makeshift cushion.

“Nay Lady, that is not so, though it is true to say there have been precious few… Precious few were blessed with the sight of her beauty and terror! I am among them Lady Shandaal… I am one of the few."

Shandaal began to interrupt; to express her disbelief, but the old hermit continued, building as though he approached a passionate crescendo.

“From the moment I glimpsed her, fleeing the keep where we had bivouacked, her visage was burned upon my mind! I can remember every detail as though it was yesterday! I was unworthy to have survived that day and indeed, my comrades fell during the sortie. I did not deserve to survive, but in doing so I knew that I was forever in her thrall.

It was then that I was sure that she was the earthly manifestation of Ch-Moh, the Goddess herself personified!  Upon her defeat, so left with Vanacuiel a piece of my soul and I longed for death myself. In seeking death however, I found a greater purpose.

My journey had only just begun, and I knew that I must search to find a worthy successor.

Many of our allied factions are certain that Vanacuiel will return, but I know that it is time for Ch-Moh to choose a new vessel…

I do not say this lightly Milady, but I have yet to gaze upon another who resembled my Queen as do you. I cannot say this means that you are she, but I am convinced it was no accident that placed me to stumble upon your camp.”

Her eyes closed and a slow smile spread across the swollen face of Shandaal. Bashir was doubtless some old crackpot relic of the age just past, but it was the first time that someone other than herself had remarked on her similarities to the mighty Scourge of Panderati; the Death Queen herself!

This more than confirmed Shandaal’s suspicions with regards to her own noble lineage, and as she slowly drifted back into exhausted slumber, she congratulated herself for having the foresight to take up company with the Tanhai stranger.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:25, Tue 21 Sept 2021.

Thanks, mate! That was pleasure to read :D Really, enjoying the characters! Looking forward to the next part.

I'll try to get something up this weekend- the rain gives me an excuse :)

Part II: Badger and Rangers:

Crysentha wiped sweat from her brow and knelt back to the edge of the small pond. Seizing a handful of rushes on the bankside, she pulled up swiftly, but expertly, ensuring that the roots came up with the rest of the spindly Lapidü plants.

It was exhausting work; hard on her lower back, but she reminded herself of the essentiality of the labour. Though quite tasteless, her people in the Netherrealm needed plants heavy in starches, which were excessively rare underground. Though the passages beneath Ilmanor spanned for hundreds of leagues, there was precious little natural light, leaving the denizens of New Alqador with significant dietary restriction. She took one of the rushes and tied it snugly around the rest, forming a bundle, then proceeded to load it onto a small mule-cart already laden with several similar bushels of the Lapidü.

Crysentha was herself a Native Ilman; a member of The Blessed, born and bred in the tunnels beneath Ilmanor. She had not seen the surface until she had reached her adolescence; thirty-seven to be exact when she had first met Logana and been coaxed to join her team of Sky-Rangers. That was some seven years hither, making her the second last member to join the team, prior to Darvish.

Crysentha bore the typical characteristics of her people, short and somewhat stout, with grayish hair, golden eyes and a waxen skin, evolved over the generations after the Alqador had been conquered and her race driven underground. Her duty was that of a Prime Forager, responsible for braving the surface world of Ilmanor Overrealm and gathering herbs and wild edibles to sate the persistent need of the under-dwellers.

She had been left alone this day, allowing the other members of the party to engage in hunting game, which each of them far preferred to foraging, save Crysentha. Her soul was most at peace in steady busywork, which left her alone with her thoughts and insecurities, though these also served set her further apart as an introvert.

Her team of Sky-Rangers numbered six and was deliberately kept at this low tally. Though many Ilman respected and romanticized the position, few were brave (or perhaps mad) enough to sign up to be a Ranger. Fewer still were accepted, as to take the oath of a Sky-Ranger was to face the dangers posed by the elements, the vile Skypawn and other more savage beasts of the surface. Of even greater weight; however, was the risk of exposure of the hidden Ilman world.

The network of Realmgates and passages to the Netherrealm across Ilmanor were hidden well, but their existence was not exactly a secret. Hordes of enemies scoured the surface-world like a plague, placing the continued existence of New Alqador upon a knife’s edge. But one loose tongue; one spy infiltrating a crew of Rangers; one careless scout missing a trace could mean a final jeopardy for her people. If the enemy were to find an entrance and dispel the magical protections in place to conceal them, New Alqdor would have an army at its gates faster than you could say “Shadowmage”.

As such, the people trusted with these secrets were limited to the Outranger of each group, and they alone. Even Crysentha did not know how to reach the nearest gate to the Netherrealm. Only their party leader Bastian was entrusted with that information.

When she was first accepted to join, she had met the others in the party at the Netherrealm stronghold of Momo, the northernmost exit to the surface. Each was blindfolded by Bastian and led to the surface. There they would conduct their business, sometimes for weeks at a time. When the time came to return their goods, each of the Rangers were again blindfolded in turn and led back underground. If a party-member was ever captured, they could not betray the location to their captors; save of course for the Outranger. These individuals were therefore considered to be the most trustworthy of the Sky-Rangers.

Before taking the sacred vow, each Outranger was equipped with a Deathknell. This was an ancient elvish magic, learned from the Mearri. It consisted of a sacred word which, when spoken, immediately took the life of the orator. As such, it was paramount that the others make defending the Outrider their priority. It made Crysentha uneasy that Bastian often liked to join hunts for dangerous game and skirmishes with enemies. She found the behaviour reckless, though the others (all of whom were born on the surface) did not seem to think much of it.

The sharp report of a black-fire bow could be heard in the distance, muffled by the canopy of the North Forest, but nonetheless scattering a small flock of warbling doves in a nearby tree and giving her a start. Crysentha, being particularly sensitive to loud noises (which could pose a real danger when one lived in a cave) loathed the foul-smelling instruments. She refused to use one herself, preferring the subtlety and precision of a hand-crossbow.
Still, one could not deny the speed and effectiveness of such weapons, and they had delivered her friends from many sticky situations, particularly where orcs and the like were concerned. Crysentha could only hope that the gonnefire in this case signaled a successful kill.

She returned to her work, trying to push down the feelings of anxiety and within a short while had loaded the remainder of the Lapidu rushes, leaving enough remaining for the crop to recover and secured the forage into the cart. She marked the spot on a large, weather beaten map she kept about her person.

Before long, Crysentha head the sound of slow hoofbeats accompanying the crack of twigs and rustle of old leaves on the forest floor.

Erring on the side of caution, she drew her small crossbow and notched a bolt atop the silver frame. As the figures and voices came into view however, she relaxed.

First around the corner, on foot and with a dead doe draped over her shoulder was Logana, smiling broadly with a girlish twinkle in her eye.

“Whoa, Cryssie, point that thing someplace else!” She feigned a dodge move and dropped the heavy cargo unceremoniously next to the pond’s edge, giving Crysentha a rogue wink.
Her straight, dark hair was cropped short. She had left it only a bit longer on top so that the fringe danced above her eyebrows with each step, and her cheeks had turned a healthy pinkish hue from the effort.

Crysentha lowered her crossbow sheepishly and watched as Logana unslung the studded leather breastplate revealing a sweat-stained tunic beneath. She strode forward with confidence and planted a passionate and lingering kiss to the dry lips of Crysentha.

Chyrsentha bit her lip, remembering their first time in coitus and wondering what she had ever done to deserve such a wonderful partner.

Like the others, Logana was tall for an Ilman; the Skyborn usually were. Chrysetha maintained that it was something in the water which they drank from the forest streams, but Logana had always advised her that she could grow four inches if she would only stand straight.

The rest of the Ranger party had now entered the clearing:

They were led as always by the stoic Mearri elf Gallanar, riding a swift brown mare. The Mearri were friends and protectors of the Blessed, owning to some ancient guilt surrounding the plight of the Ilman; forced as they were underground. Though Gallanar had repaid any lingering debt a hundred-fold, he still served loyally as the group’s Prime Hunter. The others, even Bastian respected and feared the elf, and it was nigh impossible to get closer to him save for a guarded friendship.

Bastian followed, his tall stallion and leather hat making him seem more regal and majestic atop the horse than his true frame, which was bordering on stout as he aged less gracefully through his eighties.

Rounding out the party, also on foot and carrying sacks full of smaller woodland game were Mirvish and his younger brother Darvish, the other two Outguard warriors along with Logana,
Seeing the embrace of the two women breaking up, Mirvish let out a long whistle and exclaimed

“When do I get my kiss, then?"

Logana turned and without missing a beat responded slyly:

“If you can’t take-down a doe, Mirv, you sure as Balzot’s balls can’t capture a lioness! Anyway, I don’t let men kiss me on the mouth…”

“We should start preparing camp for the evening,” interrupted Gallanar matter-of-factly, dismounting his horse and rummaging in his pack. “The days are still short.”

“What did you manage to go with the venison, Cryssie?” said Darvish glancing into the cart, which Crysentha had already began to secure to her temperamental mule which she had named Dandy. “Hmmm more tubers…” He walked away trying to hide his dismay.

“Hmpph well you had best eat them without complaint,” she retorted “Lest I may decide not to share dessert with picky eaters.” Crysentha motioned to a bag of whipcherries she had harvested earlier in the day. She knew they were still early-season and quite bitter, but they would lift the party’s spirits nonetheless when boiled down into a jam that they could spread on the last of their bread ration which they had stolen from a nearby mill.

Each Sky-Ranger set about their tasks as if by rote, and in no time, they had gathered around a small blaze which Gallanar had allowed to combat the chill. The venison leg sizzled over the fire, Gallanar sang a soft and lilting tune in the elvish tongue, and Logana had laid back, with her head in Crysentha’s lap.

Crysentha knew that upon depositing their catch at the nearest Realmgate their next mission would be to track down and destroy a group of orcs who had been lurking about and causing trouble. It was in her nature to worry; but somehow, she was able to put her cares aside and enjoy the remainder of the evening in good company.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:16, Tue 21 Sept 2021.

Part III: Badger and Rangers:

Shandaal stopped to catch her breath. The heady, humid air caused her head to spin. It had been the better part of a day since Badger had insisted that they leave the shelter of the wooden hunter’s blind and the old warrior was driving a hard pace. Her refusal to accept any more of the old man’s urine-based healing salve had left he cuts raw where they rubbed against her clothing and her ribs still ached smartly from the soldier-bitches’ boots. At least the swelling on her face had begun to subside; giving way to some rather ugly bruising, but Badger had assured her that it would be completely healed by the time they reached the edge of the woods.

Backtracking unceremoniously through a thicket, Badger sighed impatiently at the delay.

It was flummoxing, this change of pace. What little Shandaal remembered of Badger carrying her through the woods was measured and gentle. Indeed, in the short span she had known him, none of his movements or actions had seemed impulsive or rash. She had put his sudden urgency down to a soldier’s habitual marching pace, but it made her irritable, nonetheless.

“What is your hurry, Old Man? I cannot match your pace in this state. Go on ahead or be away with you! I will make the journey in my own time.”

“Apologies Priestess, but you do not have knowledge of this country as I… Already the hour grows late, and I do not wish to camp in these wilds any longer than is absolutely necessary. This is orc country.”

“And what of it?” Shandaal responded tartly, “Are not the orcs subjects loyal to Daenor?”

Scrutinizing her curiously, Badger shook his head.

“I forget how young you truly are, girl… I suppose you had few enough dealings with orcs, growing up sheltered, bivouacked in your fortress with those witches?”

“Of course, I haven’t; The Order would not have let those savages within a league of the keep!”

“Well, you will learn soon enough… Most orc clans care little for the structure of an alliance. They take up arms alongside the generals of Daenor because it usually means a nice excuse to take some elf heads… Or dwarf heads… Really, they are not picky about the sort of heads they take, in my estimation. Rest assured; however, peace-time orcs are the most dangerous kind, and you had best hope that we don’t come across nomads in any sort of number! I will not rest easy until I see the gates of Rish’Nar, pathetic though they may be!”

“Rish’Nar? I am not going to Rish’Nar… We are to make south for Daenor at once!”

Badger gave her a hard look, shook his head and turned about, continuing toward his destination. Without much as a thought, Shandaal found herself compelled to follow.

“You must learn to trust my judgment in these matters if you wish to survive. Daenor is not a place which craves or needs your people’s alliance. Vancumar is a fallen province, too weak to stand against imperial aggression. Its folk are craven and scheming, unworthy to be subjects of the Logurti or of my Queen before them. You come over the mountains into Ilmanor as a flood of useless chaff, untrustworthy and largely unskilled. You will not receive the welcoming refuge you crave, even if you were to manage crossing the wilds of Ilmanor and reach Daenor.

‘I suspect that the group of soldiers you travelled with were but days away from selling the lot of you into slavery or servitude… That is, if your ‘guardians’ didn’t elect to cull them and rather save the resources. Even if a warlord were to take you in, you must first avoid leagues of territory awash with nomad orcs and patrolled by Sky-Rangers. I have no faith that any of you could have managed, save perhaps the Tanhai and Drowzan… Meaning no offense to be taken.”

“What else should be taken from it? You spit in the face of my people!”

Looking over his shoulder, pensive as ever, Badger was slow to reply:

“I do spit upon them. Had Vancumar been a stronger host, my Queen may have yet lived... I do not yet spit upon you, Milady. I do hope that you live long enough to change my opinion of your kin.”

With that, he increased his pace further, dodging among tall hardwood trees and thickets of low-lying shrub. Shandaal did her best to keep pace, her breath already beginning to falter.

***

What felt like weeks later, Badger had finally called off the days’ march in between several thornbush hedges, well away from the forest path. With Badger’s meager tent erected, he had gone off to forage for mushrooms, while Shandaal sat upon the uneven ground with little else to contribute. Could he have chosen a less comfortable spot for them to sleep?

Exhaustion warring with misery, she stood briefly to massage the dead feeling out of her thighs and calves. She chose a large beechwood stump to lean against.

Suddenly, she heard a rustle along the forest floor near her and did an about-face, her adrenaline rising as her stomach plummeted.

The pale face and straw-like hair of Garvaal came bursting into the grove in front of her, his eyes bulging wide. A miserable patchy stubble had begun to form on his face, and his hair was laden with twigs. Upon sighting her, he immediately stumbled and fell to his knees, prostrate before her with his head bowed.

Shandaal’s terror converted instantly to recognition and a wide smile spread across her face at the sight of her colleague.

A surprising feeling of relief came over her for a split second before she could recover her indignance,

“Lady Shandaal, I have returned to you at great personal risk, and I beg that you wi—"

“AHA! I HAVE YOU NOW, REPTILE!”

A quick flash of motion caught Shandaal’s eye but a wink before a thunderous force collided with the side of Garvaal, sending him sprawling and rebounding off a tree trunk.

Without allowing for pause, the sturdy form of Badger tackled the slim, pasty Vancu and began throttling him.

“I will learn you to try and slip past my guard undetected!” snarled the older man, now engulfing and forcefully pressing his weight upon Garvaal’s windpipe.

Shandaal looked on for a moment in terror, watching Garvaal hack, choke, and whimper before finding her voice. A protective surge overcame her, and the response which belayed her confidence came out as both commanding and authoritative:

“Enough of this! Badger, release that man!”

Looking up at her, a blaze in his eyes, Badger reluctantly released Garvaal, who remained on the ground, curling into the foetal position, and continuing to wheeze.

Turning upon Badger, Shandaal chastised him:

“A fine bodyguard you have proven Tanhai… Slip past your guard, he did! He was nearly upon me, close enough to have cloven me in twain were he a true threat! This reflects poorly upon your sense of duty and worse upon your skills as a tracker! How do you account for yourself after all you have boasted of the quality Tanhai soldiery?”

To her great surprise, Badger merely bowed his head in shame at the rebuke.

“Your words are cutting but accurate, Milady… I cast myself at the mercy of your whim! As my first atonement, allow me to finish your assailant to demonstrate my penance…”

As he said this, Badger drew a wicked, long dagger from the folds of his brown tunic. He started back toward Garvaal, eliciting a squeal from the tall, slim man as he attempted to crab-walk haphazardly away from Badger’s murderous intent.

“I said stand DOWN, Badger!” Shandaal asserted, now reveling in the adulation as badger immediately froze and re-sheathed the weapon. “Before I leave you to your quarry, I wish to hear how Garvaal intends to account for his sudden absence in my time of need. What do you have to say for yourself, insect?”

“Shandaal, please, I---”

“Address me as LADY Shandaal, peasant!”

“Lady Shandaal, please I-- I have traveled far and hard to keep pace with you after we were separated… I—I meant to return your pack and goods to you, along with the gold that I-- that we procured from those cursed Daenorran guards!”

Garvaal scrambled behind a tree, his eyes never leaving Badger and he fumbled to produce he travel pack, still seemingly with most of the contents intact.

He once again fell to his knees, laying the pack before her and producing the coin purse from his vest, presenting it and bowing his head in acceptance of her judgement.

A wry smile crossed he face despite her best efforts to hide it. She would never confess it, but she had been far happier having Garvaal under her boot as company than the aloof Badger. Still; appearances must be kept up…

“Well, what say you Badger? Shall we keep him?”

“Hmph… He will slow us down. I say we drown him in the next river and stitch his ears into the tarpaulin to ward off spirits…”

“You have such limited imagination, Tanhai. Small wonder you ended up in soldiering. We would do far better to carry him with us and sell him into servitude at Rish’nar.”

“Lady, I must protest--"

“Please, Milady! Do N—”

“Silence! Both of you, otherwise I shall be inclined to trade the lot of you to a Gallean souteneur for a bread roll and a depleted inkwell! I must think further on the matter…. In the meantime, Badger, what have you brought us to eat?”

***

A few leagues away, Crysentha and her companions donned blindfolds and were led toward the entrance to Ilmanor Underrealm by their devoted Outranger Bastian.

He led them slowly, the horses and wagon tied together and his companions giving over full trust. The destination lay beneath small hillock on the edge of the North Forest which housed a wonderous treasure: Within the dense mound lay an Earth Node. A physical manifestation of divine magical energy concentration within the earth. Magical beings for miles around the vicinity of the Node were able to have their power amplified; to draw from the energies within the depths of this hill.

There were few however, who could truly activate the node. Fortunately for the Ilman people, this was one of the secrets left to them as custodians of Ilmanor by the ancient scions of  Alqador.

Enemies could look for the entrance to the Underrrealm for decades and never find it. Even if they were to discover that the entrance itself lay beneath the node, without the proper incantation, the door would remain inaccessible. Genius, hiding in plain sight.

This made the rare individuals who carried the secret passphrase and knew the location invaluable to the survival of New Alqador. The one link that could spell doom for his entire society. Bastian knew the risk when he took the vow to become an Outranger, and his devotion to his team of Sky-Rangers and the greater Ilman society at large had never wavered.
The Rangers reached the base of the unassuming hill and Bastian began to mutter the elvish phrases under his breath. As he completed the ritual, the hill lit up, first in a muted lilac hue in the dark night, before resonating a brilliant emerald green. It was a shame that his colleagues had to be deprived this beauty, which he had so oft witnessed, but such was the tithe. Though he was not a powerful mage or sorcerer, the raw magical energy emitting from the Earth Node as the door materialised made the hair of his arms stand on-end.

Glancing about, one last time to ensure that their passage remained unwatched, Bastian led the rangers through the entrance and into Ilmanor Underrealm.

"Home, sweet home," he smiled, and closed the gate behind him.



***

Shandaal was awoken from her slumber by an ashy coughing noise, coming from her pack, which she had used as a headrest. She was laying in Badger’s tent, having forced the two men to share the lean-to which Garvaal had recovered from the refugee camp.

Stifling a shriek, she flung the pack away from her and started at it, trembling.

She expected the racket to awake the others, sleeping not meters away, but as the hacking continued it became apparent that her companions remained undisturbed.

As the incessant fit continued, curiosity began to get the better of Shandaal's fear. Slowly and silently, she crossed the small area of the tent toward the source.

She fumbled with the strap and threw open the pack, before retreating swiftly.

Out rolled the small urn which contained the ashes of the terrible, and very deceased Lord Mother and High Priestess of the Order of Eternal Shade.

Free from the pack, the coughing slowly subsided to a dull phlegmy wheeze and then a protracted silence.

Finally, a venerable voice uttered through decrepit lungs:
"WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:56, Thu 30 Sept 2021.