Wake (Breathe III) (Underconstruction, over 400 pages lost)

[Riverdane]

“Apologies.” River said quietly, breath slowing as he regained control of his rapidly beating heart. Nizzre nodded, but Bwael did not look appeased. Camille drew closer to River.

“So,” Nizzre asked, amiably enough. “What brings two paladins to the city of Torsis?”

“Shadowknight.” River answered, glancing at the architecture. Torsis, ancient trade city of the Iksar. City of Mist was an apt nickname. The ruined city was shrouded in a dense fog, limiting visibility into its depths even from the close proximity of the gates.

“Excuse me?” Nizzre said, not understanding. Bwael muttered something in elvish, tipping his head toward River. Nizzre’s eyes narrowed after hearing his brother’s words.

“And you?” Nizzre said, looking toward Camille. “Shadowknight as well?”

“No, you were correct about me.” Camille said, smiling briefly. “I’m Camille, paladin of Marr. This is my husband Riverdane.”

“Husband.” Nizzre repeated, eyebrow raised. But he didn’t go on.

“Thank you for chasing off the tiger.” Camille said, when an uncomfortable silence fell upon them. “I was out of mana.”

Bwael nodded, easing up a bit with her.

“Let’s go, Camille.” River said, taking her by the hand.

“Listen, Riverdale…” Nizzre began, hands spread.

“Dane.” River corrected, tugging on Camille’s hand. She planted her feet. He was being rude.

“My apologies, Riverdane.” Nizzre said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“Aye we did.” Bwael muttered. “I saved their life and he tries to choke me...”

Nizzre shot Bwael a look that stopped him from saying anymore. River suddenly exhaled, a long drawn out breath. Camille realized he must have been holding it.

“I’m sorry.” he said, genuinely. “I’ve had problems with elves before when I’ve traveled to Greater Fay, considering my class. Your clerics there can sniff out a shadowknight at a hundred paces. I spent almost the entire trip there being chased by woodelves and dodging arrows. It was a little tense, and I reacted poorly when Blondie here…”

“Bwael.” Bwael growled, tossing his long blonde hair over one shoulder.

“…Bwael jumped out aiming at my wife’s head.” River finished, running his hands through his own long hair.

“Understandable.” Nizzre said. “When I heard your shout, we nearly jumped out of our skins ourselves.”

“Understandable.” River agreed. “So, what are you two doing here? This is a far cry from Greater Fay.”

“I should ask the same thing, in fact, I did.” Nizzre said. “Long way from…Qeynos? Freeport?” His eyes settled on the sword hilts poking out from scabbards. “Freeport, Knights of Truth.”

“We’re here to pick up a jade reaver.” Riverdane said.

Bwael’s face tightened. “Farmers!” he growled. “I should have known. Sorry, City of Mist is camped.” And he began to walk into the city, until Nizzre stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re camping the whole city? And we’re not here to farm.” River said, offended. The term ‘farmer’ had negative connotations, meaning one who would monopolize a place where artifacts and magic items drop, just to sell it off in the Bazaar for a profit, over those who were camping items for upgrades for their personal use. There was a counter argument that the profit could then be used to buy items that the farmer needed that he could not camp himself to upgrade his own equipment, but supporters of each style of adventurer would argue until the end of time about which way was the right way.

“Well, I see my brother’s point.” Nizzre said carefully. “He’s here for a jade reaver for his own epic. And while a jade reaver would make a nice weapon upgrade for a knight of any type, it would be far too rare a drop to waste on just a simple weapon upgrade.”

“This isn’t for us.” River countered. “I’m here for a friend who needs the reaver for his own epic, a druid.”

“Ah.” Nizzre said. “Well, then, it looks like we have four people interested in the same thing. Four against the unknown is stronger than two. May I suggest for the time being, until we actually get a jade reaver, we combine forces?”

“No!” River and Bwael exclaimed at the same time, glaring at one another. Camille sighed. Nizzre rolled his eyes, and looked at her.

“You know something, Camille?” Nizzre said, looking at her. “I think men with long hair just look silly, especially when being stubborn.”

River and Bwael both snapped their heads around to glare at him, standing side by side, River with his long black mane and Bwael with his straight long blonde hair.

“Ah, look!” Nizzre smiled to Camille. “I finally have these two asses on the same SIDE!”

Camille kept her face carefully blank while the tension from Nizzre’s insult built dangerously. And then, River laughed, a full throated belly laugh. Bwael turned away, but not before Camille caught his lips twitching up into a smile.

“Alright, my pale friend, you’re right.” River chuckled. “We’ll combine forces. The sooner this is done, the sooner Camille and I be off to enjoy our honeymoon.”

“Newlyweds?” Nizzre asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes.” Camille answered. “And what a honeymoon it’s been. Much more exciting than holding hands at the Ak’Anon Zoo.”

“I’ll bet.” Nizzre agreed. “Alright, we’ll combine forces, and if we land a jade reaver, we’ll roll dice on it. Winner takes it. And hells, who knows? Maybe two will drop.”

“Unlikely.” Bwael commented.

“Agreed?” Nizzre continued, holding out his hand toward Camille.

“Agreed.” Camille said, glancing at River, as he nodded almost imperceptibly. She shook Nizzre’s hand, and then he turned hers palm down in his and lifted to his lips, making a grand gesture of kissing the back of it. Now it was River’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Paladins.” he said, shaking his head in amusement.

“And now,” Nizzre said, looking fixedly at his brother. “How about you two?”

“Agreed?” Riverdane said, extending a hand towards Bwael. Bwael’s hand crept up to touch his throat where River had caught him.

“I’m not gunna kiss your hand.” River added. “Long hair or not.”

“Agreed.” Bwael said, finally smiling openly. He thrust out his hand with fingers calloused from working a bow.

Shadowknight and ranger shook hands, and at that moment, the direction of the lives of all four changed.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“Damned, it’s freezing!” Talvarien shuddered, pulling his cloak tight around his face.

“What did you expect, Talv?” Camille asked, pulling the hood of her own fur lined cloak over her head. She hoped CloudDancer was warm enough. The unicorn seemed fine. “This is Everfrost.”

“I know I know.” Talvarien said miserably, glancing at Grelin in wolf form, happily marching through the frozen landscape. “I have half a mind to go wolf form with Grelin.”

“Do it, you’ll stay warmer.” Camille said, “And you’ll be able to keep up better with the horse.”

Talvarien nodded, murmuring a spell. With a flash of light, he disappeared, but a grey wolf was standing there in his place. The wolf chased after Grelin playfully, but Grelin snapped and growled, baring his fangs. The new wolf yipped nervously and went to the other side of Camille, pacing the unicorn while she coaxed CloudDancer into a trot.

What in gods’ names was she going to do?

There would be no tricking Lady Vox, the Ice Queen, out of her prison. Nagafen had said enough while they spied on him; the ice giants had not been able to dig her out of her prison the way the fire giants had for him. Lava was molten. Ice was like steel, just colder.

Entering the frozen fortress of Vox would be futile. They could get close enough to the giants, if they were taken by surprise, but then what? Talvarien had been explicit in his description of what Naggy’s power had been like. One second he was looking at the dragon’s throat, then he lowered his eyes to stare upon Talvarien and -POOF- he was gone. Instantly. No chance to resist. Talv swore he blinked and was suddenly somewhere else. Vox would simply send them back to the front of Permafrost, until they finally died of old age or boredom.

That left one option, one that Camille didn’t care for at all. But discussion over breakfast, after she had spilled the other nine coins onto the table to Talvarien and Grelin’s surprise, narrowed things down to Plan A. They didn’t have a Plan B.

Plan A: Convince the barbarians of Halas to send in a force of their natives to fight a dragon. Great plan.

Barbarians were larger than humans, tribal by nature, and limited in what classes they could master. You’d never see a barbarian in a robe casting illusions or raising the bones of the dead to serve them. They were in-fighters, preferring up-close and personal battle, and bowmanship was for getting an opponent’s attention, not for use as a primary weapon, unless it was to use the bow to beat in someone’s head. They were nature worshipers, but unlike druids, who worshipped Nature herself, or Karana, god of Rain, they worshiped the animal spirits. This prevented them from the more pure form of faith that clerics had, and limited their priesthood to shamans, the only real casters they had. Other classes that barbarians could master were warriors, of course, ala Quarken of the ruined liver and short temper. Beastlords, a natural profession, a pugilist with some limited shamanistic powers, who were followed by trained wolves, pets that were the perfect companion and would fight alongside their masters. And finally, rogues. Oddly enough, the large boned and muscle padded barbarians practiced stealth to a fault, almost as if to say ‘Who cares if I’m built like a mountain? I can still sneak up on you.’ Granted, you needed a BIG shadow to hide a barbarian, but somehow those walking slabs of meat had a knack for avoiding being spotted. And a backstab from an experienced barbarian rogue could sever a spinal cord just from the sheer strength of the assassin.

But to kill a dragon? No clerics to roll complete heal spells on the main tank to make sure he was constantly healed. No shadowknights or paladins, usually excellent classes to keep additional guards at bay, to fight the ice giants Vox would be sure to have in attendance? And forget about an enchanter to mezz the adds. No wizards or mages blasting away, just rogues and beastlord pets on her back. And how were they going to stun to keep Vox, a dragon with the skills of a cleric, from healing herself? And add to this, none of the army she would need to be considered a natural threat to even the giants, or they would be banished.

Camille shivered, not just from the cold. The future looked as bleak as the icy plains she rode across.. No Roc to pull a dragon out of his hat.

No Roc. Roc was with Logiktue, she hoped. His barbarian friend who had been more his brother than guildmate. Talvarien was a good man to have at your back, and an incredible bowman and melee, but he was not a leader of men. Talvarien liked being just where he was, a soldier, ready to follow orders, but not to give them. And Grelin, well, one had to speak to give orders, and even at twenty two years of age, Grelin still looked like a teenager. The barbarians would laugh in his face if he suggested they should send their untrained people against a dragon that was practically part of their culture’s mythology. And Camille? Would the barbarians even take audience with a woman? She knew they were somewhat of a backward culture. Women were almost second class citizens, forced into a semi-caste system that ranked them lower then men. She hoped they would even see her into the tribal leader’s hut when she got to Halas. Roc would have been the best person to talk with whomever was in charge of the city of barbarians. But Roc was gone.

River, she thought desperately. What do I do? How am I going to see this through? How am I going to get you out of the Geomancer’s Stone, and stop the worlds from dying? She tried to picture his black eyes, his strong face, him stroking his moustache thoughtfully as he figured out some way, crazy and dangerous and risky, to pull off what she had to do. Somehow his crazy schemes found a way to work. Razor’s Edge. The name was all about doing things the hard way. But try as she may, she could not get River to speak. He just looked at her in her mind’s eye, with an expression on his face that said, Well, Ms. Stun? All you.

She raised her eyes to glance across the frozen wastes of Everfrost Peaks. Ahead, half obscured with snow, was a flag made of bearhide, with an arrow pointing up a slope between two tall mountain sides. Halas lay at the top of the slope. And somewhere within its cold walls, she hoped was the answer to the end of her quest. Ten pieces of unmarked platinum. That lay at the mouth of a dragon she could not approach.

Tightening the cloak around her, she urged CloudDancer up the slope.
_________________

[Riverdane]

She waited in the large hall, sitting in front of the roaring fire, with Talvarien and Grelin at either side of her. And waited. And waited.

Finally the door in the back of the hall opened. A young man, barely out of his teens, walked in. All muscle, trademark barbarian. His hair was well groomed, for someone from Halas, strikingly bright red. He had a matching moustache and impressive porkchop sideburns. A rather large white wolf trotted alongside him, tongue lolled out to one side. Camille rose as he entered, and Talvarien and Grelin mirrored her.

“I am Vekk.” the barbarian said, voice deep for so young looking a man. “And this is Dakita, my warder.” Not my pet, not my dog, my wolf. My warder. A beastlord.

“You are the tribal leader of Halas?” Camille asked.

“No.” Vekk said simply. “What business do you have with the tribes of Halas?”

“I need to speak with your leader.” Camille said.

“You may speak with me.” Vekk replied.

“Do you speak for the leader?” Camille asked.

“Yes.” Vekk said.

“Can you make decisions for the leader?” she clarified.

“No.”

“Then take me to your leader.”

Vekk sighed. “He does not wish to be disturbed by…”

“A woman?” Camille asked, eyebrow raised. Vekk’s silence confirmed her guess.

From the moment Camille had appeared in Halas, after she stepped off the raft that crossed the freezing waters that surrounded the city as a moat, she began getting looks. A non-beastlord with two wolf pets. Riding a horse with a horn. Even when Grelin and Talvarien resumed half-elven form, they didn’t figure it out. Instead, the crowd of barbarian men and women gasped, as if she had performed a magic trick. What was the matter with them? Hadn’t they ever seen a ranger or druid assume wolf form before? And CloudDancer? At the stable one large barbarian male tried to take off her horn, as if it were some fancy head gear or something. CloudDancer had nearly gored him to death. Only Camille had stopped the unicorn from pinning the man to the stable door.

Talvarien and Grelin following behind Camille, allowing her to do the questioning, did not help the situation any. The men kept looking toward Talvarien when they answered. In a few cases Camille would talk to the sides of their faces while they stared at Talv. Talking to the women just got them directed to speak with the men. Finally, Camille asked her companions to resume wolf form so she might at least get someone to answer her. She hoped she rated higher than wolves. She doubted it.

And now here she was playing twenty questions with Vekk, the beastlord.

“Listen, Vekk.” she tried. “I understand your leader may not be used to dealing with women, but my sex has nothing to do with the request I have for him. The fate of the world hinges upon the involvement of the barbarian tribes of Halas. If he will not speak with me because I am woman, tell him…” and a deep breath for this next part; she hated playing this card. “…tell him the wife of Riverdane Wyldechylde seeks audience with him.” There it was, out. It drove her crazy sometimes, being ‘River’s wife’ and not just Camille, but the urgency of her needs forced her use River’s name. There were few people who didn’t know the name Riverdane Wyldechylde after End Game.

Vekk’s eyes narrowed, and not in a good way. Uh oh.

“I will tell him.” Vekk said brusquely, turning on his heels and marching for the back door. Dakita followed him out loyally. Camille turned to look at Grelin and Talvarien.

“What was that all about?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t think he likes River too much.” Talvarien noted. Grelin just shrugged.

After a brief moment, the door opened again, and Vekk came back through the door and strode toward them.

“My father said for you to leave.” Vekk announced.

“He said leave?” Camille asked, shocked. She had thought her request, whether they liked Riverdane or not, would garner some respect just from the source, but apparently, the name Wyldechylde carried no weight here, or worse, negative weight.

“Yes.” Vekk said. “Leave. He said Riverdane Wyldechylde is dead, and his mischief should have died with him. You are not welcome here.”

“Like HELLS she isn’t!” came a brazen female voice from the doorway. Camille’s eyes went to the door.

“Do not interfere, sister.” Vekk said, flinching at her voice despite himself. “Father would be displeased…”

“He’s ALWAYS displeased!” the statuesque, white haired woman said from the door. Camille was smiling at her, Talvarien and Grelin grinning. They knew this woman.

“Go now.” Vekk urged Camille, pointing to the exit.

“Cami,” the woman said, “If you try to leave I’m going to root you.”

“Brieah…” Vekk began, trying to glare at his sister.

“Come in.” Brieah said, motioning to the door. “Father will see you whether he wants to or not. He may have no love for my old guildmates, but it’s been a wolf’s age since I’ve seen you guys! And Grelin, do you EVER age??” Grelin beamed over at Brieah, one of Razor’s old shamans. Her loud, outspoken style could often be heard in the officers’ room regardless of where she was in the guildhouse. She was one of the last people to leave when Razor’s Edge disbanded, reluctant to go home. Considering how the barbarians treated women, it was understandable why.

“Excuse us, Vekk.” Talvarien smirked, stepping past the glowering beastlord.

Camille followed Talvarien, Grelin at her side, as they walked into the back chambers after Brieah.
_________________

[Riverdane]

The leader of the barbarian tribes of Halas sat on a simple carved wooden throne at the end of the room. Dust sat thick on everything. It apparently had been a long time since the room had been used. It appeared that the barbarians rarely had diplomatic visitors. Given the nature of how they were greeted, Camille could understand why.

The barbarian that watched them emotionlessly from across the room was big, even for a barbarian. Even seated, he looked like he would stand half a head taller than the tallest Camille had seen. His beard was thick and long, and more gray than black. His hair was the same, long, longer than any of the other barbarians. Whatever issues the barbarians had with women, Camille thought, it still was alright to wear your hair like one. The thought was absurd enough to almost bring a smile to her lips, but somehow she thought it wouldn’t be wise to start laughing in front of the man.

He wasn’t in armor, which made detecting his class difficult. No wolf at his side, so he wasn’t a beastlord. His arm and chest muscles were developed enough for him to be warrior or a rogue. His legs were covered, oddly enough, by a long quilt, as if he were cold. But a fire burned in two fireplaces on either side of the throne, raising the room’s warmth to sweltering.

He was not smiling.

“Father,” Brieah said loudly, standing with Camille. “Representatives from the Freeport guild of Razor’s Edge are here to see you.”

“Your brother has already announced them.” the man said, voice like a grizzly bear, deep, gravelly, authorative. “And I have already sent them away. Razor’s Edge has no representatives. The guild was disbanded. You told me so yourself when you finally decided to come home.”

“Welll…” Brieah said, which made him frown deeper. “I guess I was wrong. Vekk said it was important, I think you should listen to Camille.”

Camille blinked. She had sent the beastlord in with the message that the fate of the world depended on the barbarians’ help. He had told his father that it was merely ‘important’??

“What you ‘think’ is noted.” the man said dryly. “Perhaps next time you may consider ‘thinking’ a bit more before you ignore my orders.”

Brieah sighed, and turned to Camille. “Please excuse my father. He IS a barbarian.” And rolled her eyes.

“SILENCE!” the man thundered, making Brieah jump and Camille flinch. “I have had enough of your impudence! If you feel it necessary to speak for me again, you may go to your hut and stay there!”

Great, Camille thought, this is going splendidly. The man apparently hates Razors and is going to send Brieah into her room like a child.

Brieah, for once, was silenced.

“My name is Divad Bearheart, leader of Halas barbarians.” the man announced. “Since my daughter has already made the situation worse and forced audience upon me, I will grant it. But understand from the start, your people and others like you have bled out the ranks of Halas with your promises of adventure and gold, and we who stayed behind to defend our home are not pleased as each Northman marches out after your siren call and never looks back.”

Ahh, he’s educated, Camille thought. And here I thought I was going to be communicating with grunts and half sentences. Educated, and holding a grudge. He blames the guilds of Norrath with the thinning of the barbarian population in Halas. She could see his point. Most lands in Norrath lost their main population to the professional guilds, but they were located in busy areas, so those adventurers would always be in an out, or possibly even setting up their guild halls there. But Halas? The only way to Halas was through gnoll-occupied Blackburrow. No druid or wizard port. Just the dwarf-constructed warrens of Blackburrow, occupied by the Sabertooth Gnolls after the people of Jagged Pine Forest drove the gnolls out into Qeynos Hills. There they were hunted down as sport by Gynok Moltar, one of Antonius Bayle of Qeynos’ captains. When Moltar cut off the paw of the gnolls’ Queen, Opalla, the gnolls slipped into the unoccupied lair of Blackburrow and waged full war on the people of Qeynos. Anything non-gnoll passing through Blackburrow was attacked and dragged to be imprisoned in the deep warrens. So Everfrost and Halas was basically cut off from the world. And every Northman that left the frozen wastes where they were born weakened the defenses of the barbarians against their own enemies, the snow orcs. Any dream of trying to conquer the giant fortress of Permafrost died a little more each year as those who were capable of killing the giants left their home to seek adventure in a warmer climate, and then Lady Vox moved in, leaving Permafrost an unattainable goal, a den of evil in their land.

“I have not come here to recruit your people to join Razor’s Edge, Divad.” Camille said evenly. “You were correct, Razor’s Edge was disbanded after my husband’s death. These men who accompany me are all that remain of Razor’s Edge. I have come for another reason, one that threatens not only the people of Halas, but the entire world.”

“The entire world has forgotten Halas.” Divad said sourly. “So I have no interest in what happens to the rest of the world.”

“But you do for your own people?” Camille prompted.

“Of course.” Divad said. “Or my daughter’s insistance or not, you would have been forcibly sent off on your way. I am not a fool, or a doddering old man with more grey hairs than sense, regardless of what my daughter believes.” Brieah’s face flushed red with shame, but she held her tongue. An amazing show of restraint, considering it was Brieah.

“What is this threat to my people that you have risked my anger to tell me about?” he continued, hands sitting folded in his lap on top of the quilt. He waited.

Camille paused. Where to begin? So much had happened since that first dream from Terris. So much chaos, so much pain. So much loss.

Taking a deep breath, she began.

At the beginning.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“No.” Divad said.

Camille stared at him. No? Brieah was more vocal.

“NO?” she exclaimed, “NO??”

“I warned you before, daughter…” Divad growled.

“Father, this isn’t like the last time!” Brieah cut in. “This time the entire world is at stake, ALL of us are at stake…”

“I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE REST OF THE WORLD!” Divad bellowed. Camille flinched, and Talvarien and Grelin shuffled uncomfortably. Vekk and Dakita ran into the room, stopping dead when they saw the look of anger on Divad’s face. Divad continued, reaching behind the throne for something as he did.

“We have tried what you asked before!” Divad said, half twisted in his chair as he reached for something. “After the strong of the tribe had left. After Quarken, Logiktue, Addonnicus, Aaryn, Fadori and all the others…after my own DAUGHTER left us here to defend ourselves. All I had left here were the ‘unexperienced’, as you so quaintly labeled us. Or the ‘noobs’ as you implied, but did not say. I took the best of us, the best of the ‘not good enough’ and marched on Permafrost and Lady Vox. Not to save the rest of the world, but to save the barbarian people. To save us from becoming nothing more than a bled-out tribe of old men and children. To give us our pride back. To give the impressionable young a reason to believe there was a reason to be proud of their heritage, and stay home to defend it!”

“I know…” Brieah began, but Divad cut her off by spinning around and jutting a finger at Camille.

“But SHE does NOT!” he roared. He turned back in his chair, groping more desperately for whatever it was he was trying to reach. He finally found what he was looking for. He pulled an ornately carved staff from behind the throne. The bottom looked well used, worn. He planted it and used it to propel himself to his feet. As he did, the blanket slipped from his lap like water down a cliff.

Divad stood, taller than Camille, taller than Brieah, taller than them all. Camille gasped. His dark eyes looked triumphant, as if he had won some battle, looking at her discomfort. Grelin stared at him wordlessly. Talvarien turned away.

Divad’s left leg was near black, twisted and misshapened, mangled almost beyond recognition. Mid-thigh and up it began to resemble a regular leg again, the skin healthier; below that was nothing but a nightmare of withered tissue.

“THIS is what I received for going against Lady Vox. The other thirty Northmen, the best of what I had left, perished. Once she and her two giant guards broke us, leaving us dying on the floor, she told me to go back with this as a reminder to the people of Halas to remember who their true leader was. While telling me this, she ate barbarian after barbarian, between sentences. I watched our people, my men, get EATEN while she stood there with one huge claw over my leg, pinning me down, a leg she had already caught with her damned dragon breath! We never had a chance. We thought it was so easy….no giants waiting for us when we hit their fortress. We had a crazy thought that we had scared them away. But no. Vox wanted us to reach her. She was…hungry.”

“Why didn’t you fix your leg?” Camille asked, horrified, finally finding her voice. “Even a newly trained shaman gets the spells of regeneration early in their lessons…”

“To remind us.” Divad said coolly. “To remind us of our folly, and our strength. To remind the young men and women of Halas of our place in the world, whether to the north at Permafrost, or out running around with the Razor’s Edges of the world. I did not mourn your husband’s death when Brieah came crawling home. I rejoiced it. Riverdane Wyldechylde’s death was just another example that we all can die, and some sooner than later.” Camille’s eyes stung as the barbarian smiled mercilessly.

“I did NOT come crawling home!” Brieah exclaimed in disgust. “I came to see if you needed help with the snow orcs…”

“YOU CAME TOO LATE!” Divad bellowed at her, lip curling up in a snarl.

Brieah walked up to her father, a strange look in her eyes. Camille had seen it on certain raids where a mob resisted slow repeatedly. It was a sign that Brieah had had enough.

“I came, old man, because you had foolishly sacrificed your people to a dragon to prove some point only cavemen would understand.” she said, low and dangerous and angry. “I had the opportunity to join Walkers when Razor’s Edge disbanded, but Jack came out after your episode with Vox and told me what happened. That is the reason I came back here. Jack brought me back here, cause he was the only one left strong enough to take on the larger of the orcs, the REAL threat to Halas.”

Divad laughed nastily. “VOX is the threat to Halas.”

“You didn’t listen carefully to me, Divad.” Camille said softly. “Vox is in a prison. She cannot reach your people. The ice giants will not leave her. You risked your life and sacrificed your men not because of a threat, but to make a point.”

All the color drained from Divad’s face. “Begone from my sight.” he whispered, his loud voice weaker now. “How dare you come into my lands and…”

“Father, there won’t be anymore lands!” Brieah cried out. “Do you only hear what you want to? If we do not help kill Vox, Grieg will stand unchallenged. The worlds will collide and everyone, INCLUDING THE BARBARIANS will be trapped here when it happens. Do you see any barbarian druids or wizards? Did the book to the Plane of Knowledge suddenly reappear? Other than Grelin over there, enjoying your WONDERFUL hospitality, who do you think is going to help us go and starve in the Plane of Knowledge?”

“So instead,” Divad said, turning to her. “The barbarians of Halas will march and die against Vox, and maybe, just maybe, this woman here will get her ten pieces of platinum. Such a low fee for the lives of the barbarian race…”

“It will save the world.” Brieah replied.

“At the cost of our people.” Divad countered.

“You are SO FRUSTRATING!” Brieah cried, tears springing to her eyes. She raised her hands up, fingers gripping to fists, and stared at him impotently. And then she stormed out of the room, wiping uselessly at her eyes as the tears continued to flow. Divad watched her go, face impassive, except for a small twitch at the corner of one eye.

“Father…” Vekk said uncertainly from the doorway.

“Don’t you start, you.” Divad ordered, “I have had enough disrespect from my children today.”

“Yes, sir.” Vekk replied. “I just thought I may suggest before you decide on this matter, that you talk to Jack.”

“Jack?” Divad repeated thoughtfully.

“Who’s Jack?” Talvarien whispered. Grelin elbowed him.

“He has returned from Everfrost.” Vekk said.

“Hmm.” Divad said, pondering. “Yes. You three, wait in the room outside. Vekk, bring me Jack.”

Camille knew, somehow, that Vekk had bought them some time. Without a word, she led Talvarien and Grelin out to the room they had been in before. As they left, Divad lowered the staff to the floor, and fell into his throne. A long sigh escaped his lips in the empty throneroom.

He stared at his withered leg a long time.
_________________

[Riverdane]

Brieah was shaking with rage. The tears were gone, leaving her eyes puffy and swollen. She said nothing when Vekk passed her, not even glancing at her younger brother. When he was gone, she turned to Camille.

“Sometimes, I want to kill that old man!” she exclaimed, hands closing into fists again, beating down at her hips. She looked at the moment like the world’s largest child pitching a fit.

“Guys,” Camille said softly, “Go wait by the front door. I want to talk to Brieah alone.” The men did as they were asked. Camille stood alone with Brieah at the other end of the room, out of earshot.

“Take a deep breath…” Camille suggested to the barbarian woman. Brieah paused, then took a large swallow of air. And then launched into a tirade.

“Ever since my mother died, EVER since, he’s been like this!” she exploded. “He clung onto me like I was a younger version of her. My mother was a shaman too. We used to do a lot of trading with Qeynos when I was a little girl, furs for fresh fruit and vegetables that wouldn’t grow in temperatures this cold, snow leopard meat for building supplies, all sorts of things, back and forth between the humans and the barbarians. Only the humans refused to come to Halas, because of the weather. They hated the snow, hated the cold, and the occasional blizzard would leave them lost for days looking for us. So we did all the traveling to them. Which was fine with most barbarians; we rarely get out of Everfrost, and once you’ve seen one snow covered ice cliff you’ve seen basically all Everfrost has to offer.”

Brieah paused, and Camille just nodded for her to go on.

“My mother was one of those who enjoyed the trips out. She felt confined here, with the way my people treat women as if we were servants. But it was our way. Hells, I didn’t even know there was any other way until I finally got up and left and saw the REST of the world. All I knew was that I had one of those restless spirits, wanderlust. I must have gotten that from my mother. She was always the first to volunteer to do anything involving traveling out of Halas.

Well, one day, unknown to us, the empty pass through Blackburrow was not empty anymore. The gnolls from Jagged Pine had moved into Blackburrow. And they were angry. Gynok Moltar, some Qeynos militant, had just cut off the paw of their queen. When my mother and her caravan came through Blackburrow, taller but hairless as the humans from Qeynos, the gnolls fell upon them screaming for blood.

My mother never had a chance.

One boy got away, and ran back to tell Divad. He was wounded, and almost bled to death, but he made it all the way home through the frozen paths and the ice goblins and every other danger that lays between us and the entrance to Blackburrow.”

“And that was Vekk?” Camille asked.

“No.” Brieah replied. “Vekk was an infant then. That was Jack.”

“Ah, that’s Jack.” Camille murmured.

“Divad was….insane. He wasn’t a coward; he was a strong warrior and the leader of the barbarian tribes, and his woman had just been slaughtered. Jack gave my father a rough estimate of how many gnolls there were to barbarians. It was not good odds. Five to one. Still, Divad sent out the order for all able bodied men and women to take up arms. I remember wanting to go, but he just stopped me with a look. I saw his eyes that day. He intended to do murder. He told me to watch Vekk and then he and the majority of the tribe left. We had larger numbers then.

The gnolls were waiting for them. My mother’s caravan had warned them that there were enemies to the north as well, so they had scouts out watching the path. When my father and his troops arrived, they found the whole of the gnolls’ defenses ready.

It was a bloodbath.

To their credit, they held their own. I remember Quarken describing the fight. He was young then as well, but old enough to swing a sword. Even outnumbered five to one, for every barbarian to fall, three gnolls would fall as well. The barbarians were all screaming at the top of their lungs, war cries, terrifying the gnolls. My father cut the head off of one, and while fighting others, planted a gnoll’s pike in the ground and slammed the dismembered head on top of it. Quarken said it rallied the barbarians, seeing that gnoll head high on the pike. They fought like wild bears.

But there were too many gnolls. They swept up, howling, biting, until finally, three took down my father. He killed two of them with his bare hands, but the third buried a sword in his belly. He almost died, but Quarken and Angus dragged him off. With Divad down, the barbarians retreated. Young Addonnicus, a rogue, had slipped through to the Qeynos side, bearing a message from Divad to Antonius Bayle requesting the humans come immediately with reinforcements and clerics, so we could ressurect our dead. It was too late for my mother, but if Qeynos acted fast they could clean up the rest of the gnolls and take care of our fallen.

The shamans that lived took care of my father’s wounds, and the rest of the wounded as best as they could. And we waited for the humans. And waited. And waited.

We realized, after our dead were beyond rezzing and hours turned into days, that Qeynos wasn’t coming. Addonnicus made it back, swearing to my father that he had delivered the message to a Qeynos guard. But whatever the reason, Qeynos did not come. The momentum was lost. The gnolls reproduced much quicker than the barbarians did, and gave birth in litters. They replenished their armies in no time. The barbarians did not.

My father never forgave Qeynos for abandoning us. We were never quite the same after that.”

Camille’s eyes were sad. “I can’t believe Qeynos just left you sealed off to die.”

“Many years later, Jack, Addonnicus and I, stopped by Qeynos, to take care of a little business. Addonnicus remembered the man he had given the message to, said the guard had a glass eye. We hunted till we found him, drunk in a tavern, old and semi useless, but still with the guard. Enough wine and we found out why Qeynos hadn’t helped.

He had never delivered the message. He was one of Qeynos’ ‘corrupt’ guards.”

“So Qeynos didn’t forget you. It never knew.” Camille said.

“Oh it forgot, after a while.” Brieah said. “It forgot when the barbarians stopped sending caravans. But as to the war between the barbarians and gnolls, no, they never knew.”

“What did you do to the guard in the tavern?” Camille asked.

Brieah smiled grimly, reaching for a leather cord around her neck that disappeared down between her breasts. She drew out the cord.

On the end of it hung a perfectly round glass eye. Camille took a deep breath.

“Let’s just say he won’t be able to forget to deliver messages anymore.” Brieah said, dropping the eye back between her breasts.

“Brieah, about Divad…” Camille said.

“Thick headed, stubborn, ignorant….” Brieah began, ranting.

“AND your father.” Camille added gently.

“Which makes it worse!” Brieah exclaimed.

“But he is your father.” Camille repeated.

“Yes.” Brieah sighed in disgust.

“Brieah,” Camille tried. “My father was a bit like Divad. When Sylver would worry about me, or my mother, he would get unreasonable, stubborn. He would say things he didn’t mean. Men don’t like to feel helpless, even when it’s something they can’t control. They don’t like to appear weak. They don’t want to think there are things in the world that they cannot protect their wives from…or their daughters. My father and I had a nasty argument before he died. Fortunately, he wasn’t a barbarian, with hundreds of years of cultural prejudice behind him. He apologized and we were able to speak again to one another. The next day he was dead.”

Brieah stood helplessly in front of Camille, all anger draining out of her. She pulled Camille in impulsively for a hug that would have crushed her if she hadn’t been wrapped in platemail.

“Your father is just worried about you, and his people.” Camille said quietly into Brieah’s ear. “Do not hate him for that. He is just a man, and a barbarian, and reacting the only way he can. Be happy that you have him with you. For one day you won’t, and it will leave a hole in your heart you cannot fill.”

Brieah pulled back from Camille, holding her by the shoulders. Something was different in her eyes. She nodded slowly to Camille. She understood.

Suddenly, the double doors near Talvarien and Grelin burst open, knocking Talvarien to his feet and sending Grelin backpedaling from the door. A huge white polar bear, larger than any bear Camille had ever seen crashed through the swinging doors. Talvarien struggled to his feet, reaching for his bow.

The bear rushed right at her.
_________________

[Riverdane]

Talvarien aimed his bow at the bear’s flank as it rushed towards Camille. She had never seen a bear the size of this one lumbering toward her. Its maw opened and the smell of fish and bloody meat washed over her like a fetid wind.

Talvarien's hands steadied as he prepared to loose his arrow.

"Don't harm the bear!" Brieah cried, stepping between bow and bear.

"Don't shoot the bear!" Vekk cried, knocking down Talvarien's arm. The arrow flew as Talvarien was struck, plunging into the dirt near Camille's feet.

"What the hells?" Talvarien exclaimed. "Where are we? Surefall Glade?"

The bear turned to Brieah, nuzzling her hand, licking it with a long wet tongue. It was originally running for her, not Camille, he realized.

"What?" Talvarien asked, still shaking. "Is that some shaman in bear form? Did I almost plug a fat uncle of yours or something??"

"Don't be stickin' me bear with no arrows!" a loud voice called from outside. The doors swung wide.

Into the room stepped a barbarian clad in layer after layer of fur, from his head down to his toes. Only his light brown eyes were visible from within the mound of clothes.

Vekk's warder Dakita came next to the man and sat on his haunches, licking the man's hand. The bear had finished with Brieah's hand, and was working on her face. Brieah pushed it back playfully.

"Enough Iceberg!" she laughed, trying to dodge the wet tongue as the bear continued to try to slobber over her. "You stink like your dinner!"

"Iceberg!" the stranger called. "Git yer hairy butt over here before I make ya into a rug! Leave the womman be!"

The bear gave one last attempt to drool on Brieah's face, and then turned on its paws and padded over to the man. It sat down on the floor next to his side, on the other side of the wolf and regarded Camille with the most expression she had ever seen on a bear. The man began to unwrap the fur scarves from his face.

"I'm sorry, Teacher." Vekk said, dropping to one knee before the man. "I did not expect the lowlanders to attempt to kill your warder."

"Oh, git up, Vekk!" the man said exhaustedly. "And fer the last time, would ya call me Jack instead of Teacher?? Yer driving me crazy with this 'master' crap!"

"Of course, Tea...Jack." Vekk murmured, rising to his feet. He whistled low, and Dakita loped over to his side.

"Camille, Talvarien, Grelin." Brieah introduced, turning to each as she identified them. "Meet Jack, the man who taught the barbarians how to be beastlords."

"Me pleasure." Jack said solemnly. He scooped up Camille's extended hand and brought it to his lips, planting a wet kiss to the back of it. Camille watched him bemusedly. Her released her hand, then grabbed up Talvarien's and pumped it so hard it looked like he'd yank it out of its socket. "Glad ta meet ya. Jack ta me friends, Cold Death ta me enemies, and Tundra Jack ta everyone else! So, elfie..." he continued, still pumping the half-elf's arm while Talv's teeth rattled in his head. "What will ya be callin' me?"

"Um, Jack?" Talv managed, pulling his hand free. He massaged his arm as Jack smiled and nodded.

"Was hopin' ya'd say that!" Jack exclaimed, and then reached for Grelin's hand.

"Hi...Jack." Grelin waved, and then put his hands in his pockets.

"Ah, the young one's a smart one!" Jack laughed.

"You are the first barbarian beastlord?" Camille asked, glancing at the enomous bear. "I thought barbarians could only have wolves as warders...."

"Wellll..." Jack said. "I'm not exactly a beastlord." He patted Iceberg on the head. "See, before I taught ole Iceberg here right from wrong, I was jest a trapper. But ole Iceberg here, he had a taste in his mouth fer barbarian, and had already eaten two of me partners before I decided ta take barbarian off the menu." He laughed, and the giant polar bear rolled over onto its stomach, waiting for Jack to tickle its belly. Jack obliged and continued.

"Well, I found ole Iceberg messin' around chewing on some snow orcs. So I let him chew on 'em....no use in helpin' the orcs. I'd jest have ta kill 'em later. When he was done ole fatty here was full and tired, sluggish as a fish laying on the ice for an hour. So, I tried ta take him down with jest me ole huntin' spear.

Well, that didn't work too well. Iceberg here snapped the damned spear in two. So I figgered, ok, bear, ya wanna play rough, we'll play rough!" He began removing more furs, displaying arms like tree stumps. "So me and Iceberg get ta wrasslin', and it was a pretty even fight, until he cheated and used them claws of his. Gave me chest three long ugly scars. I'd show ya 'cept fer the womman, but they're uglier than ole Divad in one of his moods. Ya'll have ta use yer imagination."

Camille looked at the huge bear rolling around on the ground, and then up to Jack with new respect in her eyes. Anyone that could wrestle something Iceberg's size and live had to be as strong as a giant.

"So," Jack continued, pulling out a pipe and lighting it. "Me and Iceberg decided ta call it a draw. Or at least, he did, the lazy oaf. Didn't like fightin’ on a full belly. And me, seein' as he almost sliced open me belly, decided it was a good time ta stop.

So, I says ta meself, 'Meself, that's one strong bear ya got here. And he don't seem ta mind eatin' the orcs. If only he could be trained ta not be eatin' barbarians as well, Halas would git a damned good orc eater.' So I sat me arse down in the tavern, and got ta ponderin'."

The bear rolled over onto his feet, and eyed Talvarien. Talvarien's breath caught in his chest. The bear lumbered over, sniffing at him. Talvarien froze like a deer. The bear snuffled along Talvarien's belly, and then lower, pushing his muzzle into Talv's crotch and sniffing. A small terrified cry escaped Talvarien's lips. Grelin grinned, watching. Jack rambled on, oblivious.

"So, after about four ales, I finally figgered I'd need ta learn some skills ta tame the savage beast. The only thing I could think of was druids, with the way they worshipped nature and frolicked in the fields and all that other pansy stuff. No offense if yer druish..." he said to the half-elves. Then he saw what Iceberg was busy exploring. Talvarien's eyes were squeezed tight.

"Iceberg!" Jack exclaimed, smacking the bear's rump. Iceberg's head snapped up, muzzle connecting with Talvarien's groin jarringly. Talv's eyes flew open and crossed, and he sank into a chair with a small moan.

"What ya trying ta do, bear, git married?" Jack scolded. Iceberg looked suitably mollified and laid down at Jack's feet, resting his massive head between two large paws.

"So, anyways..." Jack continued. "I figgered I'd have ta go see the druids. Now, ever since I got me arse smacked down by the gnolls when I was a wee lad and none of the people from the south came ta help us, I haven't had much trust fer the folks in Qeynos and Surefall Glade, so they were out. Which sorta wrote off Antonica, since the druids don't seem ta have many places they like ta talk ta the trees here, or whatever they do when they aren't runnin' around snarin' things. And the big heads over in Erud weren’t gunna be no help either. I think they worship themselves, not nature. Ain’t nothin’ natural about them foreheads of theirs. So, I packed me bags, and told ole Divad I was heading off to Fairyland. I think I ticked him off but good; he thought I was packin’ up ta follow Quarken and Addonnicus, two of our lads that decided Halas wasn’t big enough for ‘em.”

“That’s my father for you.” Brieah sighed.

“Be nice about yer dad.” Jack said, giving Brieah the eye. “Vekk and ya are all he has since yer momma died.”

Brieah fell silent.

“So where was I?” Jack asked, looking lost.

“You were going to ‘Fairyland’…” Camille prompted.

“Ah, yeah!” Jack exclaimed. “So off ta the Greater Fay I go. Took me a long time ta march through the Karanas, but I brought a compass with me, and whenever the path would wander, I didn’t. Just kept headin’ due east. Got inta a couple of scuffles on the way with some bandits, but after wrasslin’ old Iceberg here, tossin’ them was as easy as throwin’ a ball. Got a little screwed up direction-wise in Highpass, but a nice captain set me straight. Once I got me bearin’s, it actually wasn’t too bad a place. Gnolls ta bash when I came in, and orcs goin’ out. Felt like home!” He chuckled.

“So, I waited till daylight like the captain told me, and then I cross Kithicor. Finally the Commons and I found meself in Freeport. Caught the boat, got to see some sweeties on Sister Island, and then docked in Butcherblock.

“I thought I was tallish in Freeport, but damnnned those dwarfs are short little suckers!” he laughed. “They spent the entire time I was askin’ directions ta Fairyland talkin’ ta me kneecaps. Finally, they point me down a road and shove me off. So off I went.

“Finally I git ta where I’m supposed ta be. Fairyland. I knew I was in Fairyland cause these little fairies are all flying around, soundin’ like tinklin’ bells. I asked ‘em where the chief druid was, but all they did was tinkle at me. So I asked where the chief fairy was, thinking maybe they don’t know what a druid is, but still no answer. I didn’t understand their tinklin’, and it was obvious they didn’t understand civilized barbarian, so we got nowhere fast. After a bit ‘o time, I found meself at a big wizardy spire thing, and some highelf ported in and pointed me in a direction and sent me off.

“I finally come ta Kele…Kele…whatever the hells the woodies call that giant treehouse of theirs. And there I am, looking up at the treetops, waitin fer this lift ta come down and bring me up in the air. And not likin’ it one bit. I’m a highlander, but that don’t mean I wanna be flittin’ in no tree! I don’t mind heights, but I like there ta be solid rock under me feet, not a bunch of sticks. I was afraid I’d take one step out onta those flimsy platforms, and fall through ta the floor like the world’s fattest raindrop. But they are insistin’ if I wanna talk to the head druid, I gotta go up. So up I go.

“I’m thinkin’ they were regrettin’ bringin’ me up after a little, I was squeezin’ the arm of my guide woodie that hard. They drag me along over these swayin’ little bridges and finally stop in front of some twig house, and leave me there. I think they were a bit happy ta go.

“The chief druid comes out, comin up ta me belly, which is about as tall as he kin git. And says yeah he may be able ta help teach me ta train the bear, but he don’t got the time. I say, listen here, fairy, I came a long ways ta learn ta train that there bear, but he says, I got no time, I gotta try and save me wife from the orcs!

“So I say, Orcs? Killin’ orcs is me specialty. And he jest looks at me, towerin’ over him, and says, Ok, you git me wife back alive from the orcs and I’ll teach ya all I know about charmin’ animals.

“Hells, I love killin’ orcs. I woulda gone saved his wife fer free if it meant bashin’ some orc brains. So I agreed, seein’ as how I could have some fun and still git what I had traveled half the damned world ta learn.”

Jack sat down in one of the large chairs, puffing on his pipe, eyes lost in the memory. Camille and the others, even Brieah and Vekk, who must have heard the story before, watched him, transfixed, as he spun his tale.

“So, they give me this itty bitty woody sword, which looks like a big barbarian skinnin’ knife, and point me in the direction of this orc hideout, Crushbone. Supposed to be named after the chief orc, Crush. So off I go through Fairyland, dropping the orcsticker on the floor, figgerin’ my hands would be enough, if everything was as short as the woodies. So I went ta see if I can put the crush on ole Crush.

“I find the place, all lit up by bonfires. The entrance is swarmin’ with orcs, woodies and whities, those pale as a snowflake highelves. The elves are fightin’ as hard as they can, but they all looked like old men and kiddies, no muscle at all, getting’ smacked around by these black skinned orcs. So I knock some heads, and peel orc after orc off of ‘em, throwin’ em against the wall until they stop twitchin’ and jest lay down dead. One I keep alive. and ask him where I can find ole Crush. The orc just looks at me all stubborn like, so I shake him until he babbles that Crush is in the castle. What castle, I ask, givin’ him an extra shake or two. He points in a direction and I toss him to the pack of woodies and whities ta handle, and off I go.

“Well, as I’m headin’ fer the castle, orcs are jumpin on me like fleas on ole Dakita here. And I’m tossin’ em, getting’ tired. After a man’s killed about fifty orcs he jest wants ta git ta business, not kill fifty more.

“I git ta the castle and brain the two guards in the front, figgerin’ I’d let meself in. Find some stairs. And up I go.

“Well, I find a room full ’o orcs, with one slightly bigger one wearin’ a crown and sittin’ on a throne. In the middle of the room is this nekkid woodie girl, dancin’, even tho there was no music. She’s lookin’ jest miserable ta be there, and I’m blushin’ down ta me feet, cause I was seein’ a lot more of her than I was supposed ta. So, I grab a long fur outta me pack, and toss it ta her, sayin’ Go put this on, missy, before ya catch yer death of cold.

“Well, she snatches it up and covers herself, and all the orcs notice me fer the first time. They sorta stand there blinkin’. I marched up the middle of ‘em and took the womman by the arm. Time ta go back ta the head fairy, I says.

“Well, ole Crush comes outta his shock and yells Get him! And the other orcs wake up and try to do jest that.

“I pushed the woodie girl outta the way, and reached for ole Crush. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I grabbed him by the feet and started swingin’ him around in a big circle, knocking down orc after orc, jest swingin’. Ole Crush knocked ‘em all down on their arses, till they were all lyin’ groanin’ on the floor.

“Put me down, I’m gunna be sick! Crush moans, and the last thing I want is orc puke on me furs, so I let him go. He sails off across the room and hits a wall. He got himself knocked out, so I don’t know if he was bluffin’ or not about pukin’.

“I grabbed the girl by the hand and started off leavin’ with her, when outta no where, this dark elf maniac comes screamin’ up to me and sticks me in the shoulder with this itty bitty knife. I jest looked at him, knife stickin’ out of my shoulder, and did my best bear snarl. I think his blue skin went white. His beady red eyes jest got bigger and bigger, as I took the dagger out of me shoulder, and wiped it off on his chest, and handed it back.

“Go turn this one in fer something bigger, I said, and then I bonked him over the head. He dropped like a stone. Then I grabbed Mrs. Fairy by the hand again and left Crushbone.

“Chief Fairy was happy as hells to see us, and after kissin’ Mrs. Fairy and sending her off to git dressed and give me back me fur, he healed me bleedin’ shoulder. And then he settled down into teachin’ me how ta charm the bear.

“Well, it was no good. Seemed ta charm an animal ya had ta have some magic in ya, and I got none of that mumbo-jumbo. And with the charmed animals, they only stayed yer friend for a little bit, and then they were pissed as hells at ya. But I tried and tried, listenin’ ta him tryin’ ta tell me what ta do. But it was no use, I couldn’t charm the damned wolves he’d bring me.

“But after a little while, it seemed like the wolves liked me anyway, I realized tryin’ ta do all the mumbo-jumbo was mixin’ with somethin’ in me, something deep down where I hold me deepest religious feelin’s. The fairies may worship nature, but we barbarians worshiped the animals, so something got crossed in me between worship and tryin’ ta charm with no mana and the wolves just took ta me. After a few days, I started ta even understand ‘em, and they me. If ya treated them nice enough, they would help ya. The key was bein’ nice, not bein’ bossy or thinkin’ ya owned ‘em. Eventually, they could be yer friend.

“Well, I didn’t tell the chief fairy that his mumbo-jumbo didn’t work fer me. Jest said thank ya and bye to the missus, and went off on me way back ta Halas. Took a long time, but I practiced on me way back. Worked on all the wolves and bears I met, but didn’t really take on the other animals. They were friendly enough, and I could understand ‘em, but they wouldn’t take advice like the wolves and the bears unless it damned well suited them. Uppity animals, they were.

“When I got back ta Halas, Divad almost had a party. Ya’d think he never expected ta see me again.”

“He didn’t.” Brieah said quietly.

“Ya, well, I came back. And Divad asks me why I came back. And I said, I only went out ta learn how ta tame Iceberg. And Divad says, Good, cause he ate another trapper while you were gone, and we’re gunna go kill him if he don’t stop. So I said, Ok, I’ll go talk ta him, and if he don’t see no sense I’ll help ya kill him meself, jest fer makin’ me walk all the way ta Fairyland fer no reason. So off I went.

“Well, after a bit, I found ole Iceberg, munchin’ on a snow orc. I sorta sat there in the snow watchin’ him eat, lettin’ him take his sweet ole time. The whole time, he’s sorta watchin’ me. When he finishes, he gets up like his lazy ole self, and looks at me and growls, lickin’ the orc blood off his muzzle. The orc must have been a snack; I sensed I was about ta be the main course.

“So I look at him square in the eye and think at him, the way I did with the smaller bears on the way home. Don’t even think about tanglin’ with me, bear, I think. Or the barbarians are gunna come here in a big pack and kill ya and skin ya for a big ole rug. And then I picture it just like I said it, so he can get a clear idea of what was in store fer him. And Iceberg jest sorta looks at me, like he never seen nothin’ that could talk to him the way I jest did. I was bettin’ he never had.

“Then I explain ta him that’s it’s ok ta kill the orcs. In fact, if he’ll help me, I’ll get him closer ta them, so he could eat all the orcs he kin catch. And slowly, he started thinkin’ this is a good idea, and we go sneak over ta a place I know the orcs like ta fish, and we kill ourselves three more. And after that, well, me and Iceberg have been friends ever since.”

The bear growled lazily from the floor.

“I tried teachin’ what I learned ta the rest of the tribe, but only a few seemed ta catch on, and they were all young shaman. Seemed ya had to be pretty heavy inta animal worship for it ta take. Oddly enough, the least talented of the shaman made the best beastlords, so their skills as a shaman never really developed all that well, but we made up fer that by havin the warriors teach ‘em a few tricks, so they became pretty decent melee. Wolves took to the tribe a lot easier than bear, so we focused on them fer warders, since they were less willful than the polar bears. No one was quite as strong as me, usually havin’ ta raise the wolf from a cub just ta git it ta understand them, but we did manage ta produce a few capable beastlords, like Vekk with Dakita here.”

“And that’s how Tundra Jack went out into the world and learned to speak with the animals, and tamed Iceberg.” Vekk finished for him, scratching behind Dakita’s ear. “And now, Jack, before my father turns ME into a rug, you had better go inside. He needs your counsel.”

“Aye.” Jack said, bowing extravagantly. “Nice ta meet ya, missy, and you elfies. I’ll leave Iceberg out here, since he’ll take down the wall tryin’ ta git through that little door.” And with that he followed Vekk and Dakita into Divad’s room, leaving Iceberg laying on the floor. The bear looked up at Talvarien and yawned.

Talvarien crossed his legs.
_________________

[Riverdane]

Jack came out of the back room after a long time. Camille and Brieah had spent the time talking about River, Rocsalt, Logiktue, Sylver. About funny or overly heroic things they had done before death had taken each of them. It was sad, to hear them talk of the men they had known and loved that had passed from the world of Norrath. But it was also...theraputic. A cleansing of the soul. Camille had not had time to mourn her father, or the recent death of not only an officer of Razor, but a friend. And River's loss was still as fresh to her as it had been when Nizzre had laid River's cold body down in the middle of the Officer's room and cried. She had been shocked silent at first, seeing his skin as pale as the ice he had died upon. Then she screamed for what had seemed like hours. Talking with Brieah, discussing the lives of the fallen men, was the closest thing she had experienced to exorcising the demons of loss. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was because Brieah was also a woman. She just didn't know.

Grelin had listened, silent as usual, smiling if some particular humorous statement crossed between the women, but basically spent most of the time with his head tilted back in his chair, listening quietly and staring at the ceiling. They spoke, knowing they were being listened to but accepting Grelin's presense as a given, as usual. He was such a strange young man, the druid was, but his quietness was something that was a soothing as it was odd.

Talvarien...stared at the bear.

"Well," Jack said, not smiling. The women fell silent mid-sentence. Grelin tipped his head down to look at the trapper, and Talvarien let loose a long sigh of relief as Iceberg lumbered to his feet and plodded over to Jack. "Yer father told me the news."

"Did you talk any sense into him?" Brieah asked.

"Ya mean did I convince him to send in our boys and girls after Vox?" Jack clarified.

"Yes."

Jack raised his pipe to his lips and lit up. He inhaled the smoke and held it for a moment, and then let it puff out from his mouth. "Well, I'm not so sure that would be me definition of 'talkin' sense inta him'."

Brieah's face fell. "Jack, he doesn't listen to anyone but you. If the barbarians don't take down Lady Vox and get Cami that platinum, we're all dead."

"Not all of us." Jack said. "Ya could still escape, me too, every one 'o us in this here room, ta the planes. But ya father, Vekk, and every one o' the barbarians outside wouldn't."

"EXACTLY!" Brieah exclaimed. "We're not doing this to save our own lives, Jack! We have to do this to save all of them!"

"But would ya be savin' them, missy?" Jack asked, giving her the eye. "Ya know how many of the barbies we can afford ta send in there, that aren't kiddies or old men and wommen? About thirty, same as last time yer father tried it. Ya remember what happened then? Ya seen yer father's leg? He's the only one ta have come outta it alive, and he's got more scars than jest the ones ya kin see. And the ones we kin send in, they're young, jest outta their teens. Like yer brother. You wanna see yer brother eatin' up like a snow orc after Iceberg here gets done with one?"

"Of course not..." Brieah began, but Jack cut her off with a puff a smoke and a shake of his head.

"No, of course not. But it's him and other young barbies goin' in after the Lady, not you or me. We'd have ta stand outside, maybe help 'em with yer and the others buffs but that's about it. And if they all died, we wouldn't even be able ta rezz 'em. Ya seen how long it took Qeynos ta come ta our aid. They jest plain didn't."

"I can resurrect the dead." Camille cut in. "I'm a paladin."

"But kin ya drag em outta there, missy?" Jack said, turning to her. "Nope, ya can't even go in there, or ya wouldn't be here askin' our people ta do it fer ya."

Camille's face flushed red. She knew she had been asking for quite a bit, but when he put it as bluntly as he had, it shamed her that she was asking people to give up their lives, even if their days were numbered, for her. They may be all doomed to die, but she was asking the barbarians to die early. If the worlds were indeed meant to end, she would be snuffing out what little time the Northmen had left.

"You're right." Camille said, feeling tears of shame well up in her eyes. She fought the urge to weep. Knights don't cry. "What I have asked of your people was foolish of me. I was not thinking of sacrificing the barbarian people to save a world that has forgotten about them. I will leave, with your pardon, and find some other way."

"Now jest hold on missy." Jack said, puffing furiously on hiss pipe to keep it lit. "I didn't finnish."

Camille blinked, holding her breath, and not because of the bittersweet smoke hanging in the air.

"We may be barbarians, but we aren't BARBARIANS." he said. "We aren't thick headed and stubborn enough ta let our own hides let the rest of the world blow up, jest ta live a little longer. We're a fightin' race, and we like ta knock our heads against the bad guys jest like the rest of ya. It would be a shame ta see the world, even one as mixed up as Norrath, crack in half. If we're the only hope fer savin' everybody, even the fairies, the barbies of Halas aren't gunna go crawl into the nearest snowbank and wait ta die. But we already tried the Lady once, and she whomped us but good. As long as ya promise ta stick around and bring back our dead, we'll try her again."

"Of course!" Camille exclaimed, releasing her held breath.

"BUT..." Jack continued. "We may be big and brawny lookin', but we ain't stupid. Thirty barbies that got stomped before will git stomped again. That's where ya'll come in."

Camille stared at him, puzzled. Of course they would buff the barbarians, but he seemed to want something else. What?

Jack answered, seeing the question in her eyes. "Ya Razor's Edge people, ya had a reputation, aye?"

"A reputation?" Camille asked, not understanding.

"Dragon killers. Yer people killed dragons, aye?"

Camille nodded. "Aye. River hated dragons with a passion. We killed them for treasure, glory, sport."

“Teach us.”

Camille blinked. "Teach you?"

"Aye." Jack nodded, drawing off his pipe. "You, Brieah, the two elfies here. Teach us how ta kill a dragon."

"Aye." came a voice from the doorway. Camille turned her head. Divad stood nodding in the doorway, one hand supporting himself with his staff, the other resting heavily on Vekk's shoulders, keeping him erect. Divad addressed Brieah, not Camille.

"Aye." he said again, looking Brieah in the eyes. "Teach them. Show them what you learned when you left the tribe. You have, what, two weeks or so before all is lost? You have a week. Teach them how to kill dragons, and they'll kill your dragon for you."

"Teach me." Vekk said earnestly, eyes eagerly looking at his sister. Brieah's eyes spilled the tears that Camille refused to show. She nodded mutely. Talvarien and Grlein rose as one.

"Aye." Camille said, nodding slowly to Divad. "We'll show you all Razor knows."
_________________

[Riverdane]

Camille sat heavily onto the edge of the bed, looking out the glass pane of the nearby window at the snow covered ground outside. It was freezing outside, but the room was warm, fire from the fireplace throwing its ruddy light across her face as it warmed the room.

Her belly was full to the point of exploding. Divad had called a feast to all the barbarians of the village. They came, every last one, to a huge building that served as the barbarians’ meeting room. Beastlords’ warders lay at their masters’ feet under a few chairs. The food was plentiful, mostly gamey roast bear and some sort of fowl Camille couldn’t quite place. Ale and wine flowed from jug to cup as if every Northman at the feast was parched. Musicians played drums and one broadshouldered but dainty by barbarian standards woman played a harp. Talvarien, after one too many cups of wine, produced a flute from his pack and surprised them all with a rather talented solo. He then, to the amusement of Camille, Grelin and the barbarians, passed out cold in his chair, flute still gripped in one hand. Vekk had brought him back to his room unconscious, slung over his back like a wet towel. Dakita licked Talvarien’s limp hand playfully as it drooped towards the ground as Vekk carried him off.

Then Jack stood on the table, kicking aside some dishes and planting his large feet on either side of a jug of ale. He launched into a rather ribald tale, told in rhyming verse, of Redwind the Snow Orc and the Gnoll Maiden. It was met with hoots and whistles, and great cheer from the barbarians, who were toasting Jack, Redwind and the Gnoll Maiden at regular intervals through the story. The air was so thick with their laughter that it was infectious; even with time and worry weighing on Camille, she could not stop herself from laughing with them. Or maybe it was the heady wine. Or a mix of both. Regardless, she let tension flow off her like water.

A glance at Brieah, laughing with the rest of the crowd, brought something crashing home to Camille. Maybe it was the way Brieah’s eyes gazed rapturously up at the reciting barbarian on the table, or the way she laughed even when he wasn’t saying anything particularily funny. During one of those laughs he looked down at her at his feet, and winked. Brieah’s face lit up. Well well, Camille thought. Miss Brieah has a crush. Or more. Or something. The thought made her smile. She remembered a wink and a kiss on the back of her hand in the middle of North Ro long ago. The thought normally would make her sad. The wine helped to keep it a pleasant happy memory.

Then Divad stood, after Jack had jumped down to thunderous applause and took a seat next to Brieah. He had laughed and applauded and shouted with all of them during the festivities, but now his face was solemn. Silence fell over the crowd like a blanket.

Divad told them an abbreviated version of what Camille had told him in his throneroom. Just enough for them to know that it had fallen upon the barbarian people to save the rest of the world, and that it would hinge upon the death of Lady Vox. Murmurs ran through the crowd, as well as an undercurrent of fear that was palpable. The festive feeling drained out of the room like water from a piece of thawing ice.

Divad formally introduced Camille and Grelin as members of the dragon slaying guild Razor’s Edge, who would be assisting the tribe in training it how to kill a dragon. The barbarians all turned and looked at them, as if seeing them for the first time. Eyes that were once friendly now looked at the woman and young man with doubt, questioning if they or their passed out companion could even show them how to kill a gnoll, much less Lady Vox. Camille shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unhappy to suddenly be in the spotlight. The mumbling started again. It didn’t sound healthy.

“How kin we do anything against Vox?” one red faced barbarian said, rising to his feet. “We tried ‘er before, and she killed me pappy and me uncle!” There were murmurs amongst the barbarians. Murmurs of assent.

Jack stood. “Brody, ya were always braggin’ about how ya could wrassle both yer pappy and yer uncle with one arm, back in the day. Ya mean ta tell me ya were making that all up?” He looked at Brody like he was actually surprised to find out that the boast wasn’t true. Brody looked away, embarrassed to admit he was lying. Jack nodded knowingly.

“It doesn’t matter if Brody ain’t able ta wrassle his grandmomma!” another man cried out. “I won’t be followin’ no womman and no fairies against a dragon!” Another, louder, uglier sound of consent. Brieah’s face was flustered, and looked like she was going to rise. Jack put his hand on her shoulder, holding her down, and nodded to the doorway. Camille turned. They all turned.

Vekk stood in the doorway. He had returned from bedding down Talvarien, and had come back and stood quietly in the doorway, listening to his father and the growing dissent following his speech. He now strode forward, walking with a purpose toward Camille, Dakita at his heels. As he moved, he drew his weapon from his side. A brass knuckle contraption with four long claws hooking from it. He slipped his hand into it and stood over Camille, staring her down. There was a tense pause. And then, with one fluid motion, he dropped to one knee, dragging his weapon through the floorboards in front of Camille. The move left four long gouges in the wood in front of her feet. Dakita also bowed his head, and scraped his paw on the floor, eerily identical to his master.

“Lead, and I will follow.” Vekk said to her solemnly, loud enough to carry through the room.

Jack beat a hand to his chest. “Lead, and I will follow!” he roared. Brieah stood up abruptly.

“Lead!” she cried out, “And I will follow!”

The barbarians looked confused, eyes darting back and forth between their leader’s children and their champion trapper.

Divad pulled himself up by his cane. Slowly, without any help or support, he lifted the staff from the floor and held it high, horizontally, over his head. His face was tense with the effort of keeping himself supported on one leg.

“Lead.” he said clearly. “And I will follow.”

And as if thinking with one mind, the barbarians, even Brody and the others, shot their fists closed into the air.

“LEAD, AND I WILL FOLLOW.”

The whole scene was powerful enough, mixed with the wine she had consumed and food she ate, to drain her of her strength. She nodded mutely at them, all those eager, proud faces, all expecting her to lead them into victory against the scourge of Everfrost. It left her weak and slightly sick to her stomach. She excused herself, and went to her room.

So there she sat, looking out onto the cold ice. Ice that covered the land, and somewhere, further north, covered the prison that held Lady Vox, whose death meant not only the salvation of the world, but the salvation of the heart of the barbarian spirit.

Rolling under the thick blanket, the weight of her task making her feel like a tired old woman, Camille closed her eyes and drifted to sleep, fire crackling in the distance.
_________________

[Riverdane]

"Don't even breathe." Nizzre whispered, arms locked on Camille's like a death grip. He squeezed the joint at her elbow for emphasis. He didn't need to have bothered. Camille couldn't have breathed at the moment if she wanted to. Blood dripped down a gash on her forehead into her eyes. It almost blinded her. Neither she nor Nizzre had the mana left to heal it, nor would try if they had for fear of attracting attention.

It had all gone horribly wrong.

It had started off well enough. They had plowed into the city of Mist, using a technique known to monks and shadowknights as 'feign pulling'. The puller would go out, and attempt to attract the attention of a single enemy. The entrance to Torsis was unfortunately guarded by creatures in clumps. And not normal animals or guards. Staring, unmoving golem guards, made up of magically molded mist, fog, smoke. But solid as flesh, or harder, rock. Never aging, never tiring, just serving the spirits of the iksar Lords of Torsis for eternity.
The other guards were the poor unfortunates of Torsis, the iksar guards that had once defended the trading city. Bound by oath or by curse, their fleshless skeletons had risen from the grave to serve as sentinels to the city. Other than the occasional living pile of ooze, greenish glop made up of the flesh that dripped from the skeletons when they first rose to protect the city, the undead and the golems made up all that they had seen within the city that was alive. Or dead. Or undead. Or...whatever.

Feign pulling was used when more than one creature would join in the chase on the puller...in this case, Riverdane. He would pull them away from their normal posts, and then his breathing would slow, limbs going loose, color fading from his skin. If he was fast enough, by the time they reached him, he resembled a corpse, a useless piece of meat. His skin would reek of poison, keeping flesh eaters at bay. A subtle magic would leak out of him, making the creatures intent on killing himbforget why they were chasing him in the first place. For a monk, it was an instant thing, years of training and discipline where the monk learned to control every bit of his body, down to the metabolism to create the stench of the poison and the mind control to make the pursuers forget. For the shadowknight, or necromancer (to whom it was more defensive, given their frailer nature, than a pulling technique) it was magic of the dark arts. Camille had never seen or heard of it in her short lifetime. Sylver had kept her protected from certain knowledge. Seeing her husband do it sent shivers up her spine. This was something she had not expected when she had said yes to his proposal. She wondered briefly, the first time she had seen him drop to the floor seemingly dead, while one of the two monsters on his trail lost interest and walked away, if knowing he could become a living corpse would have affected her answer to him. But then he leapt up to his feet, bringing the one golem who had lingered behind back with him, and the thought passed. He wasn't dead. He was alive. He was only pretending, with magic. She decided she could live with that as long as he did not do it in their bed.

As a foursome, Bwael and Nizzre complimented her and River's dance beautifully. It was decided that River, with his bigger physique and more impressive armor, would act as the 'main tank'. Tanks were melee, usually ones whose disciplines allowed the use of plate armor. It was their jobs to absorb physical abuse, while the healers focused on healing, the casters focused on casting, and the damage dealing melee did as much crippling force to the enemy as possible. The 'main' tank's job was to not only absorb most of the damage, but to taunt an enemy to stick on him like glue and ignore the others in the group. River didn't have the meat or muscle to make him a true warrior class, but he was no slouch either. And a combination of spells available only to shadowknights and necromancers made keeping the creatures attention very easy. Nothing like boiling something's blood and eating away its skin with disease to piss something off.

Camille and Nizzre jumped on the golem's back, chopping away with their swords. River fought from the front, slicing, hacking, and murmuring incantations that would change the makeup of the golem's internal workings, keeping its rage focused on him while it battered him around. Bwael would stand off at a distance, plugging away at the golem with arrow after arrow. Each time River would suffer a wound, a gash, a break of bone, either Camille or Nizzre's eyes would light blue, and their power would wash out over River and heal him. It was like dancing a spar with River, but instead of facing each other, they worked together at bringing down the behemoth before them. Nizzre never missed a beat, always healing after Camille did, both of them preserving their mana. Riverdane laughed while taunting, even through the worst of the blows, convincing them he could take the pain. Where the two paladins had been stunning regularly to attempt to save River some of the blows, he assured them he could take it and to preserve their mana for heals for unfortunate slips. Slowly they stopped stunning, and just kept healing River. No argument, no struggle for power control. If he wanted to feel what was happening to him, fine. It did preserve mana. And it made their progress deep into the city move faster.

After the first fight, they had sat down for a moment, each reciting their personal mantra to gather back mana into them. But eyes were darting back and forth between them, and smiles. They were each a good melee in their own right. But what they were doing, without pure casters, without someone to magically slow the golem down, without either of the paladins to be at the level of training where one could ressurect them someone died, was impressive. And the fact that they had fallen together into a perfect dance so quickly surprised them all. Bwael seemed to be the most surprised of any of them.

And the dance continued.

Pull after pull, they perfected their technique. At first, River or Nizzre had called out orders, as they felt out each other's style. Then, just River, as Nizzre submitted to his lead, seeing as River was taking most of the abuse. A steady stream of information; turn with me, root the wandering creature coming close so it doesn't alert the others, switch targets because I brought back two more who are just a little slower. Then, River reduced it to single words. Turn, add, root. And then, somehow, almost magically, it became a look in his eye, a twitch of his head to the right. They were learning, golem after skeleton after puddle of goo, how to read each other's body movements.

River did pull one mob that was unlike any of the others, a skeleton with an ornate sheild depicting high rank and carrying a serrated edge sword that hummed dangerously as the skeletal captain swung it. The captain of the guard gave them a little more fight than the other creatures did, and when the sword ripped into River's arm, it took both Camille and Nizzre's remaining mana to heal him. The four stood after the fight, looking down at the sword, fallen on the floor, with wonder.

Nizzre was the first to pick it up. He stared at the blade. Something was written on it.

"This is written in iksar." he said, and then blinked. "Wait, no it isn't." he corrected. "It's in High Elvish. It says..." He paused, trying to find the right word for it. "It says 'Reaver'."

Bwael held his hands out for it. Nizzre passed him the sword. Bwael looked down at the writing on the blade.

"No it doesn't, Nizz." Bwael said, handing the sword over to River. "It's it woodelven. But aye, it says 'Reaver'."

"Cami, look at this." River said, pulling her over to him. She looked down at the blade. "In common?" he asked her.

"Aye." Camille said, nodding. "...'Reaver', in common tongue."

"Magic." Nizzre whispered.

Riverdane nodded. "A named sword. Magic. Is this what we came for? Is this a jade reaver?"

"No." Bwael said, shaking his head. "The iksar seem to love the word reaver. A jade reaver is an axe, with a blade made of jade. And they are possessions, rarely, of black reavers, some sort of golem the Lords of Torsis use as the ultimate guardians, according to ranger and druid lore. This sword, Reaver, is singular, I can sense the power of it. It's an artifact."

Nizzre nodded. It was common knowledge that elves were magical creatures, and woodelves, more akin to nature than any other breed of elf, could sense the disruption of nature that pure magic causes more keenly than the others.

"Well," River said, placing the sword down on the ground. "We can roll dice on it later, with anything else we pick up."

Nizzre raised an eyebrow at him. "You would roll dice on an artifact? You would hand over that weapon that easily if you lost?" Nizzre stared at the weapon on the ground. His eyes were lit with desire. "You would risk losing it to a die roll?"

River regarded him evenly. "I want it as much as you do. I have never felt power like what runs through that weapon. But I regard a different kind of magic I saw here today as more important." His eyes flickered from Nizzre to Bwael, and then back to Nizzre. "I have never had friends before. We work well together as a team. I offer you my friendship, and then it won't really matter who has the blade. Just that it be one of us."

Nizzre looked into River's eyes, and then to Camille. Then he looked back at his brother. No words were spoken, but something was passing between them. Something the humans could not hear. Bwael nodded silently, and Nizzre turned back to River.

"We shall bond to you." he said, thrusting out an open hand. River stuck out his arm, recalling what his father had taught him about elvish custom. Nizzre gripped his wrist with his hand.

"We shall fight beside you." River said, opening his hand. Bwael extended his arm and let River grip his wrist. River closed his fingers over it, and opened his own hand.
Camille approached tentatively, not sure what she was supposed to do, lost in the world of men and their rituals. She was unfamiliar with it, but she realized she was to place her wrist in Bwael's hand. She did.

"We shall protect you." Bwael said solemnly, and meant it. Nizzre's wrist was a mere inch from Camille's. She closed her fingers over it, not knowing what to say.

"We shall die for you." River prompted, staring at her. She met his eyes, asking questions with them. Can we trust these two, her look asked. Yes, was his silent reply.

"We shall die for you." she said clearly.

There was no denying the subtle power that flowed from that locked circle of hands. Camille had no idea what she had done, but as the pure magic that suddenly flowed through her veins like molten gold subsided, she realized one thing.

They were bound together, the four of them.

For life.

And now, River lay dying on the floor, Bwael being chased by an unstoppable menace bent on pummeling him to death and Nizzre and she were hiding, hurt, with no mana left and praying the monster did not see them.

‘For life’ suddenly didn’t seem like that long of an oath to take at all.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“It’s going to kill Bwael.” Nizzre whispered, hand squeezing his sword. The look in his eyes screamed of desperation, but he did not rise to draw the creature chasing after his brother away. To do so would be futile and only serve to bring attention to his and Camille’s hiding spot, and then they would all die. Even if they could slow their ragged breathing and meditate enough to get back mana, they would never survive a second bout with a black reaver.

Camille nodded silently in agreement, but she was not looking at him. Her eyes were glued one hundred feet up the cobbled path, where River lay bleeding on the floor. Not dead, not really, but feigning, appearing to be so. If enough blood leaked out of his body, though, he would cross the line from faking death to actually being dead. This was wrong, all wrong. Your husband isn’t supposed to die on your honeymoon. Your friends aren’t supposed to get clubbed to pulp the first day you meet them.

Reaver was still gripped in River’s hand. It was agreed that until they finished in the City of Mist that he would weild it, being their main tank. Between River’s broken body and the tall grass that hid her and Nizzre lay a black reaver, the first one. They had brought it down, amazingly enough, but had no time to celebrate the fact. Its large, overweight, solid black iron form lay overwhelmed on its back. Two, TWO jade reavers were still gripped in both of its hands. But even as it fell and River had cried out triumphantly, another black reaver had formed from its corpse, standing up as it rose out of the body of the first reaver like a soul leaving a corpse. Except this thing wasn’t a spirit. It was another black reaver, just as solid as the first that had bled their strength so preciously.

They had fought their way to a large building surrounded by a moat, with a bridge spanning its way across it. After dispatching the guards, they found themselves able to approach the large ornate gold door set in the face of the building. A keyhole prominent on the door. River tried pulling on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He ended up dropping to his knees, peeking through the keyhole.

“Bwael.” River called, one eye squeezed shut as he peered through the hole. “Take a look through here.” He got up and offered his spot to the woodelf. Bwael brushed the long blonde hair from in front of his face and took River’s place. He peered in and whistled softly.

“What?” Nizzre said, looking at his brother. Camille glanced at River.

“Two.” River said.

“Two what?” Nizzre asked.

“Two reavers.” Bwael answered, pulling back from the keyhole.

“Black reavers?”

“JADE reavers.” Bwael clarified, mouth set in a strange grin. He looked at River. “One for you, one for me, we roll on the magic sword and we’re out of here.”

Nizzre bent down on one knee and looked through the keyhole. “And that big black thing holding them, we can take it down? It’s surrounded by three skeletons and three golems. How are we going to pull it out here?”

Bwael unslung his bow, and then took out an arrow. He produced a knife and with several quick slices, removed the feathers and the point from the shaft. He tested quickly to see if the shaft itself was narrow enough to pass through the keyhole. It was.

“I’m going to shoot the black reaver through this keyhole.” he said. “That will get its attention.”

“No.” River said, reaching into his pack. “You’ll bring all seven mobs. Even with all three of you rooting, we’ll never be able to control the fight. We’ll get slaughtered.”

Bwael hesitated, then, snapped the shaft in two and tossed it into the moat. “You’re right,” he said, “I wasn’t thinking. I saw those two jades and just started thinking about my epic…”

“All good.” River said, pulling something out of his pack. “I have another idea.”

He was holding something white, about half the length of his finger, and narrower. Camille’s eyes widened as she saw it.

“Is that….a finger bone?” she asked in horror.

“Yes.” River said emotionlessly. He ran his own fingers slowly along the length of it.

“Human?” she asked. She didn’t understand why, but it being a human finger bone bothered her more than if it were elven or dwarven or anything else. River nodded.

“Before you start thinking I run around hacking up West Freeport by night,” he cut her off, as she opened her mouth to protest. “I got this off one of the skeletons haunting the ruins in North Ro. I may be a shadowknight, but I’m not a ghoul.”

She closed her mouth and let it go.

“What are you going to do with that bone, River?” Nizzre asked, eyebrow arched.

“I have a pulling technique I use for difficult pulls that monks cannot emulate.” he said, odd pride creeping into his voice. “You know that necromancers can summon the dead?”

“Aye.” Nizzre said. “I’ve seen their pets. Powerful.”

“Shadowknights can do the same. Only, the dead we raise aren’t nearly as powerful as a necromancers. They are almost negligible in power, until we get to the top of our class. But I have found some uses for my summons.” He tossed the bone chip down to his feet, and murmured something in the harsh, gutteral class tongue of the shadowknight. Then, in common, “Rise.”

The bone started to twitch on the floor, almost of its own accord. The air shimmered, as the bone started to multiply before their eyes. More than multiply. Bone after bone appeared, not all duplicates of the finger bone River had cast down. Curved ribs. Long femurs. A skull. All twitching with an odd life to them. Then suddenly, the bones lurched up into the air, drawing towards one another, until a full erect human skeleton stood before River, watching him with eyeless sockets. Camille stared at it. Something else she didn’t quite know about shadowknights. Her gaze flickered toward Riverdane. How many other things didn’t she know about her new husband?

“Ok, go back across the bridge and wait for me there please.” River asked, eyes not leaving his pet skeleton. Camille and the two elves did as they were asked, and went a safe distance away.

“Pet kill.” Riverdane said to the skeleton.

The skeleton’s jawbone dropped, and a highpitched, inhuman cackle poured forth from its mouth. “Attacking a black reaver, master!” it said, launching itself at the door with a rattle of bones.

River just waited, as the pet pushed against the door uselessly.

The skeleton tried with whatever force it had animating it to literally pass through the door, but the golden door refused it passage. The skeleton stopped moving, and suddenly the earth under its feet opened up, a man sized hole opening. The bones lost their cohesiveness and dropped in a pile into the hole, and the ground closed up over them without a trace of having been disturbed. On the other side of the door, Camille could dimly hear the sound of the bones reforming. Somehow the pet had passed through the earth and reformed on the other side.

“Taunting a black reaver, master.” the skeleton’s voice said, sound carrying through the door. River just waited.

With a sudden wrenching movement, the gold door was literally ripped off its hinges. The black reaver, gleaming in the sunlight, standing like an iron statue came rushing through the opening, tossing the golden door to the side. The three skeletons and three golems lumbered after it.

River’s breathing slowed, and stopped, his body collapsing to the floor. The seven creatures stood uncertainly over him, not understanding what to do. Slowly, two of the skeletons returned to the room, and then one of the golems. The black reaver just stared down at River’s body, not sure of the reason it was outside. Then another golem left, and the last skeleton, leaving the reaver standing there, holding the two jade axes, and the last golem. With a shrug that almost looked human, the last golem plodded back to its post. The reaver was left alone. It suddenly turned to walk back into the building.

River leapt to his feet and planted his foot into the rear of the reaver.

With incredible speed, it spun around. But River was already running back to his wife and friends, drawing Reaver from his belt. The black reaver rushed at him.

River pivoted, casting something that poured out of his fingertips like black smoke. It rushed out and surrounded the black reaver, momentarily obscurring it from view. At the same time, Camille and Nizzre let loose simultaneous stuns.

And the battle began.

It began a lot better than it ended.
_________________

[Riverdane]

Right from the start, they knew they were in trouble.

"Snare isn't holding..." River said, as the black reaver charged through the dark smoke full tilt.

"Stuns aren't taking." Nizzre said almost simultaneously, cutting off Camille, who was about to announce the same thing. The reaver had ignored the double stun as if it hadn't been cast.

"Root's no good." Bwael added. The juggernaut didn't even pause.

"Magic resistant?" Camille asked, drawing her weapon.

River nodded without looking at her, watching the black reaver close in on him with both axes swinging. His shield came up and Reaver in the other hand, a totally defensive posture.

Connection.

The right weapon swung and caught Reaver across the blade, pushing River back effortlessly. The other crashed so jarringly that if River's arm had not been slipped through the extra strap Pavel had welded on, the shield would have flown out of his grasp to land uselessly onto the floor. As it was, the blows were so strong River was almost knocked flat onto his back. Only a back step and spin, powered by the momentum of the push, brought River out of the reaver's way and fortunately landed with him facing the monsterous warrior instead of with his back to it. Camille and Nizzre swung swords up and into the reaver's shoulders, left and right, almost at the same time. Bwael began firing arrows so fast three had already flown through the air at the reaver's kettle-shaped head.

The arrows bounced off the reaver's skull as if they had struck a stone wall. Both paladins' blades struck the shoulders with a shower of sparks. Nizzre's deflected without so much as chipping the reaver and scraped down its arm. Camille's literally shattered, the blade dropping into slivers of steel onto the ground. Her arm stung from the blow. She dropped the bladeless hilt and pommel.

"Crap." Nizzre said, holding his blade uselessly, arm numb from the impact.

"Resistant to spells, impervious to normal weapons." Bwael announced, placing his bow onto his back and standing there with his hands glowing green. "All you, Riv. I'll help...heal." The last word got a small, nervous chuckle out of River, stalking around the reaver like a big cat. Ranger heals were almost the equivilent of healing normally, they were so slight.

Camille and Nizzre backpedaled to where Bwael stood. No need to get their heads cut off when they could do nothing to help River but to heal him. Their eyes began to light blue, both human female and highelven male. Ready and waiting to put River back together when the real fight began.

It began.

The reaver charged a second time at River, arms moving at a blinding speed. River's shield swung up a second time, catching both axes as they came down together towards his head. With his sword hand he thrust forward, as the blows on his shield pushed him backwards. The tip of Reaver sliced into the monster's belly easily, as if he had hit flesh instead of steel. A black liquid, smelling faintly of oil, leaked out of the wound. It wasn't deep; the force of the two axes crashing into his shield had knocked him almost out of striking range. But the reaver stopped for a second, glancing down at the wound in its midsection. It had no features like a human, no eyes, mouth, ears, nose. But that pause depicted surprise as plainly as if it had a face. It had obviously realized it was not immune to everything. River hesitated as well. Surprise had caught them both.

With a flash of jade, the axes began chopping through the air at an unearthly speed. The reaver was angry it was wounded and had decided River was no longer a toy and instead a threat. Camille could not see the blades anymore, just a blur of motion as the reaver charged at River. Then suddenly he was down on his knees, a huge bleeding wound that he caught to the waist and the other axe buried in his chest. His eyes blinked as he knelt there, and blood bubbled to his lips.

Without even thinking, Camille ran forward. She heard Nizzre moving to her right, but could only concentrate on River and reaching him before the light flew out of those long lashed eyes. Her hands burned with light.

"Live!" she screamed, grabbing his head between her hands. She saw Nizzre's glowing hands grip River by the waist, and heard him yell something in elvish. Her power flooded through her hands into River's body where she gripped the sides of his face. The Lay of Hands filled his dying body with life. River's body jerked convulsively under her.

"Wow." River said in shock. He leapt to his feet as if a coiled spring. His black eyes reflected just the tiniest bit of blue light as he stood, whole again.

The reaver grabbed Nizzre and threw him violently off to the side. The paladin came down from the toss with a sickening thump, body bruised and broken. Then the reaver swung the axe at Camille. River knocked her indecorously to the side, preventing her head from getting cut off. The axe whistled by so close she could hear its passage, and the tip of it sliced a fine line across her forehead. Blood began to well. She crawled over to Nizzre, where Bwael was applying heals to his brother with a faint green light pouring from his hands. Bwael turned to her and saw the cut, and raised one green glowing hand to her forehead. She batted it away.

"Save it." she said breathlessly. "We're going to need it."

Bwael nodded silently, and went back to tending Nizzre's shoulder. Nizzre winced in pain.

"It broke my shoulder when it grabbed me." he winced.

"Can Bwael heal it?" she asked.

"Aye." Bwael said, “But that's about it." He looked almost apologetic.

"Camille." Nizzre said, watching River and the reaver circling one another again. "Did you lay hands?"

"Aye." Camille said. "He was dying."

“So did I." Nizzre said regretfully. "If there is a next time, we need an order on that." The next time would unfortunately be in twenty four hours, a full day. That kind of power was taxing and not without price.

"Me first." Camille said automatically.

"Aye." Nizzre agreed. "He's your husband."

Camille nodded, and turned back to River.

Again River and the reaver met.

River was not caught by surprise this time. Both opponents had drawn blood, and now it was a matter of who would win. River had the shield and the magic weapon, but the reaver had speed and the two axes. Pound for pound River was almost ridiculously outclassed, but he had two healers who could do nothing but spend their mana to keep him alive. Still, the odds were in favor of the reaver.

Axe met sword, axe met shield. River danced a new dance, purely defensive, just attempting to keep himself from being chopped in half. The reaver was relentless, tireless. Blow by blow it began dictating where River would stand. It was slowly forcing him up against the wall of the building.

Suddenly, two circles of light appeared on what would have been the reaver's face. They flashed bright white, and River staggered, shield covering his face instinctively, but too late.

"Blind!" he cried. "It blinded me!"

Good Marr, Camille thought. River was blind. What in hells had they pulled out of that building?

"Shield up, sword left!" Bwael yelled out, seeing the reaver swing. River didn't hesitate, just thrust his shield arm up and tried to cross left with his sword. The shield blocked the descending axe, but the other one bit into River's arm that held it, spraying blood. Bwael began moving away from Camille and Nizzre, to see the battle from a better angle. River awkwardly stumbled away from the wall, the reaver pursuing. Blue light flew from Camille's eyes and began to heal the wounded arm.

"Shield left, sword right and thrust!" Bwael called, seeing the reaver pounce again. River did as he was told. One axe slipped passed the shield, and cut into River's side. Nizzre was already healing it. The sword arm parried the other blow, and the following thrust caught the black reaver in the belly again, deeper. It backed up, leaking black blood, confused on why the creature it had blinded could still be able to defend itself. Then it rushed River again.

"Dance back, shield forward!" Bwael almost screamed, and River took three steps back. One step too much. He hit the wall, banging the back of his head. Both axes came in from the side, catching his leg, and his side again. He cried out in pain, sliding down the wall. Nizzre and Camille both turned on the juice, pouring blue light into him. The wounds were huge, and they felt the drain as they fought to keep River alive. His leg was bad, and took most of their energy to heal. Nizzre's hand had found Camille's, and gripped it, as they channeled their energy into River's wounds. The elf's squeeze on her hand would have hurt if Camille had stopped to think about it, but the only thing she was thinking about was saving her husband.

River blinked, his eyes suddenly focusing. The blindness had only been temporary. A stroke of good fortune on a pull gone very wrong.

"River, feign!" Bwael cried, alone on the bridge across the moat. He unslung his bow.

River didn't hesitate. His breathing slowed, stopped while he lay there against the wall. The reaver stood over his seeming corpse, not moving, axes held in both hands.

"Hey, cast-iron!" Bwael called to the reaver, sending an arrow bouncing off the back of its head. "Let's play!"

The reaver spun, looking at Bwael.

With a tremendous effort, River sprang up from his spot on the wall, Reaver gripped in both hands, point down. As the black reaver lumbered toward Bwael, River launched himself at its back, swinging both hands over his head.

The blade went down through the reaver back with a gush of blood, coating River in a black viscous spray.

The reaver stood, both arms out to the side, frozen in place, Reaver jutting out of its chest. It tilted its head down to see the serrated blade emerging from it. Both massive black hands opened, and the jade reavers fell to the floor. If it had eyes it would have blinked them in surprise. River growled triumphantly, and pulled the sword out of the reaver's back. It plunged forward like a boulder falling from the sky and crashed down, unmoving, onto the floor. Bwael grinned at River from across the body of the fallen reaver.

And then, rising up out of the corpse of the dead reaver, an identical creature stood up and stared at Bwael emptily.

"Good gods." Bwael whispered, color draining from his face.

Nizzre, kneeling next to Camille, started to rise. River shot him a look from behind the reaver. Don't move, the look said. Hide. Nizzre, still holding Camille's hand, slowly crawled backwards down the side of the moat. He brought her with him. She did not protest. The reaver did not turn their way.

"Ok, big guy." Bwael said slowly, seeing River raise up the sword again to plunge it into the reaver's back. He said soming in elvish, and his feet began to glow. "Nice and easy." Bwael coaxed. River's arms were fully up, Reaver prepared to descend into the creature’s massive bull neck.

Suddenly, the reaver spun, catching River by surprise. Its hands swept up, locking on River's elbows, and it squeezed. River screamed in pain as it crushed both his elbows, the sword gripped but useless in his hand. The reaver tipped its head at River's, headbutting him hard to the forehead. River's eyes rolled up. Camille head him incant feign death just as he passed out, bleeding from the forehead. The reaver dropped River, thinking him dead, to the floor. Blood continued to pour. He was unconscious and feigned, and the black reaver turned to Bwael, the only other threat it saw.

"I have spirit of wolf." Bwael called out, as he began to run at twice the speed he should have. "Don't get up." The reaver began running after Bwael, who was pathing around in a large circle.

Camille's eyes were locked on Reaver, still in River’s hand. She began to crawl to retrieve it. Nizzre yanked her back.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm going to get the sword." Camille replied, trying to break Nizzre's grasp. "I'll tank this one."

"How much mana do you have?" Nizzre asked, not releasing her.

"Nothing." she replied honestly. "I'm out."

"So am I." Nizzre said urgently. "River's leg drained me. You go out there and it sees you, you're dead."

She stopped struggling. He was right.

"Come on slow poke!" Bwael called, keeping himself out of reach. "Catch up!"

"You will not evade me!" the reaver called out, no mouth, but loud and deep just the same. Suddenly Bwael, a good distance away, disappeared, appearing, confused and frightened, within grasp of the reaver. It swung at him, hitting his side with a sickening crunch of broken ribs. Bwael gasped, but ran away from the monster. The reaver continued its chase.

"It can summon." Camille whispered redundantly.

"It's after my brother." Nizzre replied, eyes wild. "Eventually, it will catch him and break him in two."

"What have we done?" Camille asked in horror, looking at River's fallen form, blood pooling around his head. Never in her life had she expected her honeymoon to end with death.

"More to the point," Nizzre said, gripping his useless sword as if it could actually be used in their defense, "How do we undo it?"

Camille had no answer.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“He’s going to bleed to death!” Camille whispered furiously, watching River’s lifeblood pool around his head. Watching that growing crimson stain blossom around his broken body filled her with a panic that grew in proportion to his bleeding. Nizzre’s eyes were not focused where hers were. Instead, he was locked on Bwael, who had been summoned for a third time. After having his ribs crushed on the first summon, Bwael had managed to duck away from the black reaver on the second call, but the third left him with a head wound as the reaver clubbed him across the side of his skull as the ranger skittered away. How Bwael was managing to stay running, magically hastened or not, was beyond him.

“I’ve got to do something!” Camille exclaimed, more to herself than to Nizzre. She stood up abruptly, but then was pulled down to her knees by Nizzre.

“You’ll kill them!” he warned her, but she struggled in his grasp.

“They’re already dead if we don’t do something!” she retorted, trying to pull herself free.

“We have to med.” Nizzre said, trying to control his own hyperventilation, staring her in the eyes. “We have to clear our heads and med.”

“We don’t have time!” Camille argued, finally pulling her arm free of him. She turned back to River.

He was gone.

“River…?” she whispered. The pool of blood was still there. But River was simply….gone. No blood led away from the body. She blinked. Was he invisible somehow?

“Bwael is gone.” Nizzre commented, looking everywhere. The reaver was standing there blankly, not moving, but no longer pursuing the fleeing ranger. Bwael simply was no where in sight. Summoning creatures once harmed would summon until you or it was dead. But Bwael’s body was nowhere to be seen.

“What the hells?” Nizzre whispered.

Suddenly the black reaver turned on its heels and marched back into the building, without a backwards glance. The body of the first reaver lay ignored, jade reavers laying on the floor around it. The second reaver took its post in place of the first, and stopped moving, going as deathly still as the first had stood when they first spied it through the now destroyed door’s keyhole.

“Where did they go?” Camille asked quietly, afraid, even now that they were alone, to speak aloud.

“Come.” a young voice said from behind them. Nizzre and Camille spun as one, Nizzre’s sword extended.

In front of them was a young half-elven boy, blonde hair unkempt, hands red with blood.

The boy from West Commonlands weeks ago. The boy Camille had saved from Kizdean Gix. The boy who had lowered the rope down to them in Befallen.

“Come.” he said again, extending those bloody hands towards the two paladins.

“River…” Camille began.

“Safe.” the boy said. And again with his hands. “Come.”

“Who are you?” Nizzre asked, not lowering the sword.

“He’s a…druid…I think.” Camille began.

“He’s a boy.” Nizzre said. “Too young to be of much help.”

The boy just gave him an odd half-smile.

“No.” Camille said slowly. “We saved his life weeks ago, and he saved ours. The druids of the Commons ring have been training him, and they say he’s…good.”

“Come.” the boy said again. Nizzre finally sheathed his sword.

“If he’s a friend…” Nizzre said. The boy just shook his head up and down.

“What is your name?” Camille said, asking the question that had been in the back of her head from the moment she met him in West Commons. The boy took her and Nizzre’s hands and his eyes began to light green.

“Grelin.” he said, and they suddenly disappeared, poof.

They reappeared at the entrance to the City of Mist, where River and Camille had first met Bwael and Nizzre. River and Nizzre were both collapsed against the wall, covered in blood, but whole. Both were breathing heavily, but they were breathing. The wounds were gone. The blood would take a little more work.

“You’re alive!” Nizzre exclaimed, looking at his brother with wide eyes.

Camille knelt tentatively at River’s side, wanting to embrace him but afraid of hurting him after the beating he had took. River just grinned at her, and crushed her to his body, pulling her off her feet. She felt ready to weep and decided instead to smother him with kisses. The young boy watched them uncomfortably.

“He healed us, the boy.” Bwael said. “Ported us both out of there and healed us. He’s amazingly trained for a druid this young.”

“Thank you Grelin.” Nizzre said, bowing low. “You have saved my brother Bwael and my friend Riverdane. I will not forget your kindness.” The boy just grinned.

“How did you know we were here?” Camille asked, looking at him, breaking away from River.

“I watch.” Grelin said softly, as if that explained everything. Well, Camille thought, the druids were wrong. He’s not a mute, but he certainly didn’t like to talk.

“Well, kid.” Riverdane said, shaking his hand firmly. “You did good.”

“I’ll be back.” Grelin said, murmuring something in elvish. He quickly shimmered and was gone. River raised an eyebrow.

“Invisibility.” Bwael said, recognizing the spell.

After a short moment, Grelin reappeared in front of them, lugging the two jade reavers.

River looked at the young boy, who placed the reavers on the ground in front of them and stepped back away from the weapons. Then he looked over at Nizzre, and something passed between them.

“Grelin.” River said. “You may be young, but you are skilled beyond your years…I could tell that from the first heal when you brought us to the front here. You must be close to the level of skill where you could complete your epic.”

“Aye.” the boy said, a puzzled look on his face.

“Bwael, take one of the reavers for your epic. We will roll on the sword, and we’d like you to take the other reaver, Grelin, as a repayment for saving our lives.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“No.” he said.

“No?” River asked, blankly.

“No epic.” Grelin said.

“You don’t want it?” Camille asked.

The boy just shook his head.

“What do you want, boy?” River asked, searching the boys face. He couldn’t be more than eleven years old, at the most.

“Adventure.”

River blinked. “You want adventure….with us?” Nizzre was already shaking his head.

“Aye.”

Camille knelt in front of the boy and took his hands in hers. “Where are your parents?” she asked gently.

Grelin just looked at her.

“Do you know who your mother is?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Your father?”

“The rain.” Grelin said.

“The rain?” Camille asked, confused.

“…is his father.” Bwael answered for the boy. “He means Karana, God of Rain.”

“Ah.” Camille said.

“You mean to tell us that your father is the God of Rain?” Nizzre asked skeptically. “That you are the son of a god?”

Grelin just shrugged. Not yes, or no. Just a guileless shrug.

“I’ll assume you mean figuratively.” Nizzre said. “The gods do not come to Norrath to leave children.”

River glanced over quickly at Camille and shook his head subtlely. Camille understood the look. Keep his secret. River wasn’t about to spoil his first friendships with the news that he was the bastard son of Innoruuk.

“He has no family.” Camille said instead.

“What we do is dangerous, Cami.” Nizzre began.

“But…” River said. “What better protectors?” He looked at Grelin thoughtfully, as if choosing a horse. “He is already at our level of training, from what I’ve seen. And he’s a healer. With no where to go. What do you think, kid? Could you keep three tanks and a ranger alive?”

“I did today.” he said with that odd smile.

Nizzre burst out laughing. “Aye, you did. You got us out of a mess.”

“Aye.” the boy smiled.

River looked at Nizzre, who in turn looked at Bwael. Bwael just shrugged. But it was Camille who decided it.

“He comes with us.” she said, the look in her eyes daring anyone to challenge. None of the men did.

“So, Grelin.” River said, shaking the young man’s hand again. “Welcome aboard.”

The boy grinned widely. Nizzre thumped him on the back.

“Welcome aboard, Grelin.” he said. “And now as for the loot…”

“One jade reaver for Bwael’s epic, one jade reaver for Annir.” River said, “…and the sword…”

“…stays with you.” Nizzre said. Bwael nodded. Camille smiled.

“With me?” River said, “No no. We had a deal.”

“You’re our tank River.” Nizzre replied. “You’ll need it more than we do. You’re the only one of us that can’t heal. So that’s going to put you on the front line.”

River’s eyes ran along the edge of the serrated blade. It was a beautiful weapon.

“Just give me your old sword, River.” Camille said. “Mine broke on the back of the reaver.” River handed her his sheathed sword immediately.

“Thank you.” River said earnestly, looking at all of them. “I’ve never had… anything like this.”

“Just be careful where you swing that thing.” Nizzre laughed. “I think it would cut through my armor as though it were tin.”

“Aye.” River said, sheathing the sword. It hummed against his leg quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” Grelin asked. River looked to Nizzre. He shrugged.

“West Commons, to begin.” River said. Grelin nodded, and with a word and a flash of green light, they disappeared.

Arriving in West Commons, Grelin ran ahead, over the hilltops. He looked so young. Nizzre leaned in to the others.

“Did we do the right thing, dragging a kid into our lifestyles?” he whispered.

“It’s better than him running around alone.” Camille said adamantly.

Suddenly they heard a voice over the side of the hill. Camille recognized it immediately. Gix.

“Ah, the spy returns.” Gix’s voice carried.

“Let me pass.” Grelin said loudly.

“Ah, and the spy SPEAKS!” Gix laughed in amazement. “Go run, boy. I promise not to take you down until you had a two pace lead.”

“No.” Grelin said evenly.

“NO??” Gix asked, still chuckling in amazement.

River nodded quietly at his companions and they stepped over the hill.

“No.” River said loudly. Bwael notched an arrow and leveled it at Gix. Gix’s mouth dropped open, eyes darting from Grelin to River to Camille and back again. And then, finally to Bwael and the bow. And again to River.

“Wyldechylde!” Gix gasped. “You’re…”

“Dead?” River suggested. Gix’s mouth snapped close.

“Go run, Gix.” Nizzre suggested, looking at Bwael. “We promise not to take you down until you had a two pace lead.”

Gix blinked impotently at the high elf, all the color draining from his blue features.

“He eats inky babies.” Riverdane commented, pointing to Bwael. Bwael just grinned evilly.

Gix turned tail and ran.

He didn’t get three paces
_________________

[Riverdane]

Camille slid Reaver into its sheath on her side after she finished putting on the last of her armor. The hilt of the sword was still as untarnished as it was the day they had found it on the skeleton in the City of Mist. But the blade had tasted more blood, human and otherwise, than she would ever had thought when River first held it aloft. Adventure, Grelin had wanted. They found it. But adventure wasn’t just the light, frilly stuff of childrens’ stories and nursery rhymes. Adventures were the stuff of severed tendons and chopped veins. Adventures were the stuff of gore. Romanticize it however you wanted. Adventure was the good guys doing what the bad guys usually do. Killing. Pillaging. Plundering. Killing something because it had what you wanted. Stealing it from the corpse. Adventure was the by-product of death and thievery.

And now….now she had more ‘adventure’ for the barbarian tribe of Halas. Time to kill the dragon. Time to save the world. How many barbarians would find their deaths at the end of this training, entrails strewn out on the ice, steamings reminders of lives cut short. Even knowing you would be resurrected in the end, death was still painful. Death still hurt. Sometimes, coming back from the dead with the memories of how you died, cut down, burned, bled, poisoned….those memories were worse than the death itself. And left deeper scars.

Grelin and Talvarien waited for her outside her door with Brieah and Jack. Talvarien looked slightly green, hungover from his battle with the bottle the night before. He was uncharacteristically quiet that cold morning. Grelin looked refreshed, twenty two years old now and looking no older than seventeen. Had he seen enough adventure? Had he seen enough death? He seemed unmarked by all the pain and suffering he had both received and dealt out during the twelve years they had been together. But that morning, with the slight headache she had from the wine and feeling the cold cut through to her very bones, Camille felt it. And another thing. She felt old.

“So, missy.” Jack said, slapping his hand down hard on her shoulder. “Ya ready ta teach the barbies how ta kill a dragon?”

Camille shook her head. “Honestly, no.” she said. “River and Kaguera were the teachers in Razor. I was just a good soldier.”

Jack regarded her quietly for a moment. “Well, whether ya kin teach or not, ya gotta try. Or we’re gunna end up dragon chow.”

“I’ll try.” Camille sighed. Jack’s brow furled with worry, but he kept quiet. She wished she felt more confident than she did. “I’ll try.”

“That’s a start.” Jack said. “I’ve been busy all night while ya slept.”

“Oh?” Camille asked, wondering with what.

“Oh, you’ll see.” Brieah said with a wide grin. “You’ll get a kick out of this.”

“What did you do?” Camille asked.

“Better I show ya.” Jack replied, breaking out into his own grin. “Follow me.”

The four of them followed Jack down the icy streets of Halas.
_________________

[Riverdane]

“There it be!” Jack said proudly, pointing down into the large snowcovered area in Everfrost. Vekk and the other twenty-nine barbarians who would serve as Camille ‘trainees’ stood grinning in front of a hill of snow. Whatever it was Vekk was pointing at, the huge mound of snow obscured it. Camille smile uncertainly, and walked around the hill to see what was on the other side, Brieah following behind curiously. Nothing. Just ice and snow for as far as the eye could see. Talvarien’s teeth were chattering, and Grelin had once more assumed dog form, lying in the snow at Talv’s feet looking content. Camille walked around the hill and the smiling barbarians, trying to see what they were all beaming at. Still nothing. She looked quizzically at Jack.

“Um.” she started. “What exactly am I looking for her?”

Jack’s smile faded slightly, but his eyes still grinned. “Why, we made ya a dragon! Ta practice on!”

Camille looked once more on the other side of the hill. Still nothing.

“Where, Jack?” she asked, still not seeing it.

“Here!” Jack said, more of his smile slipping. “Yer practically standing on its head!”

Camille looked under her feet, but nothing but fresh packed snow. She looked up, eyes asking the question, and then caught Brieah’s gaze. Brieah stared for a minute past her and then buried her face in her hands. Camille followed her look, and then figured it out.

“The hill?” Camille asked, looking at the featureless mound of snow. “THIS is the practice dragon?”

“Ya!” Jack said, trying to find his smile again, but losing under Camille’s incredulous look and Brieah’s embarrassment. “This be our test run fer Lady Vox.”

“Look, Jack.” Camille began, as gently as she could, aware that the other barbarians were starting to shift uneasily. “This…pile of snow…isn’t a very good representation of a dragon. There’s no head, no tail. No claws. The mound itself is about the size of her body, but…and what about her giant guards? Divad mentioned she has two giants with her in there and…”

“Guard one!” he cut her off, patting the side of a young evergreen. Then he pointed to a similar tree on the other side of the hill of snow. “Guard two!”

“A little off scale on the giants, Jack…” Camille tried. But Jack pulled in close to her and lowered his voice to a suddenly harsh whisper.

“Listen missy, I know this ain’t what yer used ta in the ‘civilized lands’, but it’s all we got here out in the Northlands!” He sounded annoyed, almost angry. “While ya and yer friends slept last night, the barbies froze their arses off all night tryin’ ta build ya a dragon ta show ‘em what ta do with it. So fergive us the lack of some details, but this is the best yer gunna get, so at least say thank ya so they don’t think they wasted their damned time!”

Camille just stared at him. Then she looked over at the waiting group of barbarians, eyes bright with the hope of a good word. She looked back once more at Jack scowling at her, and then cleared her throat and turned to face the crowd.

“My ladies and gentlemen. You have been….busy.” Camille said emotionlessly. “What a fine…dragon…you’ve made. Now let’s see if we can work out a way for you to kill it with…as little harm to yourselves as possible.” Jack still looked at her. “Thank you.” she added hastily.

“Yer welcome.” Jack replied dryly.

The crowd murmured happily.

“Ya, she’s a real killer, aye?” Brody said, stepping forward and giving the pile of snow a pat. His hand pushed through th eloose snow as if it were a cloud. He pulled his hand back out of the pile, redfaced.

“Killer.” Camille echoed numbly.

Talvarien leaned into her. “Well, Boss, what do you want to try first?”

“First?” Camille asked blankly, looking at him. Talvarien just nodded, teeth clattering together.

“First.” she repeated coming out of her slowly growing panic that they would fail at teaching the barbarians anything except how to attack the terrain. “First, I guess, we find out whether they can shoot a bow. That’s your department.” She gestured weakly at the crowd of Northmen. “Go to it.” Talv looked over at them, set his mouth in a grim line, and nodded.

“Let’s see if they can’t manage to turn me into a pincushion before this is over.” he muttered, and then plastered a smile on his face and trudged off their way with a wave.

Camille looked down at Grelin on the floor, and his now wolfish eyes regarded her emotionlessly. With a shake of snow from his fur, Grelin the wolf stood up, eyes never leaving hers. Then with a very human-like shake of his head, the wolf slowly turned and marched off into the snow, not looking back. Camille watched her old friend pad off down the path and disappear around a distant bank of snow.

That night, Grelin did not return.
_________________