The Approaching Storm

[racestark]

Atticus entered the room, letting the rug that acted as a door fall behind him. He paused to take a look about the 'building', if you could call it that.
The shelter, not made from cut wood but formed by skilled hands and heartfelt prayers out of stiff green vines that wove around each other tightly, was no more than the one chamber he now stood. It was one of only half a dozen such permanent shelters dotting the dale, each resting deep in the canopy of a large oak, accessible only to those who knew the proper prayer that would cause one of the vines to lower itself, pulling up whoever said the correct phrase, denying all others.
At the moment, the room was nearly filled by several dozen humans, elves and half-elves, all almost equally represented in number. They sat in small groups around the room, gossiping and exchanging tales with friends they hadn't seen in too long. The room was filled with the blending of the their whispers, shouts and laughter. Atticus thought he heard the word 'drow' whispered more often than he would have liked.
He spied Terrick sitting on the floor to his left, warding off the tenacious pleas of those around him to know what he knew about the reasons for calling them home from their duties abroad. Atticus stepped around a chattering group and nodded to them as he took a seat to Terrick's right. He looked around the room once more and it was evident by the frown on his face that he did not like what he saw.
He leaned over to his half-elf friend since childhood and asked, "How long's everyone been waitin'?"
Terrick made a rude gesture to the folks on his left and turned to Atticus. "Fyrna was the first to arrive with Gorilmar and Delie. She said they'd been waiting only a few hours before we showed up." Terrick pushed an inquisitor away, looking very annoyed, before turning back to Atticus. "There's still another flock to arrive. Vengilis is waiting for those three before he fills everyone in. From what I've heard, there's been a death or two."
"Who?" Atticus asked, concern written all over his face.
Terrick shrugged. "Dunno. Everyone seems to think I know what's going on. I've only heard a few bits here and there. Vengilis will tell you everything."
Atticus nodded and looked around the room again. He exchanged a few nods and smiles with old friends who met his eye. He tried to fill the time by taking a head count, but the commotion kept enough folks moving around that he kept losing count and gave up after his fourth try. He figured just about everyone was there. At least forty.
In the center of the room, with the look of one in reverie, sat Vengilis. The aged elf sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing a robe of the same dull greens and browns that everyone else present wore on their garments, his blond hair pulled back and held together by a string of clover that never dried, as far as Atticus knew.
Vengilis. He was the beating heart of all the gathered and every other man, woman and child in the dozen small communes littered about Deepingdale. All told, about seventy-five small families looked to him for tangible guidance, each one as devoted as Vengilis to the return of Cormanthor's former glory. Atticus couldn't help but smile as he looked at the tranquility Vengilis' face conveyed.
After exchanging a few greetings with the folks on his right, the three everyone had been waiting on arrived. Fyrna leaned over and whispered into Vengilis' ear. As he slowly opened his eyes, the noise just as slowly died away with the last few gossipers being shushed. All eyes turned to the wise elf seated in the middle of the floor.
"Before I address all your questions and concerns," he said with a voice that rung like crystal, "I ask everyone to honor a moment of silence for Caston Kler who has been lost bravely restoring Cormanthor to her former self." Everyone bowed their head. "Eldath take and keep him. His death be but a part of a cycle with all things returning in one form or another." The words echoed through Atticus' head as his mind recalled the time they were said over his father's grave. Just as they had been said over the relatives of too many of those gathered.
Caston Kler. Atticus hadn't seen him in nearly seven winters. He was old when Atticus was just a cub and he was known to spend hours talking to the saplings he had planted.
Atticus' mind replayed days his father used to take him out for a planting as a child with several of the other adults. As everyone toiled in the dirt, Atticus remembered looking over his shoulder, seeing Caston putting forth deep questions to a bunch of elm saplings he had planted six winters ago. Then he moved on to a pair of beech that didn't seem to want to grow, in Caston's opinion.
Atticus remembered mocking the old priest with the other youth during the highsun meal, placing his hands on his hips and scolding imaginary beech in Caston's sing song voice for not having enough self confidence. He smiled as he recalled the tongue lashing he received when his father walked up behind him in the middle of one of his impersonations.
"Rest peacefully, friend Caston..." Vengilis said after a long moment.
"...In forests that never know the bite of the axe or sting of the flame," everyone chorused.
There were a few coughs that choked back tears as Vengilis raised his head along with the rest and regarded them with a few nods here and there. "There are others who will not join us due to a degree of circumstances, but I won't trouble you with details. I will say their absence will undoubtedly be very evident in the days ahead. Which brings me to why you all are here.
"Most of you have been home to hear at least a bit of the news I'm about to pass on, but do not grasp the potential gravity of these events." There were a few worried, unsure looks exchanged among the assembly. "A good portion of you have been fulfilling tasks elsewhere, far from swift, reliable word of home, and know only what gossip you've heard in this room."
Vengilis paused to sigh heavily. "As you all probably suspect, you all wouldn't be gathered here if not for the heavy storm approaching our home. Though our enemy is no stranger to us, it has shown itself to be worthy of more inspection, and possibly action, in the past few days. As some of you have already been told by your loose-tongued friends, the storm bearing down on us is drow."
There were several hisses and other foul insults shouted from around the room. Atticus was among a few who pantomimed spitting on the floor in distaste.
Vengilis waited patiently for the assembled to settle. Atticus caught a hint of a smile stealing across the elf's face. Even with his cool temperament, Vengilis enjoyed a well deserved curse, now and again.
"Before any of you go crashing into the forest with blood on your mind, " there were a few chuckles, "allow me to tell you what's known for certain and, more importantly," Vengilis gave a knowing glare to some of the more stubborn folks to drive his next point home, "what we're going to do about it for the time being."
He took another deep breath and continued, "Not more than two rides before this gathering, our friends east of here in Moonrise Hill came under attack without warning. Those who saw fighting and survived, which wasn't many, mind you, say they were beset by drow. To make matters more troubling, they were attacked shortly after the highsun meal. The guards were caught almost completely off-guard and many died at their post. But, rather than press their advantage, the drow withdrew immediately into the woods. One said the attack ended the moment it began. Only two surviving guardsman reported seeing anything and they both swear they saw a drow face melt into the trees. All told, twenty-three watchman died by dart at their posts around the village and five of their scouts were found later that day, bound and hanged in the woods."
A roar of disgust and anger sparked through the crowd. Fyrna and a few others had to be gently, but forcibly, restrained when they grabbed for their gear, yelling vows of immediate revenge. Atticus fumed silently and saw his anger reflected in Terrick's face.
His mind played back several nightmarish memories. In his mind, he saw himself coming upon the smoking ruins of outlaying cottages, one of his companions cursing drow in these deeds. Sometimes the residents were found burnt inside. More often than not, the residents were never found.
His mind flashed from that to him running down a tree lined hill with several others, racing toward a pillar of smoke they saw coming out of the canopy on the next hill over. As they arrived at the source, they were greeted by the flames of a couple shacks set ablaze, the residents gone along with their assailants. Later near one of the smoking ruins that had been a shack, they found a bolt that Fyrna had identified as drow craftsmanship. They had missed the attack by perhaps mere moments.
From there, one of the most horrifying images from his youth struck him. He was no more than seven winters old and playing further from where he should have been, again. He heard a rustle in the bushes above him and was greeted by a streak of white hair atop the face of the darkest elf he had ever seen. He froze as the thing smiled wickedly at him. Just when it made a motion for him, Atticus heard his father shouting out to him. He turned in the direction of the shouts and when he looked back at the bushes, the dark face melted into the leaves and was gone. His father didn't seem to believe him after his scolding, but he did add that was the very reason he can't stray off like that.
Atticus shuddered as he saw that sinister grin in his mind again. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands to expel the image from his head.
The assembly still hadn't come to order. Some who had to be restrained a moment ago were pointing accusing fingers at friends, shouting at them about what they perceived as cowardice. Those closer to Vengilis pleaded to be let loose upon the forest to exterminate every dark elf they met. The old elf just sat through all this with a tight lipped line forming his mouth, looking at the floor patiently for the rabble to pass.
Atticus almost jumped to his feet as Terrick shouted over all of them, "If all you twittering jays would shut your holes for a breath and let Vengilis finish, you might get your chance for blood without giving any of us need to avenge your stubborn passing! Go crashing through the woods, indeed! Don't ya'll think that's exactly what those vermin want ya to do?!"
Everyone stopped in mid-sentence, frozen in various arguing gestures by the half-elf's sound reasoning. Vengilis smiled his thanks to Terrick as several throats were cleared in obvious embarrassment and folks retook attentive postures. Terrick glanced at Atticus and rolled his eyes to wash away his frustration.
Vengilis took a deep breath before continuing, "For now, that is adequate summary until some of your heads cool. What sparked this attack, we do not know. As alway, rumors abound more than facts. I've been told by some folks that the drow mean to take up permanent residence in Cormanthor." He looked at the gathered sternly. "That will not be allowed. Still others say they mean to push beyond the woods and take the entirety of the dales. I've even heard tale of a traitor somewhere in the dale that is feeding the drow information on where and when a weakened target presents itself."
Vengilis raised his voice a bit to stifle some of the whispers before they gained volume again, "Until we know for sure, we are going to assume all of these and more are a possibility. It will be no more than another ride before scouts return with more word. Then we'll meet again to discuss what, if anything, should be done."
He smiled and swept his gaze slowly once around the room as he spoke, "Now, I know a lot of you have had a long journey and are eager to see your families and friends. With that said, I won't keep you any longer, but I will be calling on those of you who have been abroad in the coming days to give me your reports." He nodded to them and everyone stood, making for the exit.
"Delie!" Atticus heard Vengilis call over the clamor as he approached the doorway. "If I could speak with you, first."

[racestark]

Nearly half of the assembly lingered on the small balcony that wrapped around the perimeter of the shelter speaking in hushed tones so as not to alert unwanted attention that may happen by. A few had to be reminded gently of this as they failed to stifle a laugh at an anecdote or tale told to them by friends who had been performing duties abroad. In inconsistent intervals, a flock would whisper the litany for the vines to lower them safely to the forest floor, each giving the previous flock ample time to disappear and put enough distance between them and the meeting place.
Atticus stood to Terrick's left leaning against the shelter exterior, arms crossed over his chest. His friend conversed softly with Fyrna and the other two elves in her flock. Leodia, the elven lass who completed Atticus and Terrick's flock, stood across from Atticus, her back to him as she leaned against the railing. Her posture betrayed that her pride remained injured from the rebuke Atticus had given her a short time ago.
She had asked how his journey had been, which held no harm in itself. It wasn't necessary, nor possible, to conceal who was home and who was sent into places that once were encompassed by Cormanthor, far from home. What was necessary, and very possible if folks didn't talk about it, was to conceal such folks' destinations. Leodia had made the mistake of speaking the name Cormyr, letting anyone in earshot who had been paying attention figure out where Atticus had been this whole time. He knew she was only filling the wait before their turn to depart, but only she, Terrick and Vengilis were supposed to know where he had been. Thankfully, she had kept her voice low enough while Terrick had the only ears who could have heard her occupied.
He regarded the young elf from beind as she leaned over the rail, doing her best to seem unphased by the sting of his words. Doing a poor job of it, Atticus judged from the tenseness of her posture. He had known her his whole life and knew when she was uncomfortable when he saw it.
Though she was nearly four times Atticus' age, Leodia had been one of the youngest present at the assembly, considering her race. Her lack of experience would have disqualified her from these duties if it weren't for her skill with a bow. There wasn't a veteran marksman among them that had showed as much promise as she when they had been her age.
She may have more winters under her belt, thought Atticus, but she's got the tact of an orc warband.
Knowing they had a while before they left, Atticus decided he had better say something to help her regain her composure. He didn't want her fretting the whole long trek back to where their families awaited their return. He and Terrick would both need her to keep her wits about her. Otherwise, it was possible all three would never be heard from again.
He absently watched the descent of the next flock and said to Leodia, "Been keepin' up that sharp aim of y'ers, Fair One?"
He turned his head to her back and saw her shoulders sag in a sigh. He distinctly heard her mutter in Elven, "What do you care?"
He shrugged and answered her in the same tongue, "Quite a bit, Fair One."
She turned sharply and stared at him with mouth agape. Terrick and the other three he was speaking to stopped their whispering and turned to Atticus, looking almost as shocked as Leodia.
Terrick grinned and said in the fair tongue, "Look who finally learned to speak decently."
Atticus rolled his eyes with a smile. "Apparently, they got better instructors outside of Deepingdale," he joked back. Terrick, Fyrna, Gorilmar and Delie all stifled chuckles with their forearms. Leodia balled up her fists and placed them on her hips, pouting.
"And are you saying my father's a terrible teacher?" she asked, adding a little more venom to her voice than she probably intended.
Atticus shook his head. "Nay. A few words and phrases he tried to teach me stuck in here." He rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. "Aryndul just lacked the...charms my other teachers had." He winked at her and tried to keep his smile as he thought of the elven lasses in Cormyr who had graciously taught him their language. For a moment he worried about matters he had left unfinished before shaking his thoughts clear.
Remember where you are and the task at hand, m'boy, his father's voice echoed in his head.
Leodia nodded after a moment, finally catching on to what he meant. She presented her back to him again, speaking again in her tongue, "If that's what it took to get through to you, you should have just told father to have me instruct you."
"I don't think y'er father woulda wanted me making trouble for his impressionable daughter." He flashed a toothy grin at the others.
"Watch your tongue, fella," she said over her shoulder. "Lot of cover around here. I might 'mistake' you for something else."
"Only joshin' ya," he chuckled back, holding his hands out as if to ward her off. She was in better spirits already.
"Alright, folks. Time to get going," Terrick announced and the two groups exchanged their farewells before Atticus recited the phrase to reach the ground.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trek would take them a bit past nightfall, Leodia had informed them. With word of the attack at Moonrise Hill and rumors of drow on the prowl spreading across the dale, most of the packs of families had migrated to homes that were, though less comfortable, better concealed and in a better position to repel at least a small attack.
Leodia took the lead. Atticus and Terrick watched her head north and waited until she was one hundred paces ahead before they fanned out behind her, Terrick closing half the distance with the young elf so the three of them formed an irregular triangle.
What doubts Atticus had had before about Leodia's focus vanished as he watched her dart from tree to tree. She waited at each trunk, making the proper count before dashing noiselessly to the next. All the while, she kept her eyes forward, relying on the two bringing up the rear to keep up.
He can't teach his own tongue for spit, thought Atticus, but Aryndul sure taught that one how to move properly.
As Leodia waited for each count, Atticus would dash forward, matching his distance from her with Terrick's, keeping fifty paces to the right flank. He'd hunker behind each tree, watching the rear and count as Terrick would move as far forward as Leodia, keeping fifty paces to her left. By that time, the elf finished her count and bolted forward, Atticus on the move just as she reached her next bit of cover. They leap-frogged north like this for a couple of hours, no one making a sound. They were making good time, too.
Atticus guessed they were halfway through the journey, judging by the fading light, when Leodia hunkered down and called in imitation of a lark. The human and half-elf behind her scrambled forward a dozen paces, their haunches almost scraping the ground. Both peered around the trees they had chosen for cover and strung an arrow.
Terrick looked to Atticus who nodded wordlessly. Atticus took his eyes from the direction they had come and watched the woods to either side of his friend as Terrick crept closer to Leodia. Nothing made a move in response to Terrick and Atticus watched as he reached the elf.
He whispered into her ear and she barely pointed forward into the woods, beyond Atticus' sight. Terrick's gaze followed the direction she indicated. Atticus saw his shoulders sag and he whispered with Leodia briefly. Then he turned in Atticus' direction and made a few hand gestures. Atticus squinted into the dying light and read his friends signals without mistake.
Goblin camp--dozen--no guards--camp's about to move.
Atticus gestured his understanding of the message and Terrick signaled again.
Cirlce left--hundred twenty paces--ambush there.
Atticus signaled the affirmative and moved as quietly and as quickly as he could through the brush on his left. He found cover next to a tall, moss covered oak and decided this was a favorable omen.
"Silvanus, steady my hand," he whispered and waited patiently.
If Terrick was planning on doing what he thought he was doing, the half-elf had positioned him right in the intended path of the departing goblins. Leodia would probably remain where Atticus had last seen her, ready to herd them back in Atticus' direction should they make for the small clearing that was in her direction. Terrick would make his way to the rear of the camp as it readied to move. He would be the first to let loose his arrows, taking the goblins by surprise and hopefully stampeding them toward Atticus' ambush.
Several minutes passed without a sound. Atticus cursed for not having time to set a up a snare. He peeked around the tree and saw the faint glow of a dying campfire. Passing bodies would obscure it every few moments.
C'mon, Terrick, he thought. Before they're ready for a fight.
As if Terrick had heard his thoughts, a series of squeaks and screams came from the direction of the camp. He heard Terrick bellow a challenge, trying to drive the goblins forward.
Instead, Atticus heard the survivors of Terrick's initial assault crashing to the right, making for the far edge of the clearing, straight into Leodia. There were more squeals and Atticus started to see figures in the drawing dark rush back to the left, headed for his position. He counted seven. Then six as he saw one drop face forward as it ran, an arrow protruding from its back.
Atticus remained motionless and let the first two goblins run past his tree. Then he stepped out of his hiding place and let fly a missile at the closest approaching enemy. He had his next arrow ready and let it loose as his first foe fell to the ground. Leodia appeared from behind them and fell the remaining two headed for Atticus as his second quarry fell with a sickening gurgle, an arrow sticking out both ends of its neck. The young elf dashed toward her human companion as Terrick took her position, waiting for any possible stragglers who had been away from the camp when the ambush had begun.
Atticus dropped his bow and drew his blades. He and Leodia rushed after the two Atticus had let pass, her swords already in hand. It was only a few bounds before he caught sight of their fleeing backs. Both he and Leodia surged forward.
"Stand and fight, cowards!" Leodia yelled in Elven.
One of the fleeing goblins looked over its shoulder as it ran and let out a yelp. It barked something at its ally and the two broke off in seperate directions. The human and elf followed, Atticus chasing after the one that broke right, Leodia pursuing to the left.
He heard the clashing of steel behind him as he ran. Leodia had caught up with her prey already. The goblin Atticus chased was fast, but his longer legs slowly brought him closer. The creature lept over a brook and stumbled before regaining itself and charging on. Atticus cleared the obstacle without missing a beat and closed the gap with his quarry.
He lashed out with the longer blade in his right hand. His effort was rewarded with a painful scream as the goblin's leg buckled under its own weight. Atticus skidded to a halt and eyed his target. The goblin writhed on the ground, grasping its left calf muscle in pain. Blood oozed from the cut Atticus had scored in its leg.
The goblin looked up painfully and watched Atticus circle around it. Fear consumed its face as the human drew back his shorter blade and jabbed it into the goblin's chest. It spasmed and slowly sagged to the ground, never to move again.
Atticus spat on the body and ran back to where he had heard Leodia engage her enemy. When he reached her, she was already wiping her blades clean on the dead goblins ragged garments. She pointed her blades at him menacingly as he approached and then relaxed when she recognized him.
He nodded to her and cupped his hands to his mouth, calling out like a lark. He heard Terrick call back in similar fashion. All was clear. They made their way back to where Atticus had dropped his bow before approaching where Terrick waited. He was all smiles when they arrived.
"How many did you get?" he asked Atticus.
"Three," he answered.
Terrick's jaw dropped. "Really? I only got two before they all bolted." Both men turned their heads to the young elf. "That means our little lovely here got," he counted on his fingers, "seven."
Atticus whistled his approval. "See why I care how yer aim's comin' along?" he asked her in Elven. She simply beamed back proudly. "Aryndul will be proud when he hears this."
"What should we do with the bodies?" Terrick asked.
"Leave 'em for the crows," Atticus answered. "Their skeletons can serve as a warnin' for any others." Both the others nodded their agreement.
They set out again, making their way north in the same pattern as before. A couple hours later, after nightfall had established itself, they came into view of where Leodia said their families waited without further incident.

[Navygurl]

Very good story but it seems that Atticus has forgot to meantion a few people that he is about to call family and some of his friends. Just thought I would throw that in there and hope that Atticus does come back for them and mainly for one that truely loves him that thinks he is hurt or even dead. but you got to love me LOL


Navygurl (Danyella Silverhand)

[Navygurl]

Danyella returns to Isnhold to find that Atticus had left shortly after she had to. She has searched the lands but has yet to find him. She is become very worried about him hoping that he is not dead. She knew before she left that he was on a mission to found out more about the drows and what they were up to and this has gotten her very worried that they may have captured him or worse murdered him. Her friends Glew and Padrin has told her that they would help her search for him and her friend Glew said she had heard that he was spotted in the knights forest. Glew told her that she would take her there to see if they could find him.

[racestark]

Leodia motioned for them to hunker down as they came to the edge of the woods. The two ducked behind separate trees and Atticus looked out across the field adjoining the tree line.
The field sloped very lightly uphill for about two hundred yards and was dotted with shrubs among the waist-high grass. At the top of the slope lay another tree line. From previous sojourns here, he knew the field completely encircled the wood ahead, sloping up just as it did before him. The whole wood was just a bit more than a half mile in diameter but was more than enough room to shelter a couple dozen families.
Without erecting stone and wood fortresses, this was the best defense they had in potentially threatening seasons such as this one. The field gave ample forewarning of any unwanted guests approaching to the keen eyes of elf sentries and the elevated approach would buy at least a little time to pepper any enemies with arrows and to call everyone else residing in the wood to arms or to take flight. The high grass, deceptively, was another warning against any foes who would try to approach concealed by many forms of magic. Anyone trying to use it as cover would be disappointed very quickly. The grass stalks, though they stood up straight if unmolested by anything stronger than a moderate breeze, would collapse to the ground almost the moment a humanoid moved against it, something an elf would be very hard pressed to miss.
Leodia molded a hand around her mouth and chirped three times across the field like a sparrow, one of the calls Atticus had never been able to mimic loudly enough. Two sparrow chirps came back from the opposite trees. Leodia answered with two chirps of her own and was replied by a single chirp. She turned to Atticus and Terrick and motioned them forward with her head.
They crept toward the closest shrub in single file, keeping their postures bent to minimize their silhouettes against the stars. At first the grass fell away from them but as they got closer to the bush the grass simply moved aside as they brushed pass and stood up again. The shrubs were, once again, not cover but markers. If one walked directly from one to the other in a counter-clockwise direction around the hill, never zigging nor zagging to the next bush, the grasses growing between them would stay erect, concealing the safe approach.
As they came to each bush Leodia would chirp three times and wait for the two chirp response, answering with two and waiting for the single chirp confirmation. Every single sentry would need to be aware of their approach as they orbited their destination.
Only when they were inside the sanctuary of the trees did Atticus relax some. He could not spot the sentries watching the western side where they had entered and did not expect to. The lack of arrows in their torsos were all the welcome they would receive, for now.
They walked unhurriedly a few yards before Leodia turned to them both and said, "Well, gentlemen, I think you can find your way home from here." Both men nodded. "Right, then. I'll be turning in now," the elven lass announced. "The Seldarine's blessings on you both."
"Silvanus keep you," Atticus replied in Elven.
"And Solonor smile on you," Terrick said with a wink.
With that, Leodia nodded and darted back the way they had come and out of sight. The two old friends turned to each other in silence for a moment, waiting for the other to speak first.
"Well?" Terrick chuckled. "You gonna leave me out here or are you gonna invite me in?"
Atticus lifted an eyebrow at him. "Ain'tcha goin' to see y'er folks?"
"Sure, but I don't think they'll be gone by the time I have a chance to say hello to good 'ole Mesra," Terrick replied with a grin. Atticus simply rolled his eyes.
Terrick had always had a soft spot for his friend's mother, even while her husband had still been breathing. He would always be over offering help to Mesra with whatever small task needed being done. Though Atticus didn't mind the affections his friend held for his mother, he didn't appreciate it when he echoed her mild disappointment in the path her son had chosen to serve Cormanthor. He had seen over thirty winters and she still berated him like a child sometimes.
"Alright. But'cha ain't stayin' long. Got it?" Atticus dug a finger into Terrick's chest.
"I gotcha," he said, almost jumping up and down.
"C'mon then."
Atticus led the way deeper into the woods. They came to an old oak and stopped. Atticus gently pushed aside a blanket of hanging moss and stooped through the entrance of the old bear den where his family when staying in these parts. Terrick followed.
Atticus leaned his and his father's bows against the wall and let his pack drop from his shoulders. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and whispered, "Home."
The abandoned bear den had been enlarged some from what it had been originally to accommodate a family of three. Judging by the entrance, the previous occupant had to have been just a juvenile. Off to the left, a rug separated three small alcoves from the main chamber. The furnishings in the main living space were sparse and simple. The room was dominated by a table of raised earth, various herbs, utensils and clay bowls strewn about it. A few rugs rested on the ground on the right side of the room. Dug into the earthen walls were a few shelves that held a variety of clay cups and bowls. Nestled into one such shelf lay the skull of an orc--the head of his father's murderer and the only trophy kept in the dwelling. Other than that, the place was empty and still.
"Don't look like anyone's home," Terrick groaned.
Atticus chewed on his lower lip. His attention was drawn to the farthest alcove as he heard voices and the scuffling of feet suddenly coming from behind the blanket. His mother burst from behind the rug, two young handmaids trailing closely behind.
The tree women didn't take notice of the two men standing in the entrance. All three were spotted with blood which didn't alarm Atticus in the least. From their bustle and the purposefulness of his mother's commands, he knew she was performing her midwife duties.
"No! Not that one! That one!" Mesra shouted at one of her assistants and pointed her to the correct clay container. She turned to the second young woman and knocked the containers she had collected out of her hands. "Here!" Mesra barked and dumped several rags and pillows into his arms, topping it off with a clay pan.
The three almost bolted back the way they had came when Atticus deliberately cleared his throat. The women stopped immediately and stared at the two men who smiled back at Mesra.
After a moment she caught herself and pushed the two young ladies back into the alcove. "Give her the blue liquid and then the green one! And make sure ya put that bit back in 'er teeth! And keep her warm!" she ordered. "I'll be in in a moment."
The young ladies disappeared and Mesra turned to her son, wiping blood from her hands on the already stained apron tied around her thickened waist. She regarded him impassively as she tucked one of her long brown locks of hair behind her ear.
Mother and son stared silently at each other for a moment before Mesra put her arms out and motioned him to her embrace saying, "Well, quit standin' there and come give y'er poor muther a hug."
Atticus wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly. "Now," he thought with a smile, "I'm home." He was so overjoyed to see her that he didn't care how much blood she got on him. Once he had gotten a hold of her, he refused to let go.
Mesra finally broke free and held him by the shoulders at arms length as she looked him up and down. Both were beaming at the sight of one another.
"Looks like the trails been kind to ya," she said. Atticus quietly nodded his agreement.
Terrick cleared his throat.
Mesra turned to her half adopted son and smiled. "I hope ya've been keepin' outta trouble, young man, " she chided the half-elf. "Ya ain't been gettin' m'boy here stuck up a tree without a rope, have ya?"
Terrick kicked at the floor sheepishly and averted his eyes like a bashful child. "Ah, you know me, Mesra. I'd never get Atti into something he couldn't get himself outta."
"Mmhm," she responded with a nod.
She looked them both over with eyes drunk from affection when sudden realization came over her face and she started gathering blankets and a water skin.
"Help me, would'cha?" She held out a pair of heavy blankets and motioned for her son to put up his arms, dumping the blankets on them as he did. "Hester's in the middle of her labor pains," she continued as she gathered a few more clay containers from the table, each containing a curative herb or potion.
"There problems?" Atticus asked, concern commanding his expression. He'd seen his mother do this more times than he could count but had never seen her this frazzled.
Mesra paused, glancing about the room for anything she might have forgotten. "The babe didn't turn as it shoulda. We had much difficulty coaxin' it to. The child will probably live. It's Hester I'm worried about. She's lost a lotta blood."
"I think I'll be taking my leave, then," Terrick cut in.
Atticus turned to his friend with a wide grin at his squeamishness despite the urgency in the next room. "Ya sure?"
Terrick nodded frantically. "Aye, I'm sure. See you, Atticus. Mielikki's hand be with you in your task, Mesra."
"Give your parents my love," Mesra called over her shoulder as she headed for the alcove, motioning for her son to hurry.
"Take care, Terrick," Atticus said as the half-elf gave him a friendly slap on the back and departed. He stood there watching the entrance for a moment after he had left before turning to the room his mother had gone into.
He ducked through the blanket separating the two rooms and saw a scene of chaos without sound. This unsettled him until he stepped forward and felt a small tingle wash across his body. Then he remembered his mother and the other priestesses employed a ward against sound escaping the room where a birth was taking place just as the noise of what lay before him assaulted his ears.
It took his mind a moment to sort out the confusion of women running about the cramped room, bumping into each other, the barked orders his mother kept demanding and the wailing of a woman in terrible pain and fear. When it finally did, he saw a young woman, aged no more than twenty-two winters, writhing on a pile of furs, her auburn hair drenched in sweat. She screamed so loudly that Atticus wondered if the force of it would break through the sound barrier his mother and her fellow midwives had put up. One such midwife was to the right of the bed, fighting squeamishly against Hester's screams as she tried to replace the cloth en-wrapped bit into the imperiled woman's teeth. On the opposite side, a young man Atticus knew as Serisole and Hester's mate, held his wife by both wrists, pinning her arms down to prevent them from flailing about. At Hester's feet, two ladies held her legs in the proper position to give birth as his mother took up position to catch the child, her pleas to the other midwives becoming more desperate.
That's when the real cause for urgency hit Atticus. The faces of all the other seven were still youthful, a couple still cherubic. They lacked the weathered worry etched into every experienced midwife's face he'd seen before. This was a lesson for these young women. A routine birth they were to assist in and learn from that went horribly wrong. His mother was the only one among them with a clear head.
He stepped forward and pushed the young lady trying to replace the bit aside, dumping the blankets he held into her arms and snatched the stick from her before she could protest. He knelt beside the bed and relieved her of her duty.
Cradling Hester's head firmly enough to steady it from lashing to and fro, he held the bit ready and watched as she gnashed her teeth between anguished cries. He timed it just right on the first try and positioned the tool into her mouth. Her jaw clamped and his entire body tensed with pain as one of her teeth pinched a good portion of the meat on his forefinger. He bit his own lip but did not withdraw his hand for fear that he would dislodge the bit again. His mind, instead, rehearsed a litany to burden himself with some of Hester's pain. She refused to loosen her bite and Atticus started to beat his foot against the ground in an attempt to lessen the pain all he could.
Mesra turned to the woman her son had just relieved and snapped, "Well, make yerself useful. Help 'im!"
The young lady stood gapping for a moment until Mesra shot her a look that implied both equally urgency and menace. She then immediately knelt beside Atticus. She placed her hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes, repeating a prayer similar to the one running through his head.
Slowly, and almost blissfully, some of the anguish he felt washed away. His prayer had been working all too well. The pain he was able to unburden from Hester had almost brought him to the point of unconsciousness and probably would have if the young midwife had not intervened. It still hurt him in ways he never would have thought possible for a human being to feel.
Almost as slowly, Hester's muffled cries started to subside. Little by little, Atticus felt the pain diminish as everyone but Mesra and the two women holding Hester's legs in position stopped what they were doing and laid a hand on either Hester or someone already in contact with her, praying to share an equal part of the pain the distressed woman felt. And through all of it, Atticus felt some of the sting in his finger being swept away.
Sweat dripping into his eyes snapped audibility back into Atticus' senses. He heard almost a dozen voices muttering prayers to three different deities, more than half of them to the Forest Queen. His mother, her voice still worrisome but cooler, beaconed for Hester to push and breathe. Atticus heard as the expectant mother complied, thankful that the pain he felt at least gave Hester back her senses.
The pandemonium that had consumed the room before was gone. Everyone but Mesra, who had to stay clearheaded, continued to pitch in their share to shoulder some of the pain. The time for healing potions and herbs had passed. Everything now lay in the mercy of the gods and the strength of their faithful.
"I can see the head!" Mesra shouted. "Push, Hester. That'a girl," she coaxed.
Atticus felt the pressure on his finger tighten a bit but it was nothing but a raindrop in a river of torture. It loosened a little as Hester braced for her next effort and he was able to pull his finger away without dislodging the bit. It bled more than he would have thought.
"C'mon, one more," Mesra cooed. "That's my girl."
Hester grunted and Atticus heard the bit snap in a couple of places as a quick, fresh wave of pain passed through him. His head reeled and he struggled to stay awake. He wished the pain in his finger to return.
"I've got 'im!" Mesra announced. "Cover 'er up! Keep 'er warm!"
Atticus felt his eyes roll to the back of his head and both he and Serisole blacked out.

[racestark]

Atticus woke gasping for breath as his head emerged from a river of unremembered nightmares. Instinct forced his hands to his hips and his chest thudded with alarm as they met nothing but grimy cloth. Frantically, he took in his surroundings and slowly started to relax as he recalled the night before.
He lay on a pile of furs covered by a woven blanket in one of the sleeping alcoves. To the right of the bed sat his traveling pack and equipment. The remainder of the ovoid room lay bare with the exception of two tiny niches carved into the earth wall. One held a candle and the other lay bare above the head of the bed.
Atticus sat up in his bed and his head swum some. He remained seated for a moment and caught his balance. When he stood he staggered a couple steps and caught himself.
Gods! I'm tired, he thought.
Stretching almost convinced him to lie back down and sleep a bit longer. Instead, he decided against it and threw on is tunic. Expecting an extended stay, he began unpacking the few personal effects he had and set them about the cramped little room.
He was placing his carved relic of Silvanus in the empty niche above his bed when he heard humming coming through the blanket that separated his room from the main living area.
He pushed a corner of the blanket aside and peeked into the next room. Mesra sat with her back to him on one of the rugs across the room. She picked up a small leather envelope laying at her side and unrolled it. From it she removed a small, crudely carved figurine that Atticus knew to be her relic of Mielikki and reverently placed it in one of the candle shelves etched into the wall. Pulling herself up onto her knees, she bowed her head and murmured her prayers for the morning.
Atticus waited patiently for her to finish. When she did she delicately returned her relic to the leather envelope and rolled it back up. She stood and brushed off her apron before noticing her son in the doorway.
She smiled and said, "Y'er finally up, eh? Hope ya got plenty 'a rest. Ya better after two moon falls."
Atticus leaned his head to the side in surprise. "Two moon falls? I been out two nights?"
"Mmhm. Had us worried there for a while. You and Serisole." She placed the envelope on one corner of the table in the center of the room and picked up a clay bowl, wiggling it a little to direct her son's attention and set it back down. "Y'er prob'ly hungry, too."
His stomach growled its assent at the mention of food. "Actually, I am," and he walked into the room and grabbed the bowl his mother had indicated.
"Stew's cold. Cookin' fires're discouraged right now, ya know. Ya can use one 'a them candles there to heat if up, if ya like." Mesra nodded to one of the candles nearest her son.
"Cold's fine." Atticus put the lip of the bowl to his mouth and slurped some of its contents down. He wiped his chin clean of the little bit of broth that dribbled down it. "How's Hester?"
Mesra didn't look up from her work gathering together a bit of every curative herb, potion and concoction she had available. "She'll be fine. The baby, too. Little boy. Haven't even given 'im a name, yet." She paused and looked up at him. "All these months they knew they were gonna have a babe and they didn't even come up with a name, yet." She shook her head and went back to her task. "Young couples," she said with a snort.
Atticus swished his soup around in the bowl and asked, "How's Serisole?"
" 'Im? He's still in a deep slumber, same as you were. I sent Hester and the babe on their way but he's still lying in the other room 'til he wakes. He ain't as sturdy as ya, I reckon. I'm still surprised y'er awake already," she commented, looking up at him.
Atticus furrowed his brow in an unspoken request for elaboration as he sipped the last of his meal.
"C'mon, m'boy," she said with a smirk. "Why'd ya think you men ain't the ones to carry children? Y'all'd pass out just as the labor pangs start up. The two 'a ya were so pale when ya blacked out, we were afraid ya both were near death at first. Took the rest 'a our healin' spells just ta get yer breathin' regular again. What ya did was reckless. I'm proud ya did it, but reckless all the same. There's a reason why midwifery is women's work."
He set the bowl down and licked his lips. "I still feel beat," he admitted.
"I reckon so. Best take it easy the rest 'a the day. But'cha won't listen ta me anyways, so why bother?"
Atticus rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself to the ground and into a cross-legged sitting position.
"So what've ya heard?" he asked.
" 'Bout what? Drow?" she said with a snarl. "Same ya prob'ly heard. We heard 'bout Moonrise and everyone headed fer the hills. Next thing I know, that young elf lass was sent ta meet up with Terrick and fetch ya. And here ya are."
"So no one's got a clue 'bout what's goin' on, then?"
Mesra shook her head and stuffed her medicines into a burlap sack. "Only thing I know is all the communities are gettin' t'gether t'morrow night. Kinda supposed ta be half celebration that everyone's home and half plannin', I guess."
"I heard 'bout Caston," Atticus said grimly.
"Shame, that is," his mother replied as she looked about the room once. "Ran afoul a rabid bear. Thing tore 'im ta ribbons." She shook her head. "Eldath keep 'im."
She stopped and snapped a finger as she recalled something. "There's a young lass about that's been waitin' fer ya ta come home. Ya prob'ly should go say hello."
Atticus smiled. "Where is she?"
"Oh, she's about. She'll prob'ly find ya first." She hefted her bag over her shoulder and walked over to her son, stooping to kiss him on the forehead. "I gotta go, Atti. Gotta check on Hester and a couple 'a other folks." She headed for the exit and stopped and turned to him.
"If ya go out, which I know ya will since I told ya ta take 'er easy, I'd take yer father's bow with ya and leave that other one behind. Might upset a few of the fairer folk if they be seein' ya with that. Everyone's already edgy as it is."
"I will," Atticus nodded. "Take care, ma."
Mesra winked at him and left.
Atticus sat there a moment before returning to his room. He rolled his arms in their sockets and pulled one foot up behind him against his buttocks and did the same with the other. He bent over at the waist, reaching for his toes and blinked back the spots in his vision as the blood rushed to his head. After three more sets of stretching he returned to the main living area and picked up a washcloth from the table, dipping it in a basin of water before throwing it over his shoulder and walked outside.
Through a yawn he looked around and spotted no one. Daylight was still young as it poked through the trees. He picked up an acorn and walked for a minute or so and found a private place to dig a hole and relieve himself. He washed up and covered his waste partially before dropping the acorn in the hole and replaced the rest of the dirt. He whispered a prayer to aid the seed in its growth and returned home.
He buckled his sword belt around his waist and slipped his quiver over his shoulder. He almost reached for the elf-crafted bow he had wrapped up in his winter cloak when he remembered his mother's advice.
He'd received a few accusations of grave-robbing from some of the Fair Folk in Cormyr when they saw him with the weapon when, in fact, he had helped retrieve it and had received it as a gift from the two elves that he had accompanied in the journey. In no mood to defend himself against any elf's harsh words, he picked up his father's bow and strung it.
With a possible drow threat about, it was always best to stay armed, even when simply visiting other families in the immediate vicinity.
He put two fingers to his lips and touched them to the relic sitting in the wall. He shifted his body so his quiver and belt rested more comfortably against him and stepped outside again.
With nowhere in particular to go in his mind, Atticus simply roamed the small wood until he came upon the eastern edge by chance. An elf sentry by the name of Farsel turned his head as he approached and nodded with a smile and returned to watching the field from behind a tree. Atticus leaned behind a tree next to his and smiled back. A soft whistle above his head caused him to look up and he spotted Leodia sitting in the very same tree he rested against, several branches up. She smiled and waved down at him and continued her watch after the wave was returned.
"Good to see you, Atti," Farsel said in Elvish, keeping his eyes on the field.
At first he wondered what would lead the elf to believe that Atticus understood him when he remembered who was in the tree above him. "It's good to be seen," he replied in the same tongue. "Anything new?"
Farsel shrugged. "A deer came by earlier, but we decided to let it be since it didn't seem too threatening," the elf answered in his usual sarcasm. "Vengilis acted a bit too rashly, if you ask me, sending everyone to their retreats."
"Have you ever known Vengilis to be wrong?" Leodia asked from above them.
"Not when it was important," Farsel admitted.
"I'm guessing you don't know anything he isn't telling, do you?" Atticus asked as he peeked from behind his cover to survey the field.
Farsel shook his head. "Sit and wait." He turned his head to Atticus briefly with a grin. "But waiting is what we're know for, eh."
Atticus gave a soft snort of amusement. "Anything new around here since I've been gone?"
"Hester had a child the other day," Farsel replied. "Little boy."
"I heard," Atticus answered with more hurt in his voice than he meant.
Farsel looked at him curiously and shrugged the tone of his speech off. "Just the normal plantings, animal breeding and the like. We thought we had a bit of a troll problem on our hands a little while back. Attacked a couple travelers headed from Highmoon and a few other places. Turned out it was the same damned troll. Got to hand it to him, though. The thing kept evading our pursuit for almost a tenday. But he won't be bothering anyone again."
Leodia snickered from above.
"How about yourself, my friend?"
"Nothing special," Atticus lied. "I still have yet to give Vengilis my report." He rested his bow against the tree and started to pick at his fingernails. "I sure did miss home, I got to say."
"Home missed you. And Terrick, even," Farsel said with a chuckle.
Atticus joined him and pushed himself upright from the tree and picked up his bow. "I'm going to be on my way, then. There's a lass around here whose been dying to see me, I'm told."
"Her," Leodia said with a scoff. "She's been whimpering and whining ever since you left her here the last time you came back. Maybe you can shut her up, finally."
Atticus looked up the young elf with a scowl and she shrugged back at him. "Take care, you both. Silvanus be with you."
"Likewise," Farsel said without looking at him.
Atticus walked back the way he had came and exchanged a few words with some of the folks he came across who had roused and were about tending to saplings. He walked on and came upon a human man named Perther who was training a handful of wolf pups that looked oddly familiar.
" 'Ello there, Atti," Perther greeted as the ranger approached. "Come ta see yer old lady, I imagine?" he said with a chuckle.
Atticus nodded. "She about?"
"Aye, one moment."
He walked to the far end of a tree nearby and stuck his head in a hole. He pulled it out and an adult she-wolf followed. She rocked back on her hind legs and stretched. She looked at Atticus and pivoted her head to one side as she gazed at him. Atticus smiled and knelt, holding his arms out wide. The wolf gave a soft yelp and ran into his arms, licking him in the face furiously. Atticus couldn't contain his glee and laughed aloud, holding her and ruffling her head. Perther smiled with fists on his hips at the reunion and sat down in the midst of the pups he had been training.
"That one missed ya, methinks," Perther chuckled. He looked down at the pups and said, "Say 'ello to yer uncle Atti, fellas."
Atticus said between tongue lashings, "I missed ya, too, Yonia."

[racestark]

He spent the remainder of that morning catching up with folks with whom he crossed paths. He basked in the warm familiarity of a clannish family. He had missed that in Cormyr. There wasn't a solitary soul whose name he did not know in a flash nor was there any lack of topics that came to mind that would spark an engaging conversation with each individual.
Secrets were as rare as gold among these people he called kin. And there was just as little need for them. Every quirk, habit, fear, aggravation, joy; they were all known to everyone eventually. The knowledge of that gave off a pervading sense of comfort among everyone. Transgressions would be met with shunning initially, but so long as one remained true to the calling, even those who had been trespassed against would take up arms at an offender's side.
And it wasn't just here, in this little commune.
The same held true in every other community scattered throughout the dale and Cormanthor. Even whole communes feuded with each other from time to time but always remained loyal enough to come to the other's need. It was a small model of the dales that most of the dales had seemed to have forgotten.
"More bread?" Vartul asked, holding out the loaf. Atticus had stopped to share the highsun meal with the fletcher. He wiped his hand not holding his meal bowl on his breeches and broke a piece off of the extended offering with a smile.
"Thanks," he said and tipped the bread to Vartul as nobility would do with a chalice. He bit into it and leaned back against the tree the two shared. He chewed contently and admired the arrows sitting to his right that the old man had given him for the sixth time. They were a welcome home gift of sorts and their craftsmanship was splendid, though not to the degree of an elf's hand. Nonetheless, it was an art unto itself that he had almost forgotten in Cormyr.
"I gotta hand it to ya, Vartul," he spoke around a mouthful. He swallowed before continuing. "It'll sure be nice to finally have a quiver that'll shoot proper-like. Could hardly find a straight arrow in my travels."
"Sure it was the arrows?" the fletcher chuckled with a playful jab of his elbow to Atticus' rib.
Atticus frowned at the stew he spilled and bit off another piece of bread. "Why don'tcha take fifty paces in front of ya and we'll find out?"
Vartul guffawed. "Only fifty? Pfft! You ain't as sure of a shot as I bin hearin'." They turned to each other and grinned.
A rustling of leaves came from behind the tree and Terrick appeared from the left side of it.
"Look who we got here!" Vartul exclaimed. "If it ain't Prince Charmin' himself!"
Terrick rolled his eyes playfully. "Fine morning to you, Gas-bag. Good to see you're out and about, Atti." He sat down next to Vartul and graciously waved aside the bread the fletcher offered. "Your strength back, yet?"
Vartul looked to his right and gave Atticus a quizzical frown. "Why? What happened?"
Atticus shook his head and Terrick chuckled. "Atti here tried his hand at being a midwife. Apparently he hasn't got the gumption for it."
"Little queasy in the stomach there?" Vartul laughed giving him another jab to the ribs.
Atticus glared playfully at Terrick and said, "Not quite but sumthin' like that. Did'cha need sumthin', Prince Charmin'?"
Terrick brushed aside his nickname with a sigh-ending laugh. "Actually, I'm headed out with the first scouting party to the meeting place. Was wondering if you were going to come along."
Atticus shrugged. "When ya leavin'?"
"As soon as everyone's grabbed what they need and met on the north side."
"Sure. I've heard enough of this old cuckoo's squawkin'." He jabbed a thumb in Vartul's direction.
"Ha!" the old man snorted. "Ya just better pray ya be keepin' y'er good looks and grace when ya get this old. Like I did."
Atticus patted him on the shoulder as he stood. "Thanks for the meal, Vartul. See ya this evenin'."
"Be careful, the both of ya. Silvanus' blessin's be with ya."
"Likewise."
"I'll see you on the north side once you're ready," Terrick said and turned to say farewell to the fletcher. Atticus gave his old friend a nod and collected the arrows Vartul had given him before returning home.
He unbuckled his sword belt as he entered his sleeping chamber, letting it clatter to the ground. He donned his leather jerkin and made sure it rested comfortably, maximizing his mobility, before re-buckling his belt around his waist. He reached for his father's bow and paused. For a few moment, he pondered taking the elf-crafted weapon wrapped up in his winter coat but decided against it.
He removed a few unnecessary objects from his traveling bag before throwing it around his shoulders. Standing before the relic nestled over his bed, he bowed his head and whispered, "Treefather, keep us unseen and our path clear." He touched two fingers to his lips and touched them to the figurine before leaving the dwelling.
When he reached the assembly area, Farsel, the moon elf he had spoken to earlier in the day, stood there speaking with one of the sentries. The two waved to Atticus as he approached without stopping their conversation. Atticus took a seat against a tree and waited patiently for the rest of the party to arrive.
Terrick was the first to show followed shortly by Jiltin, a Lathanderite who was one of the best swordsmen in the commune. The combed, brown-haired man's appearance was a polar opposite to most of the folks with whom he lived and toiled beside. His grooming habits alone singled him out. Where most of the men simply went unshaven for tendays on end and hadn't had a hair trim for months, Jiltin always appeared presentable enough to appear in a royal court. At least, that's what Atticus thought when he started to compare the man's well maintained armor to his own randomly stitched-together jerkin. The man had seen just shy of thirty winters and was one of the few humans who had answered the calling rather than being born into it. He removed the gauntlet from his right hand and shook Atticus' and ruffled Yonia's scalp.
Terrick exchanged a few words with Farsel and the elf gave him a nod before breaking out of the forest and beginning his orbit through the field.
The fifth and final member of their scouting party arrived a few moments later. One of the young midwives from the other night, Bartalla, was a devout of Eldath who had sworn to never raise a hand against a living creature. Her blond hair was done up in a bun and she wore a green cloak clasped around her neck and a simple traveling outfit. She had seen barely twenty winters and still held the air about her of a shy child in the company of adults. She bowed slightly to the men in a wordless greeting. Atticus noticed that she kept averting her eyes from him and started to wonder if there was something taboo about himself in her mind.
"Right," Terrick said after a moment. "Farsel's going to wait for us at the edge of the surrounding woods. He'll be our lead scout with Atticus covering his trail so Yonia can sniff out any trouble before it sees us. Jiltin, Bartalla, you'll be bringing up the middle. Keep Atticus in sight but don't follow any closer. I'll bring up the rear and leave the markings for the second party to follow. Any questions?" Everyone shook their head.
"Alright. The next party leaves in less than an hour, followed shortly by everyone else. Now, we all know these woods well enough and they're usually quite safe, but stay alert, all the same. Let's see if we cant get there before any of the other communities do."
Everyone laughed and followed Terrick through the field. The sentry bade them Corellon's blessing as they passed. They found Farsel a few yards into the woods and everyone got into their marching order. Atticus whispered into Yonia's ear and pointed to Farsel. The wolf looked at the elf and gave a wag of her tail. With a nod from Terrick, Farsel quietly ducked through the woods headed northeast, deeper into the Semberholme. Atticus waited until he was out of sight and released Yonia. The wolf trotted after the elf, haunching just enough so as not to slow her movement. Atticus followed her and tried to keep up the best he could without making a sound.
They traveled for the better part of an hour without stopping, everyone relying on the one behind them to keep up. As they walked on, Terrick would leave small trail signs for the next party to let them know that this path was clear when they had passed through.
Atticus spotted Farsel taking cover behind a thornberry bush. The elf gave the signal for cover and Atticus passed the signal down the line before waving the wolf back to his side. Yonia laid on her belly next to him and prepared to spring when needed. Atticus strung an arrow and kept his eyes on Farsel and his ears focused on the sounds coming from the forest. The birds and insects were still calling out but nothing else could he detect.
Yonia caught a scent and started clawing at the ground excitedly. Atticus turned his eyes as she softly whined and glanced up at him, licking her nose.
"What is it?" he whispered.
He saw Farsel tense from behind his cover and the elf slowly stood up to look over the bush, training his bow along his eyesight. There was a thrash in the bushes and a boar shot out of the thornberry bush with a squeal under Farsel's feet. The elf swore and jumped out of the way.
Atticus eased the tension on his bow and put a hand on Yonia's back to keep her from bolting after the animal. He felt the wolf's muscles tensing as if about to run after the meal. But she simply pawed at the ground and gave a few yelps in the direction of the fleeing boar, watching the direction it had run until the sound faded. She looked up at Atticus with a wag of her tail and he patted her on the flank.
Farsel was grinning back at him, shaking his head at himself. Atticus gave him a lop-sided grin and signaled back what had happened. He heard Terrick snicker from behind and waved the elf forward.
After almost another hour had passed, they could catch glimpses of Lake Sember through the trees of in the distance off to their right. They were well over half way to their destination and were making excellent time.
Not long after they lost sight of the lake, Yonia froze and laid on her belly. Her lips were curled back and Atticus caught a low snarl coming from her. He crouched behind a tree and held up his hand for the others to find cover. He gave a soft whistle to catch Farsel's attention and the elf hid without looking back. Atticus tried to call Yonia back to him, but the wolf just laid there, snarling and looking off to their left. He looked forward to the elf for any signal but Farsel shrugged back at him. He turned to his rear and saw Jiltin making his way to Atticus' position.
The swordsman opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was forgotten when a murderous squawk-roar rang out from their left. The sound of something large crashing through the woods came toward them from the left. Yonia gave a bark and Farsel shouted, "Owlbear!"
Then Atticus saw it. The beast was the size of a bear covered head to toe in feathers. Each limb ended in a set of claws that would cut easily through flesh and bone. Its owl-like head cried another roar as it barreled down on Yonia.
The wolf bolted in panic and ran past Atticus and Jiltin. The beast followed and set its eyes on the two men.
"Scatter!" Atticus yelled and dove away from the creature's path. Jiltin drew his broadsword and stood his ground.
"Lathander, give me strength!" he yelled and did a full turn out of the beast's path at the last instant, bringing his weapon around to slash across its flank as he completed the feint. The blade cut deep but the owlbear did not falter. When it turned to attack the man again, two arrows appeared in one of its hind legs. The beast whirled on Terrick and charged at him with a bellow. Atticus fired at the beast once he picked himself up and found the target too large to miss. The three arrows he let fly found their way into the creature's other hind leg, slowing its charge some.
"Get out of the way!" Terrick screamed to Bartalla and the young woman ran for better cover. The owlbear reared up on its back legs and slashed at the half-elf. Terrick rolled out of the way and did all he could to keep a tree between him and the creature.
Farsel appeared at Atticus' side and said, "Get it to chase you this way! And whatever you do, don't stop running!"
Atticus simply reacted and ran after the owlbear before he realized how insane the idea was. He loosed an arrow at its rear and the thing turned on him with a terrible cry. It charged him and Atticus ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He spied Farsel aiming straight at him but didn't stop, knowing the murderous beast was gaining on him quickly.
Then, with terror in his eyes, he saw Farsel release his bowstring and an arrow whizzed by Atticus' right ear with the buzz of an angry insect. There was a groan from behind him followed by a loud crash. He ran past the elf and stopped when he realized the elf wasn't running. He looked back the way he had ran and saw the owlbear laying in a heap, twitching. Farsel's arrow was buried halfway up the shaft into its right eye.
Jiltin took no chances with the thing and pounced on it, jabbing it three times in the belly. When it didn't make a sound of protest, he was satisfied and wiped his blade clean on the carcass and sheathed it. Terrick and Bartalla gathered near them and the company stood around the dead animal with almost blank expressions.
Terrick wiped his nose with his forearm and said, "Haven't seen one of them around here in a while." He looked up at Farsel and asked, "Take it with us or leave it with the main body?"
"Leave it. They can take the time to butcher it properly," the elf looked up and licked his lips hungrily through a grin.
Jiltin looked around at them in confusion. "Butcher it? You don't mean to eat it, do you?" The other four laughed and Terrick gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Never had owlbear before?" Atticus chuckled. "Don't worry. Y'er in fer a treat." The Lathanderite stood there, staring at the carcass, his face curled in disgust.
"Let's press on," Terrick whispered. "And quietly." He gave Jiltin a wink and headed back the way they had came to leave his trail sign.
"You can't be serious," he asked, looking around at the other three. They all simply shrugged and continued deeper into the woods.
They arrived at the meeting area a few hours before dusk. The location was a patch of woods that rested under the cover of giant shadowtops. Their canopies blocked out all direct sunlight and, as a result, most of the underbrush found throughout the forest was almost bear here. The area stretched a hundred yards from both north to south and east to west. Giant branches that fell from the forest giants above were strewn about the area, some arranged in circles to tell tales and share meals, a small pit for a cooking fire dug into the center of the rings.
The epicenter was a nondescript stone rising about three feet out of the ground. The marker was a memorial to Hythrael, the first to hear the calling two centuries ago. It was the vision of this deceased elf that eventually brought a little over two hundred humans and elves together for the one cause they all shared.
Movement from the northern edge caught Atticus' attention and he heard the call of a lark from that direction. Terrick answered with a similar call and looked to his companions.
"Come on," he waved them forward. "We didn't come this far to be beaten at the final leg." Everyone grinned and ran for the memorial. Atticus saw the other party had the same thought as they raced for the same destination.
Farsel surged ahead of his companions as Atticus recognized Fyrna at the head of the other team. He realized the futility of trying to beat both elves and eased up his pace to watch the two race toward each other. Farsel's longer legs gave him the slight advantage that he needed and the moon elf beat Fyrna by just a breath. He and his companions all cheered and the two groups greeted each other with a little jesting on both sides.
It wasn't long before a couple more parties started to trickle in. After the first community had fully arrived, arrangements were prepared so the festivities could begin.

[racestark]

A survey of the surrounding area revealed nothing more than the expected trail-signs. Upon their return, they were greeted by Fyrna's tribe who had made their way from the northern shores of the Semberflow. The new arrivals had already begun digging out a pair of fire pits and pitching the trio of molted tents they had transported while others had already led the children into the wood to gather some kindling.
Atticus and his companions exchanged several warm greetings with them for this was the sister tribe to their own. The two were little more than three day's travel from one another and collaborated together fairly often. In fact, it was quite rare that a planting from one did not include a fair mix of folks from the other.
An hour or so later, just as Selune's light was starting to dominate the sky, Atticus' own tribe arrived with the butchered meat of the owlbear they had slain. After many hearty welcomes and playful greetings, the beast was prepared. Human, elf, and their shared progeny alike sat down in three large circles to a very jovial meal. Though Vengilis would have disapproved of the commotion they were making, he wasn't present and folks didn't stop themselves from shouting, 'Ain't that right?' and 'You remember when,' between the groups.
Atticus spent much of the meal showing off his newfound aptitude for Elvish to Aryndul, his former instructor, by conversing with Terrick's parents in the melodious tongue.
"You've got the vocabulary and sentence structure almost mastered, I'll give you that," the elf interrupted at one point, "But do you know how terrible your accent sounds?"
Atticus grinned and said, "Aye, I've heard that before."
"Just wanted to make sure you knew." Aryndul leaned back and winked at his former student.
With full bellies, the conversation waned to soft murmurs. Atticus lingered about for a while before setting off with the many whose faith dictated benediction after sundown. Together they chanted the Call of the Cycle, a profession of their belief that every creature was the rebirth of another until their service to Cormanthor had been completed, upon which their soul would receive its eternal reward. After the creed, each spent their own time in individual worship and asking for divine favors for the day to come.
Atticus finished his devotions to the Treefather and returned to the folks gathered around the fires whose numbers were dwindling as people turned in for the night. He said good night to his mother and Terrick's family and curled up next to a tree not far from one of the remaining circles. With his pack as a pillow and Yonia laying back to back with him, he closed his eyes and slept.
He awoke just before dawn was creeping through the trees and tried to recall the dream he just had. Giving up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and did his morning stretches. He spotted a small knot of early risers through the morning mist sitting around one of the extinguished fires.
Atticus picked up his bow and gave Yonia a customary glance as she wandered off to either evacuate herself or eat. He walked over to the group and Terrick smiled at him sleepily as he took a seat next to him. Leodia sat on the opposite side of the circle and to her right sat Nethra, a woman of about Atticus' age who hailed from the commune north of the Semberflow. Streaks of white were already starting to dominate the color of her light brown hair. At her feet sat her son, Dunther. The toddler rolled his hand over on itself, watching an insect make continuous circuits around his hand.
"I'd offer you some owlbear," Terrick said through a yawn, "but Jiltin ate it all."
"How goes it, Atticus?" Nethra asked. "It's been a while."
Atticus nodded. "It goes well. You?"
"Can't complain."
"And how's the little fella?"
She smiled at her son and pushed some hair from his eyes. "Gets into everything. And especially if it involves bugs. He got himself into a fire ant nest not too long back. Came home crying and making a big fuss. Hopefully it'll teach him some sense about leaving some things alone but it hasn't stopped him from picking everyone of 'em up."
"Watcha got there?" Atticus asked with inflated enthusiasm as he haunched down in front of the boy.
Dunther held up his hand and said, "Buggy."
"I know. Ya know what kind it is?"
The little fella scrunched up his face, trying to come up with an answer he did not know. He stared at the insect as if it would tell him the answer.
"That's a caterpillar," Atticus said, pointing at the green larva slinking around the child's hand. "Cat-er-pillar."
"Catapitta?" Dunther said. "Catapitter!" he squealed.
"Then it becomes a butterfly!" Atticus opened his arms wide and flapped them a few times. Dunther just looked at him quizzically and then at the caterpillar. "Ya'll get it, eventually," he said and retook his seat next to Terrick.
"It's not poisonous, is it?" Nethra asked.
"Nah. Only if he eats it," Terrick said. "Then it'll just give him a stomachache."
"Nethra was just telling us what she heard has been going on lately," Leodia said.
"Like I was telling them," Nethra said, "there's been a steady rise in drow sightings and attacks coming from out of Battledale and Mistledale. Woods and roads alike that were once thought safe have fallen prey. I've even heard rumors coming all the way from Harrowdale that the drow have moved into the abandoned portions of the old Elven Court."
"But that's all it is," interjected Terrick. "Just rumors."
"True, but a rumor's gotta have some bit of truth to it. I'm telling y'all, that attack we heard about at Moonrise Hill. I'm telling ya, that won't be the last in y'er neck of the woods." She gave them all a look that dared them to tell her she was wrong.
"I say bring them on," Leodia grinned wickedly, once again letting the impetuousness of her youth shine through. Terrick leaned away from her and raised his eyebrow.
"I pray y'er wrong, Nethra," Atticus said, "but I'm gonna hear what Vengilis knows before I make up my mind." There was a large groan from the woods as someone woke and stretched.
"I'm not asking ya to. I'm just sayin'. It's gonna happen and I hope we're all ready for it."
"I still hope y'er wrong."
"Oh, I am, too."
Yonia came snuffling up to them and gave each of them a sniff before sitting besides Atticus' feet. "Doggie!" Dunther cried and threw the caterpillar into the air and wrapped his arms around the wolf. His mother caught the larva and set it safely on the ground.
"No, sweetie," she corrected gently as she pried him from the animal that was obviously growing uneasy. "Pet the doggie softly." She guided his hand across Yonia's back. "See? Softly." Dunther obeyed and ceaselessly pet the wolf's mane. Yonia relaxed and started to lick him occasionally.
"So you're saying those things are trying to carve a living on the surface?" Leodia pressed.
Nethra shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't pretend to understand the nasty things. I just know whatever's been going on, we're going to see the worse soon."
The camp started to rouse itself and Atticus and Terrick joined the hunting party to gather breakfast. The sixty or so sat down to a morningfeast of venison and a small variety of wild berries and nuts.
The day was spent sharing stories and woods lore. A couple of times throughout the day a pair would argue over who was the better marksman and a brief competition would break out. Many times, these matches would stem from an argument among spectators relating to the previous contest.
Late in the afternoon, the commune from the Yevenwood arrived. They were the more cheerful bunch and they brought with them the mead. Everyone was happy to see them. The general tranquility of that wood allowed for more time replanting Cormanthor without having to worry about combating other unsavory forest inhabitants. It also possessed the single largest congregation among the collectives devoted to Eldath with nearly half of its number being worshipers of the Green Goddess.
The days proceeded much the same as the first as each tribe arrived one at a time. The following evening, the third commune arrived. Hailing several miles southwest of Peladan's Helm in what is known as the Beast Country, they had cut across Mistledale into the Semberholme.
They were an almost surly lot when compared to the Yevenwood collective. Their's was a life of constant struggle against an almost ceaseless stream of goblinoids pouring down from the Thunder Peaks into Mistledale. They were all volunteers culled from the other tribes who took a more militaristic approach to Cormanthor's rebirth. Their constant sorties with orcs almost drew Atticus into their ranks shortly after his father's death, but his youth had prevented him from being accepted and time had cooled his hate just below the urge to participate in constant warfare.
Vengilis arrived the next morning with his collective, having traversed the woods from the edge of Cormanthor roughly ten miles due south of the Abbey of the Golden Sheaf. These folk were the most tolerant toward the church of Chauntea. Their collaboration with the temple of the Earthmother prevented them becoming jaded like the other tribes felt toward her and her faithful. Some even went so far as to call her a hypocrite at times.
Shortly before dusk that same day, the final tribe arrived from the woods a few miles northeast of a small town called Hap. The majority of them were elves with a couple of copper elves among them. They were among the finest scouts between Battledale and Harrowdale. Their naturalists were extremely resourceful and their herbalists were some of the most learned.
After a few hours of robust merry-making, Vengilis regrettably got to the matter at hand and called all the communal leaders and scouts who had yet to give their report into his tent.
"You better tell me everything that's said," Terrick articulated in a brief moment of sobriety after Atticus had received the summons. He pointed a finger at Atticus and swayed drunkenly, falling into a giggle.
Atticus patted him on the back and approached Vengilis' tent. He took a seat inside and waited for the elf to speak.

[racestark]

"I trust everyone has kept their merry-making to a low level," Vengilis began after everyone had assembled in the candle-lit tent, "because I'm relying on each of you to aid in the rumor dispersal. So I want you all to have clear heads about you when you hear what I have to say." Everyone looked around at each other and nodded their ascent that they had kept their drinking to a minimum. "Very well, then," the old elf said.
"By now, I'm sure many bits of gossip and speculation have reached your ears. I am aware of these and more. Some of them have some truth to them though most are still only exaggerated stories passed from hamlet to hamlet.
"I will tell you this straight out. Evidence shows that drow war-bands are setting up at least semi-permanent residence in the forests around our parts of the dales. Mistledale has seen the worst of it, so far, while the woods around Battledale become increasingly more perilous. Until recently, Deepingdale and Semberholme have only seen minor assaults in comparison."
"What of the rumors of a sizable force occupying the old Elven Court?" broke in the leader of the collective from near Hap.
Vengilis calmly held up a hand at the interruption and replied, "For now, that is only rumor. I can understand your concern, friend Orcalsl, but we must address the matter we know about before we devote energy to what is yet to be determined." Vengilis smiled. "Rest assured, should I hear the reports back, you'll be the first to whom I'll retell their findings." There were a couple of snickers.
The old elf continued. "For the most part, the drow had been keeping to a strategy of hitting soft targets--small caravans on remote roads, solitary homesteads and the occasional raids on small hamlets. Marks that would allow them a quick surprise from the Underdark and a quick retreat.
"This attack on Moonrise Hill, though, is a rather hard target for a simple raid and would suggest a strategy formed from days of watching and waiting for the proper moment to strike. This is based off of several things. First, the drow were able to slay every scout from one approach to the village without raising an alarm. From what I'm told of the way the village patterns its advance scouts, they all would have been murdered in almost complete tandem. Then they were able to strike at the village guards and make an escape with only a cold trail left behind them. And they did this all in the middle of daylight!
"To me and several other leaders across our portion of the dales, this could indicate a drow band outfitted for a few days' survival on the surface with enough knowledge of the area to remain mostly unseen.
"I can think of no reason for simple raiders to risk such an attack against such a target when much easier prey is just as near. The belief is that this skirmish was a test of the region's defenses and resolve."
"Are you suggesting that we will be seeing an increase in these attacks?" Aryndul asked with a stern face.
"I'm not saying that you will. I'm saying that you already have."
Murmurs rose up around the tent. Atticus exchanged concerned glances with those seated by him.
"That is why I'm suspending all plantings," Vengilis started to speak above them. That caught everyone's attention. "I know it has never been done since the first of us answered the call of my brother's vision, but in light of the evidence, I think it best to focus on the security of our families and homes before continuing our missionary work.
"The dales most affected by this are doing what they can but they need all the help they can get. That is why we are going to aid them in wiping this scourge from the forest. Don't forget that we are still Dalesfolk ourselves and that their enemy is our enemy."
Atticus couldn't believe what he was hearing. The suspension of all plantings? One of the cornerstones of his entire way of life and he was supposed to simply put it on hold? He had to admit it hurt and choked him inside.
A planting was more than merely putting a few seeds into the ground and breeding the proper mixture of creatures in a general area. It was one's life's work. Their masterpiece. It was all some could do to keep their charges from falling before the axe and scythe of the Archenfolk. Now it seemed that and similar fates would be what befell them, anyway. He even shared a stretch south of Highmoon with Terrick and a dozen others that he knew would not stand long without protection.
"How long do you expect this to go on?" someone managed to ask, the apprehension evident in her voice.
"I will not even wager a guess," Vengilis answered. "But until we know for certain the strength and range of these drow, I do not wish to risk creating opportunities for attacks on isolated plantings. And all scouting assignments abroad are put on hold.
"We're going to concentrate on flushing these vermin out of our home and keeping those homes secure against attack. I'll be discussing with the head of each collective about how best we can aid in completing this task as quickly and as safely as possible."
Vengilis answered and elaborated on several further questions but Atticus payed them no mind. Seated near the exit, he slipped out without catching anyone's attention.
He stood outside cradling his arms against his chest. Part of him knew he should at least feel some joy at the thought of staying home with his family, despite the reason, and in truth, he did. But something, in addition to the distress for his forest garden, tugged at his mind when Vengilis had revealed that all long distance surveys were being brought to a close.
There was the dedication he had put into both tasks that he started to feel had been all for naught. From the way the old elf had spoke, Atticus imagined at least a year or two passing before he could continue either task. And by then, both would probably be pointless. He'd have to begin his planting completely anew. That is if some farmer hadn't claimed it for his plow already.
Still, he couldn't shake the feelings for friends he would miss in Cormyr. His mind lingered on them for a while, Danyella in particular, and he sighed back a sob. He tried to rationalize any petty excuse in his mind for running off over the Thunder Peaks at that very moment but he knew he couldn't turn his back on his kin.
This thought already made him feel like a betrayer to both causes.
Laughter coming from the main camp woke him from his thoughts enough to find Terrick sitting with a dozen others, passing around a jug of mead. Terrick's expression of joy melted into a gaping frown as he watched Atticus sit down.
"What'sa matter?"
Atticus was handed the jug but he did not drink from it. He just sat there holding it, staring into the small fire and shaking his head slowly. He didn't want to say anything about the sorrow he felt at never venturing south again since forging relationships on a foreign expedition was frowned upon.
"Atti, y'er start'un ta creep me out."
"Vengilis' ceasin' all plantin's," he said drearily without looking up from the flames. A few seated around them silenced themselves and stared at Atticus.
"Did he say how long?" Terrick asked, meeting some worried faces with his eyes.
Atticus shook his head once and shrugged as he continued to gaze into the fire. "Months. Years. He ain't too sure." The few others who had been listening tapped those beside them still making jokes and pointed at the distressed ranger.
"What about the drow?" one of them asked.
"That's why Vengilis stopped all plantin's. He thinks they're more than just simple raiders. They're tryin' ta carve a livin' on the surface."
"Over my dead body," growled Farsel.
"Glad ya feel that way," Atticus said, looking up for the first time, "'cuz we're all pretty much drow hunters, for the time bein'."
"But why did he stop all the plantings?" a young woman asked from the other side of the fire.
"The attack on Moonrise Hill has him convinced these things are totally able ta murder an entire expedition. He doesn't want-," Atticus shook his head, "-'unnecessary' risks."
He looked at the faces seated around the fire and saw a mixture of anger or disbelief dominating their features. One man spat in the fire without turning his head as they made eye contact. Some averted their eyes.
'Slay the messenger, eh?' he thought, but instead said with a slight scowl, "Let one of them tell ya the rest when they get done. I'm gonna..." He handed the jug to Terrick and got up without finishing the sentence.
He walked slowly through the camp with his head hung low. He let his feet choose their own path. Wanting to be left to himself, he trusted them to avoid the rings of merry-makers dotted around the camp.
Yonia found him walking like this as he neared the eastern edge of the grounds. The wolf sensed his distress and fell in behind him, keeping a bit more distance then she was accustomed to.
Atticus dropped to his knees before an old oak and laced his fingers together in front of his chest and began to pray. "Silvanus, hear y'er servant's pleas. I ask that ya keep guard over the nurseries in our absence. Many of them are still young and will wilt easily under the choke of the Archenfolk and their ilk. I pray that we ain't missed long.
"I humbly ask that ya watch over our families and friends, including those I'm sure ta never see again.
"Let my hands be y'er instruments. Guide them to where they will best serve y'er will. Give me balance. Give me peace."
He closed his devotions with his requests for divine blessings should he require them through the day to come. He picked up his bow and stood. The prayer had done little to assuage his sorrow, but it did bring him a bit of resolve to accept his situation in time.
Not wanting to dwell on such thoughts, he decided to do the one thing he knew would force his mind clear.
"Treefather, bless my eyes so they can pierce the darkness," he intoned.
A wave of warmth washed over him and he closed his eyes to bask in its soothing touch. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times to adjust to their new sensitivity. When he took a look around, the area several yards around him appeared illuminated in shades of darks and lights without color.
"Treefather, hide me from wandering eyes," he murmured. He felt the tingle across his body again and saw that his skin and clothing had become a bit mottled to match the shades of the woods. Satisfied with his preparations, he set off to find the sentry near by. Atticus found him not far off squatting behind a fallen tree trunk. He whistled softly so as not to alarm the man as he approached from behind. The sentinel turned in his direction and shocked Atticus.
The watchman was a boy, probably no more than fifteen winters, if Atticus had to wager. Though his vision didn't pick up any color, by the shade of the boy's hair, he guessed it to be brown or a fair red. He didn't recognize the face and guessed him to be from near Hap. The youth looked at him puzzled, clutching a small bow.
"Who's that?" the boy whispered. He swayed his body from side to side and bobbed his head some, trying to make out Atticus' outline.
"It's alright. I'm a friend," Atticus whispered back.
"Password," the boy said with a raise of his chin. He brought the bow around toward Atticus but kept it lowered.
"That ain't right," Atticus hissed back. "Y'er supposed ta give a challenge, first."
The kid creased his brow, trying to recall if that was the proper order of it. His eyes lit up after a moment of thought as he realized that was correct.
"Right," he grimaced. "Human and elf..."
"Do fine by themself..." Atticus answered.
"But if they both--," the boy trailed off and chewed his lower lip.
"Hearken..." Atticus helped him along.
"But if they both hearken the same call..." the boy said quickly in a futile attempt to cover his mistake.
'Close enough,' Atticus thought with a mental roll of his eyes and answered, "Only the mightiest foe could cause their fall."
The boy nodded that he was satisfied and turned back to his watch as Atticus hunkered down beside him. He looked the adolescent over and noticed a tremor of nervousness in his posture.
'Who's big idea was it ta put him on watch?' he thought. 'He's more jumpy than a jack rabbit.'
"Why don'tcha head on back?" he whispered to the child. "I'll take over."
"Ya sure?"
"Aye. I kinda wanna be alone, anyways."
"Thanks," the boy said with a smile and went bounding toward the camp with more noise than he should have.
Atticus watched him run off until he disappeared beyond his vision. He patted his thigh, beaconing Yonia to his side. He ran his hand along the wolf's back and watched the woods, trying to force his thoughts away from what he heard in Vengilis' tent. He let his focus fall on the cool breeze blowing in his face and the night noises of the insects.
The better part of an hour passed and he was having much success with keeping his mind clear when he felt Yonia tense under his hand. He looked at the wolf slowly and saw her snout raised into the air, sniffing. She bared her teeth once and sniffed again. Atticus peered over the log and scanned the woods in front of him.
For several heartbeats he saw nothing but the lights and darks of the trees against a backdrop of pure darkness. He held his breath as he surveyed the area, moving only his eyes. Then he saw something step from the black void at the edge of his vision.
In the first few minutes he could only spy an arm here and a leg there as whatever it was advanced from the cover of one tree to another. Each time it advanced closer, making a zig-zag toward the camp, pausing a few moments behind each tree.
Atticus strung an arrow as the unidentified intruder disappeared behind another tree. For a few breaths he saw no sign of it. Then it stepped out into plain view only feet in front of the log that Atticus sheltered behind.
What revealed itself froze him with terror.
The uninvited guest had the stature and features of an elf, only more slender and a head shorter. But this thing was no elf. The shade of its hair could have been white or a very pale blond but its skin tone was darker than any elf Atticus had ever known.
He had seen such a thing only once before when he was but a pup, watching him from the bush. Drow. Just as he had been then, he was too terrified to move.
The dark elf crept forward cautiously, its eyes seeking out any movement as it advanced. In one hand it held a wicked looking shortsword and a hollow tube that appeared to be a blowgun in the other. It stepped over the fallen log only a couple yards from Atticus' left. He held his breath and watched it nervously out of the corner of his eye, too frightened to even turn his head toward it.
'Ya gotta do sumthin',' he thought as his body fought his fear to act. 'There'll be more out there, fer sure.' Instead, he resolved to shoot the thing in the back once it had passed safely from sword reach.
Yonia didn't provide him that chance. The wolf growled deeply in her throat, causing the drow to stop and look directly at her. It bared its teeth and started to raise the dartgun to its mouth.
Thinking the dart was meant for him, Atticus gave out a cry and rolled out of the way, releasing his arrow at the drow with only hope and a prayer to guide his aim. The arrow went wide of its mark but surprised the drow enough that it too missed its target.
Atticus came out of the roll on his feet and turned to face his adversary just in time to block a vicious overhead slash with his bow. The drow's blade buried itself into the wood and became stuck. The two tried to dislodge their weapons from one another. After the second tug, Atticus buried his foot in the drow's gut and kicked. The blade came loose and both combatants stumbled backward.
Yonia was on the drow the moment it hit the ground. She clamped down on the dark elf's sword arm and thrashed her head about madly. The drow cried out in pain and lost its grip on its weapon.
Atticus scrambled to his feet in order to help finish off his enemy when he saw the drow reach for its hip with its free hand. It drew a dagger and stabbed at the wolf, scoring several wounds to her shoulder. Yonia yelped and released the arm in her teeth, limping away from her assailant.
The drow rose to its feet holding its injured arm against its chest. It snarled a curse in a tongue Atticus could not understand and advanced on the wounded wolf menacingly. It turned the dagger in its hand so the blade pointed down. Yonia tried to get away from the drow but lost more ground than she gained.
Atticus began to string an arrow only to find that he had blocked the drow's first slash so that it had cut through his bowstring. He cursed and gripped the body of his bow at one end in both hands. Then he rushed the drow.
The dark elf looked up just in time to catch Atticus' swing full in the face. Blood gushed from the drow's forehead and it staggered backward. Atticus swung again and landed another blow squarely in its temple. There was a soft thud mixed with the splintering of wood.
The drow went down hard. It's head cracked against the fallen tree trunk, knocking it more senseless, if that were possible. Atticus brought his makeshift club over his head and struck the drow in the head over and over. He didn't stop until his bow snapped in two, breathing heavily more from shock than exhaustion.
The drow twitched fitfully. Its head was sunken in on one side but its chest still rose and fell in shallow breaths. Atticus picked up its sword and slit it across the throat. He threw the weapon aside and spat in the drow's face as it bled to death.
"Wretched spider-kisser," he snarled. The drow gurgled in its throat as if to respond before it fell silent.
It was while he regarded the mess that he noticed the screams and ringing of steel coming from the camp. He rushed to Yonia and looked quickly around for any more attackers. Satisfied he had met a lone drow, he administered an anti-serum in case the dagger had been poisoned. Then he cleaned and dressed the wound as best and as fast as he could.
"I'll be back for ya soon," he promised and ran in the direction of the camp.
Running at full speed, it was still several minutes before he came in sight of the main camp. He drew both of his blades and looked around the campsite for battle. By the looks of it, he had just missed it.
A trio of dead drow lay on the ground next to a dead human. Atticus couldn't discern his identity from where he stood. Anger still shot through his whole being.
'They drew our blood?' he thought as he flared his nostrils. 'OUR blood!'
He heard moans and wails and saw others tending to the wounded as some cried over the dead. For a surprise attack against a bunch of inebriated men, women and their children, things could have certainly have been worse. But that did nothing to assuage his animosity.
"Dear gods!" a woman screamed. "The children! They made off with the children!" Women began calling hysterically for their children as Vengilis and the other leaders showed up to restore order in case there was a second attack.
Atticus looked up from the horror littered about the camp and hurried toward the cry. Someone grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled at him hysterically.
"Oh, Atticus!" It was Nethra. "Dunther! Those rotten spider-kissers took Dunther!" she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She buried her head into his chest and wailed.
Atticus clenched his teeth and held Nethra out at arms length and forced her to look him in the eye. "We'll get him back, Nethra! Ya hear me? I swear it ta ya!"
"Please!" she pleaded as he tried to dislodge himself from her grasp. "Please bring me back my baby!"
Atticus ran off to where the original cry had come and asked where they went. The woman had her face buried in her hands and simply pointed. Atticus looked in that direction and saw a handful of folks running off in that direction to give pursuit.
"A bow! Someone give me a bow!" he called, running after the others.
"Here!" Vartul hollered and threw his bow to the ranger as he ran past. "Be merciless!" he growled.
Atticus raised the bow in the air in thanks and joined the hunt

[Navygurl]

Danyella sits in the woods where Atticus had taken her once before when he was watching a drow cave and she wonders if she will ever see him again. She feels a tear roll down her face as the thoughts of him come rushing into her mind. She wonders if that happiness will ever come back to her heart again. She knows that Atticus has to be on a important mission to stay away from her so long. The question still stands though is he coming back to her or shall she move on. As she loses herself in her thoughts she falls asleep in the woods knowing his spirit will keep her safe.

[racestark]

He ignored the sting of the low hanging branches and bushes lashing across his cheeks. He ignored the ghostly caress of the spiderwebs that clung to his hair as he ran through them. He ignored the persistent bites of the midges and mosquitoes drawn to his heavy breathing. He ignored the film of sweat that drenched his body.
Atticus' mind concentrated on one thing and one thing only. Run. Run as hard as you can. His legs and arms pumped furiously fighting to keep up with his fellow pursuers just as hard as they tried to catch their fleeing quarry.
This is how things go wrong! his common sense screamed from the back of his head. Ya'll need to regroup and form a proper chase! Atticus ignored the voice. So long as his allies hastened ahead of him he wasn't going to slow one bit 'til he had drow in his sights.
And the gods only knew what they were doing to the children as they fled.
He leaped over a fallen tree and landed hard but caught his footing quick enough to stay with the hunt. He slowed some only to pull an arrow from his quiver and continued on at breakneck speed.
"Treefather, bless my feet and steady my hands," he whispered between breaths. A wash of energy coursed through his body and he felt himself picking up just a little bit of speed.
Gods! they were making a lot of noise. Every thought, every instinct that told them to always traverse the woods with furtiveness and grace was all but forgotten. The caution of the prowling cats was gone only to be replaced by the baying of hounds laboring to keep the scent.
How long they'd been running, he couldn't say. He was certain his lungs should have given out by now. His arms and legs screamed for a respite. But he would hear none of it. Clenching his teeth he forced his limps to keep pace.
Never before had he felt such desperation. Desperation didn't even begin to describe it. He could smell it in the air. A rank fear exuded from both himself and his fellow pursuers just as ants do when the nest is threatened, each person feeding off of the fear from the others and returning it twofold. And just as with ants, it sent them all into a murderous frenzy.
The underbrush was getting thicker now and slowed their advancement. Someone cried, "Blood!" and, at first, Atticus thought it was a challenge to the drow. Then he saw it splattered on the leaves as he ran by. Though he couldn't exactly see the color, its viscousness left no mistaking of what it was.
It was here that the group regained some semblance of sense and split into three small groups, fanning out to broaden the search. Atticus brought up the rear of the one to take the right and wished for the third time that there had been more of them to make the chase.
No doubt the drow were getting desperate in their flight. Their hostages were probably really starting to hinder them now as the vegetation became more dense. Perhaps they were killing some of the children to help their progress or slitting a throat and leaving a trail of blood away from their main body.
Murder still filled the hearts of the pursuit but at least rationality was returning to their minds.
His small company stopped not long after splitting from the rest to get their bearings. Atticus used the pause to take in his surroundings and regain his wind. He had joined four others in taking the right flank. Two elves he did not know by name but knew them to be devotees to Shevarash lead the hunt. One, a tall moon elf scoured the area for any trail signs. If drow had passed through this direction he was surely the one to discover any of their subtle tricks to through them off course. The other, another moon elf with a large portion of his right ear missing leaving a jagged ridge to his earlobe, scanned the woods ahead of them, his jaw clenched in such a scowl that it made Atticus thankful he was not his intended quarry. Jiltin and another human, Landric, one of Silvanus' clergy, stood ready with their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Atticus exchanged grim nods with the two of them before crouching down and turning to watch their backs.
Minutes that felt like hours passed before their tracker finally pointed in the direction to their right and took off without a word. Landric tapped Atticus on the shoulder and motioned with his head to follow.
They were off again, but more deliberate in their movements now. It wasn't long before the trail led back toward their left. Atticus saw no sign of blood and if anyone else had they said nothing of it.
As they pressed on their pace slowed. He saw Landric and Jiltin become more cautious, sweeping their heads from side to side more frequently. Atticus guessed something disturbed their tracker about the trail sign. He alternated every half minute or so from keeping his attention forward to turning around and backpedaling and keeping an eye on their rear.
Another quarter hour or so and the tall moon elf signaled for a halt. Jiltin and Landric fanned out in opposite directions. Atticus stopped and made slow, sweeping circles, listening to the forest around them.
He was the first to see the drow. It appeared from thin air behind Jiltin, a dagger drawn and reaching for the Lathanderite's throat.
"Jiltin! Behind you!" Atticus cried but even then it was too late.
The drow pulled Jiltin's head back by the forehead and slashed its blade across his throat in one quick motion. Jiltin's eyes shot wide open in horror as blood pumped out of his neck in rhythm to his heartbeat. He slumped to the ground with a sick gurgle, his killer flashing a brief wicked grin at its work.
Atticus screamed and let an arrow fly at the beast but the drow was too quick. It somersaulted from the projectile's path and turned to attack. The maimed elf was on it in a flash, sword in hand. The two fought viciously, blade to blade. The elf was stronger but the drow was terribly quick on its feet.
Atticus was waiting for a clear shot when he heard the incantation of a spell. He called a warning out to his companions and dove to his left. A blast of fire exploded where he had stood moments before, singeing the hair on his arms and face.
He rolled to his feet and saw the drow sorcerer preparing another spell. He reached for an arrow as a dart embedded itself into the leather guarding his torso. He glanced angrily at the third drow and remembered the mage.
"Treefather, shield me!" he called out and felt the tingling of energy fall over him just as another fireball leaped from the drow's hands and burst in the air inches from him. The heat was intense but the ward had left him smoking yet unharmed. He felt the blessing collapse under the assault.
Landric and the tall elf had engaged three other drow who materialized from nowhere as they let darts fly. Landric swung with his mallet at one as the tall elf held off the two others with a sword in one hand and a handaxe in the other.
The third drow blew another dart at Atticus and he cursed as it grazed his forearm. Knowing full well that it was probably poisoned, he drew both blades and rushed at his enemy, hoping to finish him before the toxin took effect.
The drow sidestepped and barely avoided his first slash. It drew a wavy-bladed sword and stabbed back at him. Atticus parried the attack with his shortsword and cut with an overhanded attack at the drow's arm with his longer sword. He felt a satisfying, slight resistance as his attack left a large gash in the drow's sword arm. It cried out and hissed angrily as it shifted its weapon to the other hand. Atticus stabbed at it with his offhand and the drow turned to avoid the blow and delivered an elbow to the side of his head.
Spots appeared in his periphery and he stumbled back, slashing with his sword blindly in an attempt to fend off the drow's next attack. He attempted to blink away his disorientation and his vision faded in and out of darkness. Aggression was replaced by panic. Thinking first that his blessings were starting to fade, his knees tried to buckle and he knew the poison was taking hold. He managed to keep upright but his sight remained black.
Atticus swung his longsword about in a vain attempt to catch the drow while at the same time making defensive sweeps parallel to his torso with his shorter blade. He felt his defenses catch an attack just as several bursts of magical energy struck him in the back. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground thinking it was the end for him.
But the killing blow did not come. He heard the ringing of steel on steel above him where he was sure the drow should have attacked from.
He recoiled when he felt someone lay their hands on him and recognized Landric's voice as he said, "Atti, it's me. Just hold still." He heard the priest beseeching a prayer unto Silvanus. A soothing wash of energy coursed through Atticus' body and his vision returned, though blurry, the toxins in his body having been neutralized by Landric's prayer. "Stay down and regain your strength," Landric commanded and leaped to his feet to charge the sorcerer.
Atticus crawled to all fours and the first thing he beheld with his restored sight was the tall moon elf plunging a blade into one of his adversaries' stomach. The drow cursed in its wicked tongue and went down, clutching its gut. The elf then turned his full attention on the second drow he had been fending off. To his right, Atticus spotted the two dead drow Landric and the elf with the maimed ear had slain. Rolling over onto his back he was able to witness the maimed elf beating back the drow Atticus had been clashing with moments before.
The elf's assault was relentless. Each strike the drow was forced to block or dodge pressed it backward, fear evident in its face. In contrast, the elf's expression portrayed raw fury, his teeth gnashed and his eyes narrowed in murderous rage. Only once was the drow able to counterattack but its opponent easily dodged the clumsy strike.
A few more steps and the drow backed against a tree. With nowhere left to retreat, the maimed elf knocked the drow's defenses to its side and skewered it in the chest. He pressed his full weight against the pommel of his sword and, looking into the drow's pain-filled eyes with a sneer, he gave a twist of his blade and shouted, "For Shevarash!" The drow's head lolled forward and the elf let him hang on the tip of his blade for a few breaths, savoring his victory, before withdrawing it. The body fell forward in a bloody heap.
In a few moments, Landric and the tall moon elf had fell both their opponents. Atticus struggled to his feet and felt a firm hand grab him under the armpit and assisted him. His head swam for a moment and only when he signaled with a raised hand that he was well did Landric release him. He saw the tall elf standing over the first drow he had gutted, straddling its still living body. With a small dagger, he crouched to begin a grizzly artwork in helping it to the afterlife.
"How are ya feelin', my friend?" Landric asked. Atticus merely nodded and turned his attention to the lifeless body of Jiltin. Landric followed his gaze and gave a solemn frown. "He will be sorely missed. But we will see him again in another form." Atticus only gave another nod.
"Come, we have to regain the trail," the maimed elf said. "This ambush was meant to throw us off their retreat."
Atticus raised a hand toward Jiltin's corpse and said, "We ain't just gonna leave him there like that, are we?"
"There's nothing we can do for him now. We'll come back for the tree nourishment later."
Atticus glared at the elf, horror betrayed in his eyes. In times before, he would have taken the death of a comrade just as casually, holding true to the beliefs that all who died in service to the restoration of Cormanthor would be born again.
But that been a long time ago, before his time spent in Cormyr.
"We can fret about him or rescue the children," the tall elf stated as he stood and put two bloody drow ears in a pouch around his waist.
With one last glance at his dead friend, Atticus gave a silent sigh and gathered his weapons. "Let's go."
Instead of retracing the path they had taken, the four of them made a mad dash straight across the woods to their left hoping to come across one of the other parties. They remained constantly alert and on the move in order to prevent another possible ambush. It wasn't long before they heard the din of battle coming from ahead.
A bright flash of magic through the trees briefly illuminated the scene. Some six or seven elves and half-elves clashed with nearly twice as many drow. Two drow lay dead on the ground along with one elf and another one seriously wounded, writhing on the ground in agony. Atticus recognized several various magical wards protecting the bodies of his allies which probably accounted for their ability to fight off such overwhelming numbers.
Even as he noticed this, the stone-like texture surrounding one half-elf dissipated, leaving her very vulnerable to injury. Atticus stopped and let loose an arrow at one of the drow she was combating. He was rewarded with a scream as the missile impaled itself in the drow's bicep. He fired again and caught it in the calf. With a kick the half-elf knocked her opponent to the ground and caught the strike of another in a defensive block of her sword. Landric finished the injured drow as he entered the fray, popping its head like a melon with his mallet.
As the other three joined steel with the enemy and helped to even the odds, Atticus took aim at a drow sorcerer who was in the middle of working a spell. He released the bowstring with a THUMP and the arrow grazed the mage's shoulder, not harming it but interrupting its incantation. Shocked for a moment, it searched for this unexpected attack and spotted Atticus just as he released another projectile in its direction. With no time to react, the arrow entered its throat and stuck out of the back of its neck. It fell without a sound.
Two more drow went down before the rest broke away and tried to flee into the woods. Atticus caught one in the back of the leg as it ran and it crumbled to the ground. The tall moon elf stabbed it in between the shoulder blades before giving chase with the rest.
Atticus rushed to the injured elf and realized it was Leodia. A nasty gash across her abdomen bled all over the ground and she looked up at her friend pleadingly.
"Hold still," Atticus tried to soothe her. "Lemme take a look." He pried her hand from the wound and saw that, though not fatal if she hadn't lost too much blood yet, it was worse than he had thought. He considered running after Landric for help but decided that time was of the essence.
For the thousandth time he quietly thanked his mother for her instructions on how to deal with injuries and reached into a waist pouch and removed a bandage and a few healing salves. He forced Leodia's hand from the wound again and set to work.
"Atti," Leodia whimpered, "it hurts."
"I know," was all he could muster. "There there." He put a reassuring hand to her forehead and put his entire being into his work.
As a precaution against the possibility of the offending weapon being poisoned, he took a pinch of an herb with the consistency of grain and sprinkled it along the wound, trusting the body's own heartbeat to carry it in a defensive web through the body. Then he uncorked his waterskin with his teeth and doused the wound. At the same time he pressed a black tar substance into her mouth and commanded, "Chew." Within seconds Leodia's eyes glazed over as the root tar numbed her pain. Once he saw this he withdrew a needle and thread and set to suturing the wound. She flinched once and he held her down, continuing only when he was sure that the tar had coursed through the entire length of her body. He finished his stitching and bit the end of the string off with his teeth. He then doused the wound again with his waterskin. Holding it to her lips, he gently poured what little remained down her gullet. As a final precaution against infection caused by the thread, Atticus procured a blue-tinted leaf from his waist pouch and squeezed it, smearing the leaf's juices on and around the wound. He then tore off a length of cloth from his bandage roll and pressed it against the injury.
"Hold this tightly," Atticus said, searching his surroundings for any possible danger. He grabbed both of her arms by the wrists and pressed them against the bandage. "Help'll be here soon."
Leodia panted rapidly and sweat beaded all across her face. Atticus stroked her hair a couple of times to calm her and continued to watch for peril.
He snapped his head in the direction that everyone had run off in as he heard another clashing of might ring out. He stroked her hair a few times more and said, "They're almost on their way," more so for his own benefit than hers. He grabbed his bow and readied an arrow in case the fighting returned.
Atticus heard faint screams and muffled challenges coming through the forest. Each cry of pain made Atticus wince some, fearing the worst that another comrade had been struck down. It wasn't long before everything became deathly silent.
Atticus stood slowly and said to Leodia, "I'm gonna be right where I can see ya, but I gotta take cover in case the drow return." Leodia tried to squirm and Atticus put up a hand and said, "Just stay still."
For several minutes he hid behind a tree and listened. A snapping of twigs and the crunching of dead leaves underfoot alerted him to someone's approach. He drew back on the bowstring and waited. Faintly he heard someone shouting his name.
"Here!" Atticus called out. "I'm here!"
Landric came into view and knelt beside Leodia. Atticus could see tears welling up in his eyes.
"Where is everyone?" Atticus asked with great worry as he stepped from his cover.
"Dead. They killed the children," Landric started to weep.
Atticus' heart sank and he forced back a sob. "All of 'em?"
Landric wiped his arm across his eyes and sniffed. "Most of 'em. They killed 'em right in front of us. Used 'em to keep us at a distance and then just started slittin' their throats."
Atticus balled his hands into fists and wiped his nose on his forearm with a sniffle. "The rest of the children? Where are they?"
Landric didn't look up as he set to healing Leodia's wound. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks and dropped from the top of his nose onto Leodia. "We came across an elvish scoutin' party from the Semberholme." He sniffed. "They're the one's that saved the others. They're bein' led back now." Landric looked into Atticus' eyes and cried, "They just murdered 'em in front of us and their ain't a thing we could do!" His shoulders convulsed as he sat back and wept.
Atticus had to sit down. He cried without a sound and stared blankly at the ground between his feet. Dead, he thought. Our entire future nearly dead. Futilely, he tried to calm himself with the litany of all things returning but trailed off halfway through the thought. Even the slaying of children would have a profound effect on the most stoic of their members. His own father's death hadn't even brought such anguish.
Murderers! he screamed in his head, pounding the earth with a fist. Cowards! Vermin! He wanted to scream accusingly at the night itself. He wanted to cut it to pieces for cloaking the bastards in their foul treachery. He wanted...
He no longer knew what he wanted. So much in one night had changed and now he didn't know how to make heads or tails of his existence. He thought of prayer but found little comfort in that at the moment.
Instead, the three of them sat there in mourning and waited for the others to come back with the survivors. Atticus' vision went dark before long as the blessing over his eyesight faded away. He had to be led back to the camp by the arm as two others carried Leodia on a makeshift gurney made from their winter cloaks.
The elvish scouting party and the warriors of the Black Archer were not present. They had pursued the drow who had fled into the forest. More likely than not, the Shevarashans would follow them to the very center of the Underdark if they had to.
The company made its way back, very grim indeed. The only voices given were those who held the four surviving children, trying to soothe the terrified youths. Dunther was not among them, Atticus noted sadly. Each dreaded the news they would have to bear and the heart wrenching task of retrieving and laying to rest their dead friends and family.

[racestark]

Twenty-two. That was the number of comrades and relatives whose bodies they had recommitted to the earth--eleven of them children--each with a tree sapling replanted over them.
To an outsider this may have appeared as a sort of grave marker but, in practice with their beliefs, it was simply a way of nourishing another tree without out letting flesh go to waste. There had been the typical, brief period of mourning for friends, but beyond that it was taboo for anyone but the mothers of the slain to still bemoan the death of the flesh, as was their right earned in the pains of childbirth.
Besides, all things returned in one form or another. Or so it was said.
Atticus' collective reported the incident, as they came to call it, to Highmoon and asked for assistance. Highmoon sent back a message promising the protection of all the militiamen it could muster. The very next day, Atticus, Terrick, Farsel and several others received orders that their status within the Swords of Deepingdale had been moved up to active duty.
They soon discovered that this was Highmoon's typical response. With reports of drow attacks and sightings becoming more frequent, more and more of the militia were being charged with the defenses of their own homes. So not only did they have to worry about the safety of their families, but militiamen had to fear court-martial if they survived an attack in which the rest of their kin perished.
Terrick had a good laugh at that. Over the course of the next few rides, Atticus noticed that his friend's sense of humor was becoming more cynical which unnerved others around him.
Much of the mood within the camp was becoming drearier with each day. Even the humans didn't take too well to immediate and drastic change--the attitude of elves that had brushed off on them.
It was shortly after being called to active status that Vengilis had sent an envoy to receive Atticus' report of his expedition into Cormyr. As he had approached the half-elf--Calentheral he had been called--Atticus thought, What's the point? Ain't like anyone's bein' sent back anytime soon.
The two had found a quiet corner among the trees where they wouldn't be disturbed and sat. Atticus knew he'd have to take care not to say 'friend' or any other endearing term when referring to specific individuals. Creating strong relationships with outsiders was frowned upon when performing such a task as his. Even as he thought this, the names of those with whom he had forged a forbidden bond with scrolled through his head: Lanerin, Glewien, Eriog, whom he hadn't seen in what felt like ages, Chril and Visitant, whom he wasn't certain if they could be counted as such any longer, Lady Sharita, whom he owed an unspoken debt to for saving his life, Luthor, the first dwarf he had ever befriended, Son'ya, Gial, Padrin with all his worries, Phelzaron and several others, not the least of which was his dear Danyella, whom he worried after everyday. All of these would be perceived as threats and hindrances to his mission and would prevent him from ever being sent back on penalty of banishment. That is, if this lifetime ever afforded him that opportunity.
"I'll try to make this brief," Calentheral began. "You have things to return to and I have others I must see before the end of the ride."
Atticus relayed the story of his arrival in a backwater town called Isinhold and the next few rides afterward spent getting the lay of the immediate area. Calentheral noted all this down and asked things like the attitude and habits of these folks. Atticus reported numerous bands of marauding orcs throughout the countryside and the ever looming threat of Zhent invasion from the west. Calentheral didn't look up from his parchment but scowled at the mention of this and the Thayan enclave just outside of Cormyr's borders.
"What did they take?" Calentheral asked suspiciously after Atticus mentioned an excursion into an elvish ruin located in the town.
"Several things, most of 'em mundane articles," Atticus answered with a shrug. "Ain't like I kept a catalog or nuthin'."
"And you did nothing to stop this?" the half-elf asked with raised brows.
"I was supposed to observe and report. Was I supposed to police every tomb of the Fair Folk? 'Cause if that's the case, the sheer number of it alone would be more than any single bein' could handle," Atticus answered with raised hands in exasperation as he spoke the last sentence.
Calentheral chewed his lower lip as he considered his response. Finally, he said, "You're right. Your mission may have been compromised as a result. Continue," and he returned to recording on his parchment.
Atticus relayed several other excursions that Calentheral rushed him through with a gyration of his hand, telling him that the half-elf found disinteresting in his report. It was only until Atticus told of a stretch of forest that he had come to accept as the 'King's Forest' that Calentheral showed a bit of interest.
"Well, for the most part," Atticus began elaborating at Calentheral's insistence to go on, "there are two settlements there worth preservin', though one is more deservin' than the other.
"Waymoot, in my guess, is the least desirable of the two. It's kinda a regular stopping point for folks travelin' to and from the north and woodcuttin' there is a constant." Though this may have been an overstatement to some, Atticus was certain that the small amount of deforestation occurring there would have appalled anyone he knew. "They kinda seem to be combatin' the woods than workin' with it."
"And the other?"
"Dhedluk? That one is definitely worth keepin'. I'd say just as much as Highmoon." Calentheral glared at him quizzically before returning to his writing. Atticus knew that was a bold boast, comparing a human settlement with what they both saw as the epiphany of human and elf working together for a common cause.
"Why would you say that?" Calentheral asked, holding his writing instrument visibly above his parchment as if to reinforce that all Atticus said would reach Vengilis.
Atticus leaned forward a few inches, trying to spy what the half-elf had written as he said, "Well, from what I gather, there ain't no woodcuttin' without royal decree. And they been givin' shelter to a displaced treant." He started counting off on his fingers. "They got an annoyin' snake infestation but instead of wipin' out the whole lot of 'em , they been raisin' a natural predator to deal with it, which says to me they're at least aware of the need for Balance of things. They're surrounded by roaming orcs, which I'm sure we both can kinda relate to," Atticus said with raised brows.
Calentheral shot a sharp stare at him. Knowing at least that both had lost one parent to an orc, Atticus didn't feel the same sting the look might have made another feel. But he still felt partially guilty for having brought it up in light of the Incident. Partially.
Is it 'cause he's forcin' distance from my friends and annoyin' me or is it 'cause of the attack? he thought for a moment.
"What about this other one? The Hullack?" Calentheral asked after realizing no apology would come.
Atticus frowned some at this question. "I gotta admit," he said. "Ain't had much of a chance to gather a full report on it."
"What else?" the interrogator asked with a frustrated half shrug.
Atticus became increasingly frustrated with Calentheral's disinterested attitude. Vengilis would have read between the lines and known, or at least inferred, what Atticus wasn't saying. And, though this was something he was trying to avoid with Calentheral, Vengilis would have at least partially understood and would have given comforting counsel on Atticus' mistakes. At the least, he'd have made Atticus' time spent far from home feel appreciated.
But this half-elf was plainly nothing more than a bureaucrat. What was twice as irksome was that he was a bureaucrat in a belief structure that had no place for their kind.
But all the same, Atticus knew he had to deal with him if his time spent in Cormyr was to stand a chance of bearing fruit.
After going into a little more detail about various other threats to the kingdom, confirming and exorcising rumors and relating the general attitudes and outlooks of the population, Calentheral asked, "And what of our prospects? What would you suggest?"
Atticus took this as his opportunity. "I think we should gather a collective and set out at once. Even a small one of no more than a dozen before--"
"Not possible," the half-elf cut in. "Even if we weren't bogged down by drow, we are already stretched too thin. Unless you knew of some readily available converts." He spoke that last part with a bit of poison in his tone that his face conveyed that he took satisfaction in.
"Are ya gonna listen to me?" Atticus exclaimed as he stood up. "Those woods are bein' cut down in a lacewing's lifetime!' This was an extreme exaggeration but still held truth as far as he saw it. "If someone ain't gonna act now there ain't gonna be any woods to expand on! We'll lose our chance and hafta start from scratch!" Atticus pointed down at the parchment in Calentheral's lap. "Put down if we don't do sumthin' now it won't be orcs and trolls we'll hafta fend off but farmers and merchants who decided to tame the land!" He spoke 'tame' as if he spat a disgusting ichor from his mouth. "Then we'll have a Cormyrian military comin' down on us for upsettin' their little idea of order! And I for one would rather slay orcs and trolls than folks just tryin' to protect their homes from a threat they don't understand!"
But Calentheral refused to see Cormyr as anything but ancestral lands of the elves that had fared poorly under the stewardship of the monarchy. And that was how Atticus had ended his report--in a tirade that made him appear impatient and impulsive. Calentheral had no doubt doctored a few details and fluffed up Atticus' bluster some when he relayed the message to Vengilis. A little more than a ride later, Atticus was told no expedition would be sent to Cormyr again, not at least in this lifetime.
"For now, the woods south of the Thunderpeaks are lost to us." Those had been Vengilis' exact words, he was told.
Atticus resigned himself to his current state of existence as militiaman. He said good-bye forever to his friends and lamented the loss of Danyella, among others, thinking he would never see her again or lay with her quietly, listening to the life sounds of the forest.
But that night, out on watch from home, when he laid himself down to sleep, something happened that had never once happened before. He dreamt vividly and was able to recall without error what and who had appeared in his dream.

[racestark]

"Atticus."
He knew that voice. It was a very familiar sound. One he hadn't heard in more than fifteen winters. One he would never forget.
"Atticus. Get up, m'boy."
He didn't so much open his eyes as much as a figure materialized before him. A human with the same shade of brown hair cropping his head and covering his face in unkempt stubble, his facial features and stature almost mirrored that of himself. All except for the eyes.
Atticus drew in a silent gasp. "Pa?"
Grailan Moran appeared just as his son last remembered him. He wore the same brown winter coat over a dull green suit of leather. The long brown sleeves of his undershirt covered his arms from elbow to wrist. His breeches were a mottled patching of greens and browns and his boots had the same scuffed up wear he remembered. Around his neck hung a wood-carved oak leaf suspended by a cheap piece of thread. The elder Moran held his bow in one hand and Atticus became confused that it wasn't broken in twain.
"I'm sorry I broke your bow," Atticus found himself apologizing. Once he had said it he realized it was an odd thing to open a conversation with one's dead kinfolk.
Gailan acted as if the words were never spoken and turned away from his son. With a wave over his shoulder he said, "C'mon, son. Our quarry's on the move."
Atticus noticed he had a bow in his hand though he didn't recall it being there before and followed his father. "What're we huntin'?"
Glancing over his shoulder with a quizzical frown he answered, "Orc of course. Now keep quiet."
Looking around, Atticus noticed they were walking through an unfamiliar swath of forest that he was certain hadn't been there a moment ago. He saw that the trees and the rocks and everything sort of shifted and melted into each other only to melt upward in the shape of another rock or tree or bush, slowly yet fluidly. A gentle ankle deep brook molded into a cascade of white foaming rapids before dripping slowly into the stillness of a watering hole.
And the animals were not spared of this, too. A singing sparrow morphed sickly into the form of a squirrel which scampered down the tree before taking the shape of a panther that growled at him angrily before melting into its next beastly guise.
And through all of it, his father led him on a straight path as if all of this clay melding and reshaping were perfectly normal. Atticus slowly found courage in his father's seemingly ignorant confidence. As he looked around at the ever changing environment he realized that his father was the only constant other than himself.
Presently, they came upon a clearing that rolled down hill a bit sharply and back up again into the next crest. Stomping in single file through the bottom of the slope was an orc raiding party giving up such a clatter of crudely fashioned armor thudded against blood soaked weapons. Atticus knew he and his father should have been spotted instantly but the beasts trudged on through without even turning a head.
"C'mon, m'boy," Grailan grinned in the same sheepish way that had been passed on to his son. "Let's bag us some swiners!"
He didn't recall removing the first arrow from his quiver. Atticus simply found himself firing endlessly at the line of orcs passing below. He stood side-by-side with his father as the two released missiles on the reactionless beasts. They smiled at each other and laughed and their aim never failed to kill an orc outright in one shot. They worked in tandem, killing every other swiner which never ceased coming or ever took heed of the assault.
What felt like eons passed before Atticus started to grow tired of this game. Just as this thought passed through him, he was following Grailan again through the shifting landscape. Only this time the forest changed from one stretch he was intimate with to another.
There was his forest garden and then the edges of the Semberholme only to meld into the hills of Hunter's Down before becoming the woods of his winter home. Then it settled on one forest and froze. But this was not a wood he considered home. Familiar, yes, but not one he knew tree by tree and stream by stream. The King's Forest lay all around them without any signs of changing.
Without warning they became surrounded by drow from all sides. Each had menace in their expression and posture but just as each appeared to get ready to attack they froze.
Atticus hesitated and dared not take another step. Grailan must have sensed this for he stopped and turned toward his only child.
"What're ya doin'?" he asked. "We ain't got time fer y'er dawdlin'."
"Drow," Atticus answered with a tilt of his head to the dark faces all around them.
Grailan held up both hands with palms upturned and said, "What? Ya think these're y'er real problem?" and indicated the drow with his open palms.
"Well, ain't they?"
"Make no mistake, m'boy. The only good drow is a dead one but these ain't the enemy YOU should be fightin'."
"I don't understand," Atticus admitted with a creased brow.
"Commit y'erself to this," Grailan pointed to the drow again, "and ya'll know what's the real danger only when it's too late."
"And what's that?" Atticus asked desperately.
"Think about it", Grailan grinned as he slowly dematerialized. "Y'er the one that had the dream."And then he was gone.
As if his father was the one thing that kept them at bay, dozens of drow shot from the forest and attacked Atticus at once. Frantically, he lodged an arrow in each one but the more he slew the closer they came.
But that wasn't it. No. With each one he slew, the woods started to retreat from him in every direction.
In his head he heard he heard his father's voice saying, "Wake up, Atticus. Ya gotta wake up, m'boy. Wake up, Atticus!"
"Wake up, Atticus!" Terrick hissed with a kick.
Atticus woke up with a start and seized Terrick by the front of his shirt. His friend slapped his hands away and said, "You alright? You looked like you were having a nightmare."
Atticus stared over his friend's shoulder and knew that he had been dreaming. "Aye, I'm fine," he answered still staring. "Just ain't too snug a place to sleep."
Terrick eyed him oddly and said, "Good, 'cause it's your watch."
Atticus nodded absently, gazing blankly at the ground, and had to shake himself alert. "Right. Get some sleep then." He took the watchman's position in the cramped dugout they shared about half a day from home, as the crow flies.
Terrick continued to watch him with mild concern as he swung himself feet first into the sleeping hole and got cozy. "No falling asleep then."
"Got it," Atticus responded as he scanned the area.
He tried to put the dream from his mind but found he couldn't do it. He'd never dreamt like that before.
Was it the stress, grief? A vision like Hythrael's? Was he going mad? The gods only knew!
But as he sat there in that tiny hole in the ground, failing miserably at putting it from his mind, he had the feeling that he would have plenty of time to sit and dwell over it painfully.

[racestark]

Miserable.
If there was one word that described Atticus' existence, miserable fit perfectly.
He was soaked to the bone and the rain still showed no sign of letting up. It had started as a fine mist and gradually built into a torrential downpour leaking through the makeshift roof until his hair was matted down and sopping, droplets pouring over his face and down his back, increasing his discomfort. To make matters worse, the rain was beginning to pool at the bottom of the dugout, soaking his feet through his moccasins. The watchman's seat, carved into the dirt in the same curvature of a chair so to avoid stiffness from long shifts on vigil, began to slough away as it muddied, forcing Atticus to readjust his haunches constantly. So humid was the air that breathing felt like it should require fish gills. He began to wonder if his arrows would even fly straight if he should need them, so soaked was the fletching.
He doubted he'd need them, though. On what felt like the hundredth watch in the past several months, he didn't expect to see anything. With a scowl, he kept his eyes scanning the vicinity through the small slit between the earth and camouflaged roof, trying not to think of the next two days he would have to spend here before someone came to relieve him and Terrick.
Reports of drow were becoming slowly more frequent but kept to the outskirts of the dale, attacking only soft targets. And still, no one had been able to track them back to whatever festering hole they were swarming from.
Sit and wait. That had become the tactic to combating them. It was the only way that had produced any engagement with them, with usually grisly results for the dalefolk.
For once in his life he wished it would it would stop raining. He even dreaded evening when it would be his shift to rest, knowing the dampness of his clothing would grant him little comfort in trying to sleep. He cast a glance at Terrick sleeping in the little tomb-like shelf dug into one side of their cover.
How does he just sleep like that? he thought with mild jealousy. He shrugged softly and answered himself, 'Cause he hasta.
They were situated about half a day's walk from home and Atticus felt very exposed by the distance. The only meager comfort was the knowledge of a tree hut about not even half that far off should they need it in a possible retreat.
He repeated a silent game in his head that he had been playing on watches to keep himself from being lulled into a state of complacency and dull senses. The circle game they called it. Not a competitive game, normally, but there were rules to at least keep the mind alert and they were very simple: Start with a plant or fungus and connect it to something that fed off of it. Aim for something small, like an insect or small rodent, if you're daring. Follow that with a predator just slightly larger and follow that pattern from there. Gradually build on the size of the predator to include as many stages as possible. When you get too large an animal, such as a bear, that has few natural predators other than intelligent species, begin the circle again with something that would gain sustenance from a carcass. Never include the same specimens from previous rounds. The goal was to see how many 'points' you could score in as many, or few in some circles, as possible.
Thornberry feeds aphid gobbled by ladybug snared by weaver spider plucked by sparrow snatched by hawk stalked by bobcat rundown by black bear. He started his first round small as a warm up, never ceasing to keep a close eye on his surroundings. He wiped the precipitation from his face and flicked the water from his hand before starting again. Dead bear feeds fly grabbed by mantis happened upon by shrew ambushed by garter snake snagged by ferret chased underground by fox hunted by wolf bitten by mosquito... he grinned at his cleverness for using another insect to prolong the round.
Atticus played this game until hunger came near dusk and he supped on a trail mix. The rain had, by then, become a tolerable drizzle but the discomfort inside the blind remained. He woke Terrick and the two took turns relieving themselves before Atticus tucked into the sleeping shelf feet first for a night's rest.
He prayed quietly to Silvanus and thanked him that the sleeping quarters were at least dry before closing his eyes. Terrick woke him in the twilight of dawn, just before the sun crested the horizon and the two chatted idly before Terrick took his turn to rest.
The clouds from the previous day had passed and the rain left a slight chill to the dawn. Atticus wrapped his winter coat tightly around himself and retook the watch.
Deer grazed within eyesight and gave no indication that they knew of the two men sitting in a hole in the earth. Atticus knew this as a popular feeding ground. Sentient creatures rarely came through here, making it a possible pathway drow might take to remain unseen in whatever diabolical schemes they may have. In months, no one had reported seeing a single humanoid pass through.
But today felt different. Atticus felt a sense of foreboding that troubled him. For an hour or so he dwelt on this until he noticed the deer were a bit agitated. They flashed their tails at one another in their way of alerting the rest to danger. Thinking they were smelling him in the air, he tested the direction of the win and found that was not the case. He was downwind of them and whatever made them cautious came from that direction.
With a gentle shake, he woke Terrick.
"Hmm?" Terrick groaned softly as he stirred. "Already?!"
Atticus shook his head and put a finger to his mouth. "The deer're bothered. Might be nuthin', but it ain't us." He nodded toward the animals who were slowly making their way toward the blind, feeding as they went.
Terrick rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat next to his friend. He considered the creatures a moment and yawned before speaking. "You're right. But they're not running, yet." He chewed his lip and then grabbed his equipment. "Something's passing nearby but not quite through here or they'd be bolting. Wait here. I'm going to poke around some."
Atticus nodded and nocked an arrow. Terrick crawled on his belly through the small opening and made his way around the deer so not to startle them.
As Atticus waited, a large buck with antlers just beginning to emerge from his head came within two men's length and froze, turning its neck to peer into the woods to its rear. Atticus watched it and saw its tail flick rapidly. Whatever was spooking it drew closer. It and the rest of the deer grabbed a final mouthful and fled into the woods at half speed. Atticus prayed for several enchantments and sat poised for trouble.
Minutes went by and Terrick still hadn't returned.
Prob'ly met some hunters and is chattin' with 'em, he thought but he knew not to put too much faith in it.
The birds went quiet.
Terrick returned, running at full speed. The expression on his face frightened Atticus.
Without entering the dugout, he hissed, "We gotta go. Now!"
Atticus didn't question and began hefting their gear.
"Leave it!" Terrick hissed again, turning to look back from whence he came. "Gotta go NOW!"
Atticus crawled desperately out of the dugout and ran after his friend. He heard the snapping of twigs and branches from behind and knew they were hunted.
"What is it?" Atticus ventured to ask.
"What do you think?" Terrick answered without turning. "Just run. We gotta get back home."
One arrow whistled past them. Then another. Then a stream of them embedded in to the trees all around them.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" Terrick cursed as he ran. "Move it!"
Atticus reached into a pouch on his belt and threw down a handful of caltraps knowing it wouldn't slow their pursuers by much but it was at least something.
Too far, he thought. We'll never make it, as he ducked under another arrow.

[racestark]

Terrick turned and let loose another arrow as Atticus ran past him. The half-elf was running again the moment his bow went TWANG! without bothering to see if the missile found its mark. Atticus did likewise moments later and the two were off again.
For several hours they had been fleeing like this with the drow right on their heels, pausing to fire back at their pursuers whenever a projectile came too close for comfort. Atticus had no idea how many there were but guessed it to be far more than the two of them could handle alone.
His lungs burned with every breath from the exertion and his mouth was as parched as the Anauroch. Despite this, he refused to drink from his waterskin knowing the effort he would need fumbling for it would only slow him.
Self-preservation was in his mind but inconsequential compared to the need to warn the rest of the collective. He knew either Terrick or himself may have to be sacrificed to ensure that the other had a better chance of getting home safely. Thankfully, they hadn't become that desperate.
Yet, Atticus thought grimly.
He focused on making it to the tree hut that he felt HAD to be not too far off. If they could make it there they at least stood a chance of hiding for the night or fending the drow off for a short while, at least. But first they had to throw their pursuers, if just for a short while.
Atticus balked as an arrow whizzed by his head and turned to answer with two of his own before continuing his flight. In a desperate attempt, he wheezed a prayer and the ground behind him became overgrown with a complex tangle of vines that slopped up and down at shin height.
That should slow 'em sum, he hoped.
The rain of arrows stalled and he thanked Silvanus for that. He labored to catch Terrick and told him to do the same between gulps for air. The half-elf panted a prayer onto Solonor with the same effect as Atticus' beseeching.
With a second wind they thought impossible, the two increased their speed, hoping to put some distance between themselves and the drow. It wouldn't be too long before their for traversed their little obstacles.
Yes, the tree hut. It was their only chance. Atticus knew he couldn't continue like this for much longer.
"How (HUFF!) much farther?" he asked.
"(HUFF!) Not far. (HUFF!) Just keep (HUFF!) at it."
A brook came in sight and the two of them splashed into it up to their ankles. They followed it for several minutes before continuing toward the hut.
The sounds of chase had ceased and Atticus ventured a glance back. No dark face sneered at him nor any missiles flew at him.
"Don't (HUFF!) stop now!" Terrick coaxed. "We're almost (HUFF!) there!"
Indeed, within moments they came to the base of the thick oak that would provide them shelter. Atticus crouched beside the trunk and nocked an arrow, watching for their foes. Terrick searched frantically for the spot to whisper the passphrase and had to pause a moment to calm his anxiety before continuing.
"Here," he announced.
"One of us should run ahead so we ain't leavin' a trail that ends here," Atticus suggested.
Terrick gave him a nod and Atticus took a few swallows from his waterskin before running off. He knew there was a second stream up ahead and would use it in another attempt to thrower their hunters.
When he came to the stream he saw that it had crested its banks due to the rainfall of the previous day. The current was swift and the depth enough to swim in. He would have trouble crossing it but that was not his intent. Stopping just short of the water he doubled-back, running backward in a fashion he would have found humorous if his situation hadn't been what it was.
If only it hadn't rained yesterday, he thought with a frown. Let 'em think we swam downstream, he implored.
Atticus reached the base of the tree without an arrow finding his back. He stood on the hidden marking and whispered the password in Elven. A sturdy vine unraveled itself from far above and Atticus grabbed onto it just as it began its ascent. It deposited him on a narrow landing that surrounded the hut.
He leaned against the rail and extended his neck muscles to listen for the sounds of chase. After a few minutes of silence he was satisfied and stepped into the shelter.
Terrick lay sprawled on his back, his arms and legs flailed out in a spread eagle position. His panting had had sufficient time to subside but his chest and stomach still rose and fell from exhaustion.
"By the Seldarine! I hope I never have have to run like that again," he grinned as he stared up at the ceiling.
Atticus gave a slight chuckle in agreement as he pressed his back against the wall and used it for support as he lowered himself to the floor. "How long ya think we got?"
"We could probably stay the night here, but I don't think we should chance those bastards aren't headed for home. Or that our relief comes early and runs right into them. Maybe they won't expect us to move at night." Terrick propped himself up on his elbows and asked, "You willing to risk a night trek?"
"Only if we hafta. How long to get home, ya think?"
"Start a little after nightfall, we'll probably get there shortly before morning. That is, if we don't come across the spider-kissers."
Atticus nodded. "Which ain't likely to happen."
"Aye. I wouldn't count on it, either."
"The stream up ahead's deep enough to swim in now. I pray they think that's what we did. Ya think they'd follow?"
Terrick shrugged. "Maybe. If they're not headed for our home or if they're not sure where it is."
"Or maybe they're countin' on us to lead 'em to it?"
Terrick pondered this in silence a moment. "I was starting to think the same thing. There's no way they could have missed us that much. But then, how would they even know to look for us? Not like anyone knows where that blind is except a few of us. Yet, they knew exactly where to look."
"Ya think they're herdin' us?"
Terrick narrowed his eyes and said, "I think there's a traitor among us."
Atticus' jaw dropped at the accusation. "Y'er not sayin' it's--"
"No, I know it's not you," he answered a bit annoyed.
"And I know it ain't you."
"But someone, maybe. They've been several steps ahead of us the whole time. That attack in the Semberholme, months of evading us and just now. Someone's gotta be giving them information."
"Then why not just tell 'em where home is?" Atticus asked with his head inclined to one side.
Terrick shrugged. "Too obvious, maybe? The others could be blamed on Beshaba but guiding them by the hand straight to home..." he shook his head.
"One of our own or another dalefolk?"
"Who knows? Vengilis said himself a traitor was a possibility."
"Surely not Vengilis," Atticus said with a hard stare.
"I doubt it but we can't be sure."
"Do we tell 'im?"
Terrick nodded. "If we get the chance. At the very least, it'll make him cautious if it is him, which I don't think it is. But our first priority is getting home and warning them. We should probably rest. Night fall isn't far off. We should set out then."
Atticus nodded his agreement and the two of them laid down to sleep. The thought of a traitor being a very real possibility kept Atticus up longer than he would have liked but slumber did come eventually.

[racestark]

They let about an hour pass as they stood on the landing after nightfall. The only sounds Atticus could detect were the night insects and the distant hooting of an owl. If anyone was going to hear if their enemy was close it would be Terrick. He suggested that they wait just in case the drow knew exactly where they were holed up. He was counting on one to at least cough or something by now.
Terrick leaned over the rail one final time and turned toward Atticus with a wave of his hand for him to follow. Atticus whispered a blessing and his vision went from a collage of indistinguishable silhouettes to a detailed, colorless picture. Terrick muttered a few prayers himself and the two made their descent, one by one.
They each had an arrow nocked the moment the vine deposited their feet to the ground and scanned the immediate area with a sweep of their bows. Satisfied nothing lay in wait, they set off at a slow pace with Terrick in the lead.
Atticus had heard drow saw perfectly well in the dark--better than he did in daylight, some said--and couldn't shake the feeling that someone had a bead on him. He kept turning as they walked and wished that Yonia were present to sniff out any threat that remained unseen.
Toe, heel, toe, heel, rolling their steps on the balls of their feet, angling their toes inward to minimize the crunch of their footfalls on the vegetation. Atticus cringed some as he snapped a twig but didn't relax after no attack met his accidental announcement. The ground was still moist, making their tracks a bit easier to follow but cushioned the crunch of the fallen leaves.
Terrick stopped and listened to the sounds around them. The chirping of crickets was all that came to them and they continued on.
The brook Atticus had ran to earlier in the day in an attempt to lose their pursuit appeared before them. It's waters had receded some but would still make for a cautious crossing. Atticus could see several humanoid prints along the bank and dared to hope that the drow had chased them downstream.
Atticus ducked among a patch of weeds and watched the vicinity as Terrick attempted his crossing. The half-elf waded into the water and unshouldered his quiver, holding it and his bow above his head. His body disappeared into the water up to his waist as he reached the middle but he had no trouble making it safely to the other side.
When Atticus saw that his friend had readied himself to watch his own crossing, he too unshouldered his quiver and held his weapons over his head. The current was swifter than it appeared and he had to lean against it as he reached the center in order to stay upright. Despite this, he made it safely across without any problems.
The two of them wrung out their clothing and set off again in the same fashion they had before. Terrick kept watch of what lay before them with Atticus alternating his attention between their rear and the ground for any trailsigns.
A few hours passed like this when Atticus heard a distant rustle coming from behind them. It may have been attributed to the wind but he felt no breeze. He shot a frightened look toward Terrick who must have heard it, also, for he was looking in the direction the sound came from. They exchanged looks and moved on in a more hurried pace. The rustle came again, sounding closer than before.
The two of them broke into a sprint, running on their tiptoes to lessen the sounds their increased speed made.
An arrow flew between them and Terrick returned fire in the direction it had sailed from on the run. By the grace of Tymora, they were rewarded with a painful cry which evolved into an alarm in what Atticus had come to know as drow speech. The two rangers abandoned stealth for quickness and made a mad dash at breakneck speed.
The sounds of chase followed them. Atticus thought that desperation had come at last and steeled himself to lead the drow away from his friend. But the half-elf beat him to it. Terrick cut to the left, making such a commotion to attract the drow's attention. Atticus cursed under his breath but continued his course. Someone HAD to return home with the warning.
He offered a small prayer for his friend's safety and ran without so much as a glance in Terrick's direction. It wasn't long before the sounds of the hunt died away but that didn't slow Atticus any. He would run as far and as hard as he could until he could run no more. His friend's sacrifice had to be made worthwhile!
After he was certain no one followed, Atticus stopped and placed a hand on a tree to lean against it and catch his wind. He gave a casual glance to his surroundings and made sure he was on the right path. The black backdrop marking the edge of his vision made him uneasy and he began to wonder just how far a drow could see in the dark. Not wanting to find out, he moved on after only a short pause.
As he darted from tree to tree he realized that he had lost all track of time and therefore had no guess as to how much longer it would take him to reach home. These woods were familiar enough but the limited scope of his vision made it difficult to get a good bearing on where he was.
Daylight, he thought. How far away is that? He hoped soon. At least then he'd have a fair chance of spotting any drow before they spied him.
As the hours went by, he began to get weary and thought about chancing a quick rest. He decided against it and pulled his coat tighter against the night's chill.
Noise started to slowly come from ahead and Atticus' heart thumped in his chest. They're in front of me? he thought with confusion mixed with his terror. How'd they know to wait this way?
Ducking behind a wide trunk, he listened to the sounds and recognized speech in Common. This gave him some hope but he didn't reveal himself.
He inched his way forward crawling on his belly, using the voices as a compass. He froze as someone stepped into his field of view.
A dark face topped by long white hair stood just at the edge of Atticus' eyesight. He wore the clothing similar to that Atticus had seen on dead drow but this subject was far too tall to be a drow.
Human made up to look like a drow? he wondered. But why?
The man began to relieve himself and turned his head to speak over his shoulder. "Where to next?" His accent was that of a dalesman but still gave no clue to the reason for his appearance.
"Southeast of here," someone called from behind the man's back, his accent the same. "There's a small road leadin' to Highmoon that hasn't seen any drow sightin's fer a while. Should be good pickin's."
"Little close to patrols, ain't it?" the urinating dalesman asked.
"You kiddin' me? Half the countryside's bogged down lookin' fer those things. They ain't gonna keep too much guard on one little trail," the unseen speaker answered.
"What makes ya think there'll be anyone comin' that way?" The man finished evacuating himself and walked in the direction of the unseen speaker. Atticus crawled his way forward until both were in view.
"A little bird told me," the other dalesman replied. Like the other, he too was dressed in a poor impersonation of a drow with his face blackened and hair bleached white.
Though they were stupid enough to speak so loudly they were at least wise enough not to have a fire going. They sat against a fallen tree trunk and munched on a bit of bread and one fished a wheel of cheese from a knapsack. Some of the objects strewn about their camp looked impractical for a hunter to have in the woods.
"Lemme see that gem we got from our last job, again. Can't get enough of that," the first one said.
"Careful with it," the other answered as he dug into his pack and retrieved a green jewel the size of a thumb knuckle. "Had to dispatch that pretty little lass just to get her to let go of it." The other man chuckled as he took the emerald in hand.
Highwaymen, Atticus thought to himself. Usin' the drow as a scapegoat to keep suspicion from 'emselves. So that's why they're done up like that. He circled around the two men, keeping them in sight as he debated whether or not to ambush them. Though they gave no indication to others waiting unseen, Atticus decided that his first priority was to get home safely.
Just as he was about to turn and leave from the opposite of their camp, a commotion came through the woods. The two bandits heard it, too, and jumped to their feet, weapons in hand. Atticus froze and waited.
An arrow lanced out of the darkness and caught the second man in the leg. He fell to the ground, gripping the wounded limb with both hands and wailed painfully. The first bandit dove behind the tree trunk and sounded an alarm. Half a dozen men sprang from the woods in different directions, all of them disguised as drow.
Two went down in a hail of arrows just as Atticus spied them. One survivor began casting a spell as the rest took cover and fired with arrows and bolts of their own. More missiles flew at the men from the night of the woods and that was enough for Atticus.
He crawled backward on all fours away from the fight and ran the moment he was certain the gloom would keep him concealed. For another hour he ran, putting as much distance between himself and the battle. It was doubtful he'd get another distraction such as that.
His body finally couldn't take it anymore and he drug himself into a bush and collapsed. Before exhaustion took him, he whispered one final prayer to conceal himself and fell asleep shortly after the enchantment surrounded him, his last thoughts being of his dear friend Terrick and his courageous self sacrifice.

[Navygurl]

Danyella sit alone looking into the newly made fire place in the suite room at Isins inn. She thinks heavly about Atticus and wishing should could figure out why he never came back for her. Wondering if she should move on with Kain. Kain loved her she could see that but was it possiable to love two men? Was it possiable to give up hope on the one man that she truely gave her heart to? She missed Atticus so much his touch, his kiss, was he thinking of her in the same way and was *she sighed* he even still *she shuttered at the thought* alive? It was not fair to her nor to Kain for to still hold on but something deep in her soul would not let go. Should she and why could she not? Why had he not sent for her or word to her about his well being? *she got mad and screamed* Why Lady Mystra has he forsaken me *she cried and screamed herself to sleep that night lying on the couch in the suite room still not knowing what she should do*

[racestark]

He woke with stiffness in his joints and was a moment remembering why he was sleeping in a shrub. Despite the obstruction of the trees, he could tell the light of Lathander was still climbing in the sky and judged it to be midmorning. He'd slept longer than he had intended.
Atticus lay still for a while and listened for any sounds that would betray a threat to his person. The birds sang their sweet melodies and he took that as a fair omen. The chill of the previous night gave way to a comfortable warmth. Recalling that he had abandoned his pack in their hurry to flee, he left his coat drawn tightly around himself, not wanting to forsake it, also.
Slowly he rose from the hedge like a prairie dog emerging from its hole. He turned his head slowly and scanned his surroundings. A jay chirped in a tree nearby and that was good enough for Atticus. Once he was satisfied that his gear was where it should be he set out, keeping to the hedges and undergrowth whenever possible. Every few minutes he would pause and listen for the telltale signs of danger and examine the ground and low-hanging branches for signs that his hunters had passed this way.
Finally, he came to the stream that marked less than an hour or so of uninterrupted walking before reaching sanctuary. He started to hope that he would succeed and continued on with even more care.
Perhaps more than half way past the stream the woods became eerily still. Birds and insects could still be heard calling back and forth to each other in the distance but the immediate area contained an air of holding its breath in anticipation. Atticus crouched behind a large birch and waited.
He won the waiting game.
Fifty paces or so off to his right a flock of birds was startled from the bushes and took to the air. Atticus drew an arrow and watched that direction like a cat. Nothing moved but he wasn't about to be fooled by that. He had shaken the drow only to find them right on his tail too many times in the last day.
Atticus hefted a small rock laying at hand and rolled it absently around in his paw. He waited and still no movement. In no mood to wait for a dagger to stick him in the back, he threw the rock off to the right of where the birds had flown from. It crashed through the vegetation and a drow ran at the sound with weapon at the ready. The thing searched frantically for the source of the disturbance with its back to Atticus. He waited for it to pause in its search and loosed his arrow at the drow. He was up and running for home as he heard the thing scream.
All around him the woods came to life. Drow crashed through the forest from behind and to both sides, trying to encircle him. The thickness of the underbrush announced his location marvelously as he ran but kept his body concealed from enemy eyes enough so as not to provide an ample target.
Don't let 'em be in front of me, he pleaded desperately. Please don't let 'em be in front.
Arrows flew at him, released blindly if their misdirection was any indication. He ducked under branches and leapt hedges and fallen trees. One missile soared right over his head and he yelped involuntarily and dug his feet into the ground harder.
Almost there! C'mon! Don't fail now!
He knew the edge of the wood was close. He'd be there in minutes.
That's when a new horror struck him. He wouldn't be able to make the correct bird call loud enough for safe passage through the field! Atticus knew better than to hope that the watch's aim wouldn't be true.
To the Nines with it. Ain't got much choice.
He crashed through the woods and leapt into the field like a gazelle. Running straight for the first bush in the field, he waved his arms over his head frantically, hoping to stall the watch's barrage.
Atticus was almost to the third shrub when the first projectile lanced out at him from the crest of the hill.
"It's me, ya fools! Don't shoot!" he yelled as he ran for the next shrub. The arrows kept coming but slowed some. Perhaps his arm flailing had held them to warning shots meant to turn him back. But as he orbited closer to the top of the hill the arrows came closer to striking him.
For the first time since the chase began, Atticus wished the drow to be right behind him if only to direct some of the rain of arrows their way.
A missile barely missed his head and embedded itself into the ground mere inches from where he cowered behind a bush.
Huddling down, he yelled out, "It's Atticus, ya dolts! Quit shooting!" No effect. Arrows fell all around him.
Then they ceased and he chanced a look back to the woods from where he ran. Three dark figures broke through the forest and run straight up the hill. The watch had begun firing on them and Atticus used that as his moment.
"It's me! Don't shoot!" he kept calling as he ran from bush to bush. "Friendly! Friendly!"
Someone on this side of the hill had a keener eye and the arrows ceased flying toward him altogether. He reached the summit, totally out of wind and doubled over to catch his breath. Farsel and Leodia met him there.
"I told you it was him," Leodia said annoyed to the other elf.
"Then why didn't he use the call sign?" Farsel asked defensively.
"I told you he can't do it loud enough." She turned to Atticus and pressed the issue. "I told him but he just wouldn't listen."
"Drow," Atticus panted. "Drow comin'." He swallowed dryly. "This way."
The two elves looked at him with concern and Farsel asked, "Where's Terrick?"
Atticus simply threw up his hands but offered no explanation.
"I'm going to see what's going on on the south side," Farsel declared and ran off.
Leodia offered Atticus her waterskin and he took it wordlessly, drinking its entire contents. The young elf bent over and forced him to look her in the eye.
"Now, where's Terrick?"
Atticus stood up straight and held his arms over his head in order to expand his lungs. "Drow got 'im. He led 'em off so I could get back here safe and warn y'all." He frowned. "Lotta good that did. Lead 'em right to us."
The young elf stood there silently, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. Terrick had been nearly as good a friend to her and it was obvious that his demise pained her. For what felt like a long time, Atticus waited for how she would react to the news. That's when the full weight of the fact fell on him.
He sunk to the ground and wept. Terrick had been the closest thing to a brother to him and his loss pained him terribly. They had learned to survive off the land together, competed with each other to hone their archery. The two had been almost inseparable at times and were the subject of many good-natured laments from their elders during their adolescence. Whenever he was feeling down, Terrick had been their with an uplifting jest or to make a deliberate fool of himself to lift Atticus' spirits. They had saved each other's lives on countless occasions.
Guess ya got one up on me with that, he thought with a chuckle despite his grief.
Presently, he stood and began to stumble off. "Where you going?" Leodia asked, keeping her sorrows in better check but not by much.
"Someone oughtta tell his folks. It should prob'ly be me."
"Atticus?"
He stopped but did not turn. "Aye?"
"He was a good man. He'll be missed."
Atticus nodded and started to walk away again. "He'll return in one form or another," he answered but the words were like dirt in his mouth.
He didn't see it, but Leodia ran to join Farsel on the south side and assess the situation. No doubt she had sworn in her mind to kill every last spider-kisser herself to avenge her fallen friend.
Vengilis had been right about one thing. A storm was approaching and for the little collective in Deepingdale the thunderheads were about to burst.

[Navygurl]

Danyella awoke on the couch with a gasps. Something was wrong deep in her soul she could feel it but was it Atticus or was it Kain. She quickly got up from the couch what was she planing where was she going she had no idea but she new that she had to make diffent that both of the men she cared for were ok. She stopped and said to herself "I know where to find Kain but where do I start to look for Atticus *she hit her headc to think* Come on Danyella use your mind what had Atticus said about where he was from maybe he is there. As hard as she thought she could not remeber. Maybe it was because he had not said or had she truely forgotten something so important. She knew in her heart that she truely and deeply missed Atticus and that she was heart broken that he had not sent her any word and she was tried of not knowing if he was died or alive so she packed a few things and started out for the woods. She would search all the woods she knew of and even go to the High Forrest to see if any of her friends had seen him around there. As she walked down the road to the woods her mind thought back to the times she had with Atticus and she began to cry and hope she could find answers this time.

[racestark]

They had surmised correctly that the drow would not move against them in daylight. Throughout the day the watch had seen glimpses of them moving in the surrounding forest on the south but that had been a couple of hours ago. The north, east and west had seen or heard not a thing. It was doubtful the spider-kissers had moved on. If they even had a hint at how meager the fighting numbers of the defenders were they would surely make a move before aid had a chance to arrive.
And help was unsure at best. The collective had sent courier birds to make others aware of their plight. One to the sister collective north of Lake Sember, one to Vengilis, one each to Bristar and Moonrise Hill and another two to Highmoon. Even if help was sent it would be at least a day for the the closest to receive the distress call and arrive after a forced, sleepless march.
For all intents and purposes, they were on their own.
Daylight was fading and anxietites grew. Preparations had been made to give the defenders every advantage possible but there hadn't been much time. Even now, as he waited there on the south side with nearly a dozen other archers, Atticus kept thinking that there had to have been more they could have done if only time were on their side.
And numbers. A headcount had produced a total of thirty-one souls not out on patrols. Of them, eight were children far too young to fight and four were elderly folk too frail to stand much of a chance. That left nineteen bodies committed to the defenses with most of them assembled here.
Atticus was their only judge as the size of the drow force and he had not a clue. Hope rested in that there were only a dozen or so. The defenders had already proven to them that the field would be a very long advance after three had been skewered in their blind chase after Atticus. Some in the collective had pressed for an attack their own but Aryndul wished not to risk an ambush by a larger party. Waiting became the name of the game.
Snares had been placed along the southern edge of the wood to slow the spider-kissers if they made it through the field, perhaps granting a few extra shots as the archers retreated. Deeper in the woods is where the real surprise rested. But it all depended on the drow being few.
In the dimming light Atticus noticed that the first leaves were already well on their way to coloring. Upon discovering this he realized just how much their way of life was beginning to change. They'd become so involved in combating drow that something as obvious--and doubly crucial--as a seasonal change had escaped their notice. He shook his head dismally at this revelation.
Selune was wholly visible overhead, providing just enough light to see silhouettes in the field clearly but not much detail. Beyond the treetops in the western sky clouds were slowly billowing with distant flashes of lightning and a stiff breeze started to pick up as the storm front advanced. It wouldn't be long before they completely blocked Selune's rays, something the drow would be wise to stall for. Every now and then the low rumble of thunder to came to their ears.
"Let's hope Talos hates spider-kissers as much as we do," Vartul said. A few spat on the ground at the mention of the Fury.
"I hate this waitin'. Why don't they do sumthin'?" Atticus complained.
"And here I thought'cha only asked stupid questions," the fletcher joked.
"Pfft. Let's see if I wait around fer y'er gimp legs when we hafta run."
"Ain't gimp enough not to give ya a good kick to the seat of y'er pants."
There were stiffled chuckles all around. Their rash of apprehension needed a good balm and what better rememdy than a bit of humor, even gallows humor.
Sounds of movement came from the opposite woods, snapping everyone's attention that way. The defenders all chanted prayers for divine favor. The humans left their eyesight unblessed. They had different plans for that.
Minutes went by without another sound. Everyone nocked an arrow and waited. Farsel leaned his head forward and pointed. There were shapes moving along the bottom of the hill in the shadows of the treeline. With a nod of the elf's head, two priests enchanted their arrows with a light spell and fired them into the field at a high arc. Twice more they did this, spacing their aim in a wide arrangement. Much of the southern hill's bottom lit up enough for everyone to see what moved at the edge of the forest.
Deer. Dozens of them. Many of them pranced fitfully near the treeline, looking for safe cover to return to among the forest. But just as many stampeded through the fiel and up it in all directions. Eveywhere they went the grass collapsed to the ground leaving large portions trodded underhoof.
"What's this all about?" Cambriella, a half-elf lass, asked.
"Ah, Hells," Farsel cursed. "There goes our warning."
"Whad'ya mean?" Scherner, Terrick's human parentage, asked with a solemn face as he stepped forward for a cloer inspection.
The elf indicated toward the deer with a nod and said, "Damn spider-kissers are stempeding every bleeding deer in the forest throught the field--"
"To get through the field undetected!" Leodia jumped in.
They all exchanged horrified glances.
"Loose!" Farsel commanded. "Everyone, loose!"
"At what?" Vartul asked as most fired arrows blindly into the grass.
"At the field, man!"
Their bows and missiles performed duets of THUM! and FFRT!. Arrows peppered the ground anywhere the deer had trampled. Most of their barrage was concentrated on the paths that led all the way up to the hilltop and into the woods. A few curses went up as spooked deer moved into the flight path of projectiles and were struck.
"How we supposed to know if were hittin' 'em?" Atticus called out.
"Says the man who shouldn't even be worryin' 'bout that," Vartul said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Atticus turned his head to him.
"It means don't worry 'bout it. I've seen ya shoot," the fletcher joked with a wink in his direction before turning back to the field.
Arrows came answering back from the field catching the defenders completely by surprise. They took cover behind the trees as the elves searched for the source of the counterattack.
"In the field!" Farsel yelled. "Drow in the field! Moving through the bushes!"
Atticus saw what the elf was referring to. Drow advanced along the path between the shrubs, using the deer as a decoy. They were able to get one barrage off before the storm clouds completely blocked out Selune and the field became too dark for Atticus to see.
The rain began to fall in fat droplets. Lightning illuminated the scene for a few brief moments as thunder shook the air. With each flash of the storm the drow advanced closer and closer.
"Back!" Farsel ordered. "Fall back!"
He, Leodia and Aryndul all kept loosing on the drow archers as everyone else moved deeper into the wood. A few cries of pain could just barely be heard over the thunderclaps and the three elves followed the retreat.
They spaced themselves out among the trees where they still had a clear range of fire at their treeline. Atticus held his breath as they waited for the drow's next move.
SNAP! went one snare. Then SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! as more of them went off. One of the priests enchanted another arrow with a light spell and marked the ground around the snares. Nothing could be seen waiting there and everyone let fly at the edge of the woods. Screams went out as drow concealed by arcane powers were struck and those few slain materialized in midfall.
"Fall back in pairs!" Farsel yelled. He and Leodia were the furthest to the front and retreated under the cover of their comrades. They took shelter in the rear of the line and offered cover for the next pair.
Drow materialized as they returned fire. Some of them were struck immediately but the survivors were able to interpose a tree between themselves and the hail of arrows quickly enough. The two priests blessed the trunks of their shelter with a light prayer and fell back. Aryndul and Vartul were next and made their move. As he ran by Atticus' position, Vartul cried out. Atticus saw the fletcher fall to the ground out of the corner of his eye and saw that an arrow had become embedded in his left calf muscle. He released the missile he had nocked and dashed from behind his tree to aid his fallen friend. He handed Vartul his bow and grabbed the fletcher under both arms and drug him to safety.
"Run, m'boy!" Vartul barked as he tried to hand back Atticus his weapon. "I'll hold 'em long as I can!"
"That ain't gonna be too long. Y'er comin' with us," Atticus stated adamantly.
"Damn fool," the fletcher cursed as Atticus helped him to his good leg. Vartul threw an arm around his friend's shoulder and the two ran as fast as Vartul's hobbled leg would allow.
"Still up fer kickin' me in the pants?" Atticus grunted. Vartul inhaled through clenched teeth as pain shot up his limb. "Ya need to slim y'erself down sum."
"Keep it up, funny guy, and ya better hope--AH! Damn!--better hope the spider-kissers get ya first."
The two of them made their slow progress to better sanctuary under a hail of arrows from their compatriots. When they were well on their way, the rest resumed their leap-frog retreat. Atticus heard screams of agony coming from behind and hoped they came from none of his friends.
He dumped Vartul harder than he should have behind a tree. The injured man cursed profanely at the pain as he snapped part of the injurying shaft off. Atticus took back his bow and resumed his supressing fire.
He could barely make out silhouettes against the light the priests left behind as they retreated. Shouts of despair were heard and he strained his eyes to see what the distress was about.
Farsel ran by but unaccompanied by Leodia. Atticus didn't bother to question him and continued to fire at the advancing invaders. The weight of his quiver on his back told him he was expending arrows quicker than anticipated. If that were a testament to everyone else's supply, they needed to speed it up.
It nearly became his turn to move back and still no Leodia. Aryndul was next in line but held his position. The elf had traded bow for blade and made a dash across the field of fire.
"What're ya doin'?" Atticus yelled to him. "Get back!"
But the elf didn't acknowledge the order. Atticus cursed and moved up once he saw Scherner was aiding the injured Vartul.
An arrow flew by his face forcing him to hug his back against the tree trunk. He counted to two and leaned out just long enough to twang his bowstring. Another arrow skipped off the trunk he pressed against, spraying small bits of bark into his face. He spat the pieces from his mouth and stuck his head out to find Aryndul.
He saw what had distressed the elf. Leodia had become cut off from the retreat and was fighting hand to hand with one of the spider-kissers. Aryndul rushed to his daughter's side just in time to parry a thrust to her back. More drow could barely be seen advancing on them.
Atticus looked back for help but saw none. He fired upon and struck a drow attempting to flank the retreat in the stomach.
"Get outta there!" he yelled to the two elves and sent more missiles to harry the advancing aggressors.
In one stroke of graceful swordplay, the two elves fighting back to back side-stepped an attack by both their opponents, sending them careening into each other. As the drow struggled to disentangle themselves, father and daughter stuck them like fat boars and ran to catch up.
Leodia was in the lead and didn't see the arrow that impaled itself into her father's back. He hit the ground in mid-stride and didn't move to get up. Atticus gaped at the corpse but made no sound fearing Leodia would foolishly run back to try and help him. But it was too late for that.
Drow lept from their cover and rushed forward brandishing blades. Atticus sent two more arrows their way, slaying one, and retreated. He followed the path of illuminated trunks, their light giving the appearance of a lit city boulevard. It wasn't much but it was enough to fight by.
He and Leodia caught up with the rest and it was then that she noticed her father's absence. She had to be forcibly restrained from running back after him and she yelled and struggled to be released.
"Forget him! You can't help him!" Farsel yelled in her face, shaking her by the shoulders.
"Let go of me!" she shrieked as tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
"He's dead, lass! And you will be, too, if you go back!"
Leodia wailed once more in desperation but Farsel held her fast. Her grief stricken face quickly melted to that of a snarling beast backed into a corner. She shook Farsel off of her and screamed promises of revenge in Elven at the drow.
"We need to get back!" Farsel barked. "We're almost there!"
They resumed their retreat, hoping they would make to their little surprise without further losses. Scherner and Cambriella helped Vartul hobble along and the drow still kept coming.
Atticus reached back into his quiver and his hands found nothing. He swore and fell back out of turn, unable to offer any more use in this tactic.
And still, the drow kept coming.

[racestark]

They were surrounded, herded back-to-back in a tight huddle, taking up cowering postures of an animal backed into a corner. A general sense of panic pervaded their position. They were caught in their own trap, illuminated for all to see under an aurora that they had asked for. The shadows cast from the light barely made the front ranks of drow distinguishable from the gloom as they hovered there.
The spider-kissers hollered taunts and curses in their foul speech with one even having the audacity to speak the Fair Tongue to describe in great detail what it intended for their innards. Back and forth they went, from one side to the other, drawing the besieged archers' attention every which way. See how many we are? You stood no chance. It unnerved most of the defenders, Atticus included, but they continued to close ranks, creating an ever tightening circle around one tree from which to fend off the inevitable drow assault.
"Now?" Vartul asked from his seated position against the tree, blade in hand.
"Not quite," Farsel answered in a low hush, eying his enemy in a fear that was somehow calculated.
The drow held their ground, hooting and hollering. Atticus began to wonder if their stalled advance was due to some trepidation they felt coming from him and his compatriots. He tossed this thought aside knowing they were simply reveling in the prelude to their evident conquest.
There were dozens of them. More than they would have guessed. The defenders were beaten and both sides knew it.
As one, the beasts began to step forward, taking their time before coming to close quarters where they would have their fun. They grinned wickedly, brandishing nightmarish weapons, each picking out prey and staring it straight in the eye as it advanced. Lightning flashed again followed by the predictable rumble of thunder. Atticus began to make his peace.
"NOW!" Farsel yelled. Immediately, Vartul put two fingers into the corners of his mouth and produced a loud, high-pitched whistle.
From one portion of the drow's rear, the remainder of the collective sprang from concealed holes in a desperate attempt to ambush their foes. Animals charged with them, snarling and baring their large canines. It did little to even the odds but took the drow completely by surprise, forcing them to fight in two directions to keep from being pancaked against an opponent they thought all but beaten.
A large black bear barreled through the drow ranks into the center, wreaking havoc and confusion among them. It stood on its hind legs and mauled every dark torso within reach. Blood flew in large droplets from its claws as it tore drow limb from limb. The encircled archers rallied around it and fought to keep the enemy from its back.
Screams, shouts and snarls filled the air creating a cacophony of agony and exhilaration. The defenders fought back-to-back in pairs and trios as the battle lines quickly collapsed into disarray. The drow scrambled to recover from their disorientation in order to surround the collective again.
Atticus stabbed a spider-kisser in the ribs while it was preoccupied with Leodia. The two both found new foes without so much as a nod from one another. Atticus parried another attack and something slammed into him from his periphery, tackling him to the ground. He struggled with the drow as it tried to bring its blade down into his chest.
Grabbing both of its wrists, he pushed up as hard as he could and locked his elbows. The effort made him red in the face and he wrestled to try and kick his foe. He had strength over the drow but it had the full advantage of pressing down with all of its weight. Slowly, his elbows began to bend again as the spider-kisser labored to overcome him. Atticus focused all of his thoughts into one angry emotion and tried another counter push but failed to lock his elbows straight. The blade inched closer and closer to his breastbone.
In a final, desperate attempt, Atticus raised his head and clamped his jaw down on one of the dark hands. The warm, coppery taste of blood oozed into his mouth and he began grinding his teeth against the flesh. The drow shrieked with the agony and forgot its struggle for that one crucial moment. Atticus flipped it over onto its back and wrested the dagger from its grasp. The two repeated the struggle as before with reversed roles. The spider-kisser resisted admirably but was no match for its heavier and stronger human adversary. The dagger sunk into its chest inch by inch until it finally ceased altogether.
Atticus scrambled to his feet and retrieved his blades. He took a quick survey of the pitched battle.
Attacker and defender littered the earth. Both sides were beginning to feel the toll of their losses. The bear which fought so viciously lay dead on the ground, its more than a dozen victims strewn about it in various degrees of mutilation. Through the mess of moving bodies, Atticus spied where Vartul was propped against a tree. The aged fletcher did not move and it was obvious from the hanging posture of his head that he had been slain.
Unseen to him, Yonia and her pack were having marvelous successes in their fight on the edge of the skirmish. Using their hunting instincts, the wolves worked in concerted effort to isolate one drow at a time and to drag it to the ground. They pinned each spider-kisser as other pack members tore out its throat and other soft tissues.
Atticus fought his way to where Vartul's body rested, shoving his way past friends and dispatching foes whenever opportunity presented. The fletcher was indeed dead, run through where he sat. His killer lay next to him, Vartul's blade still embedded into its gut. Atticus frowned sadly at the sight but could not spare more than this for his fallen friend. What'cha cryin' 'bout? Now ya ain't got no one pointin' out y'er obvious faults, anymore, he imagined him joking.
His guess had been correct. Vartul had nearly a half full quiver left on him. Atticus made certain the fight had shifted so he was in no immediate danger and grabbed up the lot of them.
Slowly and methodically, he loosed at his foes. Back and forth he swept the compressed battlefield with his bow, firing on drow that threatened friends. He did his damnedest to make every one of them count.
On his third sweep he spotted his mother going blade to blade with an enemy. He knew Mesra possessed fighting abilities but had never seen her take up arms before. She had always served the role of healer and medicine woman. But here was the tender parent turned martial combatant, the giver of life made into the agent of its end. It all seemed like something out of a weird dream. The old gal still retained much of the grace and skill he'd heard about as a youth.
Atticus instinctively released a missile at her foe and caught it in the back. Mesra's head flinched back in surprise as the drow keeled over. She turned to meet another rushing at her and Atticus struck it, too, in the back. Mesra searched for the source of these unexpected attacks and looked at her son with a scowl.
"Quit 'elpin' me!" she yelled. "Y'er 'ole ma can 'andle 'erself! Get back in the fight 'fore I knock ya upside the 'ead!"
Atticus fired at the next one that turned to meet her and the look she gave him forced his attention from falling solely on her. He expended his remaining arrows and redrew his swords to reengage the enemy. He spitted a spider-kisser in the back and withdrew his blade just in time to block an overhead slash from another.
The drow were beginning to corral them into a small circle again. Half the defenders lay dead or wounded on the earth. A number of drow kept the wolves at bay outside the fight, jumping forward to stab at the pack and retreating before they were overwhelmed. Things were looking very grim for the Deepingfolk.
"We need to make a run for it," Farsel stated at Atticus' back. "This fight is lost."
"No kiddin'!" Atticus answered cynically as he swatted aside another attack.
"Where's Perther? We need him to direct the animals to cover our retreat!"
"He's dead!" Cambriella replied.
"Hells! Can anyone get the wolves to rush them?"
"Lemme try!" Atticus said.
They pivoted their fighting circle around so that Atticus could get closer to the pack and grab their attention over the din of battle. He pursed his lips together and whistled but not loud enough. He licked his lips and tried again, sparing a quick look in the direction of the wolves. He saw Yonia's ears prick up and knew he had her attention.
"Yonia!" he yelled. "Sick 'em!"
The she-wolf lept at the closest spider-kisser and the rest of the pack followed suit. Some of the drow shrank back from the animals, fearing their brute savagery more than the blades to their backs.
"Everyone to the wolves!" Farsel barked the command.
The nine remaining defenders formed a triangle with Farsel spearheading the advance. They cut their way through the thinned drow ranks, not bothering or caring to finish off any foe they happened to wound. They joined up with the remaining wolves and made a run for it with the pack right on their heels.
"What about the others?" Bartella yelled, referring to the children and elderly stashed safely in one of the treehouses.
"We must pray they are not discovered!" Farsel answered on the run.
There was a groan of pain among them as Cambriella fell with a dagger in her lower back. No one stopped to help her knowing they would perish with her if they did. The humans spoke prayers to see in the dark as they ran from the lights surrounding the battle. They made a mad dash, headed north, and did their best to stay together. The victorious whoops and taunts from the drow followed them the whole way, stampeding them in a last-ditch attempt to abandon their home.
Atticus ran as hard as he could and saw a figure huddled behind a tree ahead of him. The drow had a party waiting for them!
But wait! He almost berated himself aloud.
That was no drow. An elf? But not just any elf.
Fyrna? What's she doin' here? Then he realized that she wasn't alone.
Fyrna and others crouched behind trees waved them forward, beckoning them to safety. The broken defenders made for their position. More friends came into view and suddenly the tide of battle had turned in their favor.
Landric, Delie, Stinson, Gorilmar. They all were there. Nearly their whole collective had come in their time of need. The Deepingfolk stopped at the end of their line and turned to face their enemy once more, their hearts swelling with newfound courage at the sight of brothers and sisters in arms coming to their rescue.
The drow fell en masse as the reinforcements rained a hail of arrows on their charging force. Those drow in front who were the first to realize the turn of events attempted to retreat past their comrades only to be pushed forward by their surging frenzy. Mass confusion ensued among them and they made an uncoordinated retreat with every spider-kisser for themself.
A cheer went up among the two collectives but they were not satisfied. The fresh combatants pursued the drow, easily picking off small groups taking flight in every direction. Atticus wished for a full quiver to be in one the rout but was content to wait back and listen to the sounds of hunter turned hunted. Farsel gave him a friendly smack on the back and Atticus nodded to him, grinning ear to ear.
"Looks like we got here just in time," a familiar voice said to them. The owner stepped from behind a tree and none of them could believe their eyes.
Terrick stood there, bow in hand, beaming at the reunion. He inclined his head to one side and joked, "Don't everyone thank us at once."

[racestark]

The thin, tattered cloud cover riding on the tail of the storm began to take on a pinkish hue as dawn approached. The light glinted off the morning dew collecting on the grass and the field came to life in a sparkling sea of liquid pearls. Morning birds cooed and twirped in the cool air and the low groaning of bull frogs bellowed out from the small whisps of fog floating among the woods at the bottom of the hill.
Atticus was too tired, too beaten and too heartsore to appreciate any of its simple opulence. He and the remaining handful left of his collective had spent the night collecting and burying their dead as Fyrna and her warriors had given chase to the drow through the surrounding forest. Even now, as he gazed over the treetops to let his aching muscles rest, many still waited to be interred.
The crows had finally realized they could have all their fill if they kept their meals strictly to the spider-kissers. A murder of them pecked at one carcass a few yards to the right from where he stood with Farsel and Terrick on the southern crest of the hill. Fyrna met them there with Delie, as always, in tow. They watched in silence as her hunters returned in pairs and trios.
The small groups melted together as they traversed the field and they began trading tales and boasts of their hunts, stories that no doubt would pick up more pomp and fluff as they were retold in gatherings to come. Atticus stared after them with red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes and partially envied their good spirits.
An elf and a human, Grolimar and Stinson, approached Fyrna and gave a brief report on the past few hours. Atticus didn't listen to their words, focusing on a laughing group that began hauling one of the dead deer up the hill for a feast. The two males finished their conversation and walked into the small wood, giving the Deepingfolk a pair of cautious glances out of the corners of their eyes.
"You are aware that you will be forced to relocate," Fyrna finally broke the silence. It was a statement, not a question.
Farsel exhaled deeply through his nostrils and his shoulders sagged as if he had just taken on a heavy load. He slowly turned his attention from the field to the elf woman. "True," he said with a few slow nods. "He haven't a chance against another attack like that."
"Any thoughts on where you'll go?" Delie asked.
Farsels shrugged. With Aryndul's passing, he was now head of the collective. "I, for one, will join with you and your's. I'd very much like for the rest to do the same but I'll leave it to them to decide for themselves." He turned his eyes upon Terrick and Atticus. "We are all but spent here."
"Still managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory," Terrick responded with a frown.
"So it would seem."
"I wanna know how they knew where to looks for us," Atticus wondered aloud. "S'like they knew 'bout the field, ya know?"
Fyrna nodded, her lips set in a grim line. "Treachery," she said.
All three Deepingfolk snapped their heads at her with mixed expressions of shock, rage and bewilderment. Atticus and Terrick exchanged brief, knowing glances.
"Treachery?" Farsel asked. "How? Who?"
Fyrna sighed deeply. "We are all aware that many of our calling in Mistledale are servants of Shevarash." There were nods all around. "And we are all aware of how fanatical they are in their endless war against the drow. Like with most fanatics, there is occasionally an extreme--one that will go to lengths even a fanatic would find appalling.
"Well, there is--or was, rather-- one extremist among our friends there. One willing to do what he thought necessary to turn the war in their favor, no matter how blasphemous."
"Who?" Atticus pressed, grinding his teeth.
"Isi'yante." There were puzzled looks in response. "You would know him if you saw him. He had the audacity to collaborate with his sworn enemy."
Terrick narrowed his eyes in thought asking, "What in the hells would possess him to do that?"
"That'll require a bit of explanation," Fryna answered. Terrick folded his arms across his chest and nodded for her to continue. "And keep in mind that this is mere speculation that Delie and I formulated during our haste to you.
"What I know of the church, it is a rare thing, indeed, for one to simply decide one day to rally to the banner of Shevarash. It is a grim and arduous devotion. The harsh reality of a seemingly eternal war would cause most to think twice before joining such a faith, in our estimation." Fyrna paused and shook her head. "Nay, it would require a most sorrowful even to act as fulcrum to swing to Shevarash.
"Revenge. That becomes the fuel that burns the fires of the faithful. Such hatred becomes their sole motivator. They eat revenge. They lay their head down upon it to sleep and dream it. They breathe it. Every thought and act is guided by it. I would go so far as to say that without it, the church would quickly become decadent and capitulate." She turned to Delie for his confirmation in this summation in which he agreed with a nod.
"Revenge is what we believe he hoped to place in the hearts of the remaining communes."
"But why?" Atticus broke in. "That makes as much sense as a rodent beddin' with a snake."
Fyrna nodded her agreement. "A well put metaphor, my friend, but I can't say as to who filled the role of serpent. Details are few at my disposal. We are only specualting on what little information the brief message provided us. Believe me, though, that it did name Isi'yante as a traitor and collaborator as well as implicating him with the guilt of what happened in the Semberholme."
"That still doesn't explain why he would be a part of such betrayal," Terrick almost grumbled.
"Recruitment," Delie finally spoke up.
"What's that?"
"Recruitment," the elf repeated himself. "It's our guess he was trying to swell the numbers of his church, or at least its allies, to wage their war."
"I don't get it," Atticus admitted with a perplexed look. "Why would anyone wanna fight beside a traitor?"
"I'm sure he never intended to be found out."
"But thankfully, he was," Fyrna picked up. "The gods only know how far he was willing to continue with such a plot."
"But, as I said before regarding revenge, that is what we guess he intended to instill in us. We know he was responsible for the murder of the children and several others in the Semberholme. A tragic loss, yes, but sharing the same beliefs we do concerning death, he may have thought the tragedy would be only a push in the direction he desired."
Farsel nodded stoically. "All things return in one form or another."
"Precisely. After all, who among us doesn't already loathe drow?" Fyrna asked rhetorically. "It's one thing to murder a few children, despite how cold that may sound, but it's entirely another to wipe out a whole collective. Whole families."
"So we were supposed to be his sacrifice to his god," Atticus realized.
"That's what we think."
"But this is all guesses," Delie interjected. "I'm sure we'll learn the actual details in the next ride or so."
"And Isi'yante?" Farsel queried. "You implied he was dealt with?"
"Taken care of, aye," the elf woman nodded. "He will poison Cormanthor no longer."
They all knew that idiom implied. It could be counted on one hand--now two--how many had met their end in this manner. Traitors, unforgiveable blasphemers and even one exposed Malarite were dealt with this way. The condemned were burnt alive so that their remains, and supposedly, their souls would never return to be a blight upon Cormanthor. Among them, it was the most shameful sentence one could receive. Surviving family never even acknowledged kinship afterward.
"Isi'yante," Farsel said venomously and spat on the ground, expelling the putrid filth of the traitor's memory from his body.
"Isi'yante," the others echoed and spat.
The five of them watched in silence as the stragglers returned through the field. Some waved or raised their bow in greeting as they passed by. Atticus noticed how exhausted and disheveled they appeared despite their good spirits after a night of plentiful hunting. Some looked ready to collapse where they stood but kept a grin on their face.
"Ya'll musta had a long trip," he observed.
Fyrna nodded. "Aye. We have had no more than an hour's rest since we set out to your rescue." She turned to the three Deepingfolk. "Regardless, we will all blister our hands in the soil with you for our lost friends before we accept even a wink of sleep."
"We would be most grateful," Farsel said.
"C'mon," Terrick nudged Atticus for him to follow. "We should get back to it, I guess."
"I'm a bit curious how ya managed to stay alive," Atticus admitted as he walked after his friend, happy to speak about something else. Anything else.
"And I'd like to hear the same from you. We'll trade tales. Maybe lift our moods some."
As they walked back to continue their somber task, Atticus barely managed to catch Farsel's last comment in Elven before moving from earshot.
"I'm afraid, despite his exposure, the copperhead may have already buried his fangs in our flesh."

[racestark]

The snow floated to the earth in light little tufts as the fat droplets of sleet plummeted through them. All around the bony fingers of tree branches and skeletal limbs of shrubs created of lattice of bark and drew the battles lines. Stiff silence pervaded the air as the forest noises froze and plunged to the soil. The gray gloom of the clouds told of thunderstorms pent up in frustration if not for the frigidness below them holding their temper in check.
Small patches of winter grasses poked their heads through the snow gasping for air and any lick of sunlight. Grazing through this delectable meal, a solitary deer stepped softly through the snow, testing each step it took in the drifts that reached nearly to its knee, freezing in place at some imagined disturbance. Taking two breaths that manifested as hot steam out its nostrils, it lowered its head to root through the snow for any morsels concealed underneath.
The arrow struck it full in the flank piercing through flesh and cracking through ribs. The deer bolted and got a few strides before collapsing with the offending shaft protruding from it side as it kicked and thrashed as a fish removed from water, it's flank rising and falling with less frequency between breaths. In one final spasm, it lay still and the wakefulness left its eyes.
And the snow fell, oblivious to the violence. Oblivious to the snow drifts that decided to get up and walk upright toward the slain animal. Oblivious to the noises they made to each other that constituted speech.
"What're you doing?" Terrick asked indignantly to Hoqator who had pulled his knife and reached with it at the deer's throat.
The sandy blond boy looked between his knife and the deer as if it were obvious. "I'm gonna bleed it."
"Not here, dolt. You trying to leave a trail for us to be followed?"
"Uh, what about all them footprints we left in the snow?" Hoqator jabbed the knife at the line of tracks they'd left in the snow leading to the deer.
"You see all that snow coming down?" Terrick retorted, matching his tone. "There's your fix. Covered snowprints can't be sniffed out too easy, can they? But I'll bet lots of things we really don't want to meet can smell blood. Now grab that end." The half-elf started to heft the carcass by the rear. Hoqator glared at him. "C'mon, boy. Time's a wastin'."
The two carried the catch. Atticus covered the red snow over and kept watch for unwanted dinner guests as they transported their food. Almost the entire way was filled with Hoqator's constant grumbling and Terrick's reprimanding for him to "shut his hole".
"Get to dressing it," Terrick told him back in their tent.
The boy gaped up at him. "But--"
Terrick put up a hand and stopped his protests. "You said if Atticus got a clean kill, you'd clean and dress it. Atti got it, you clean it," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Aye, but it got a few leaps off before--"
"Uh-uh. Few leaps nothing. We didn't have to chase after it, he got it. Have at it."
The boy cursed and got to the grizzly work. Terrick leaned back and watched Hoqator with more amusement than he probably should have. He and Atticus were supposed to be teaching the young man who'd seen sixteen winters, this being his first living out in the woods from home, to work in a flock. With Leodia's conversion to Shevarash and her subsequent departure with her church siblings to investigate rumors of drow in the old Elven Court, they were one shy. Hoqator was of age to learn lest she return but no one had heard from her or the other Shevarashans since. So Terrick only berated him and compared him less than fairly with Leodia. Atticus merely sat back and said very little, even when he was being spoken to.
It had to be the harshness of surviving the winter and the meaningless ghost chasing. Another year without a planting and folks were none too happy, especially those out roaming the woods looking for any drow mad enough to chance the winter. Whispers were being mentioned in hushed circles but no one spoke up. They'd been promised. This spring. Plantings would begin anew. Something to look forward to and endure this harsh task.
Terrick's eyes were drawn to Atticus' sitting with his back to the half-elf by the tent entrance, staring out the flap at the snowfall.
"You see something?" Terrick asked.
"Nay," he said tersely.
"You alright?"
"Aye."
"Just watching the snow?"
"Uh-huh."
"Alright," Terrick grinned and turned back to Hoqator. "Wager you can't do that faster than Leodia."

Twelve bow baring snowmen moved among the trees flanked by a trio of wolves spaced at the point and the wings of their spear tip formation. The clear night sky offered no moon, forcing those lacking elf blood to rely on blessings to see by. They advanced slowly and methodically, inspecting any irregularity in the fresh snow.
Their prey had displayed that they still possessed an aversion to sunlight. The tree canopies that had made day raiding possible were gone and now the drow only showed signs of movement at night. So the dalefolk only hunted at night.
A loud splintering of wood came from the right. The hunters froze in place and crouched in the snow with arrows at the ready. Silence followed. Without a word, Grolimar at the front moved on and both wings stood in domino fashion to follow.
Onward, the white clad figures wordlessly pressed into the dark, probing the snow for any clues.

Atticus jolted upright and fumbled at his hips only to realize his swords were laying beside him.
"Easy there, fella," he heard Terrick say.
Atticus took a quick glance around the bracken they hid in and asked, "Where'd all the drow go?"
Terrick chuckled. "That's what we're trying to figure out here in the freezing cold. Must be some dream you keep having."
The dream. That's what it was. It'd been coming again, nearly every other night now. He wouldn't speak it, but it was what kept him so introverted of late.
This thought was broken by unbelievable warmth by his feet. He had to rub his eyes to make sure of what he saw.
"Why's there a fire?"
"I told him it weren't a good idea," Hoqator was quick to say. "All the smoke's gonna be seen fer sure."
"Relax there, little bunny," Terrick said with his hands over the small flames. "Shadowtop wood. Don't even make any smoke, see?"
"What if something smells it?" Hoqator pressed.
"What the in the Hells is going to smell it in this cold?" Terrick snapped in a low hiss. "Nothing. Not one thing. And I'm too tired and too wretchedly cold to care if anything does smell it 'cause I always gotta pull watch with you and your endless bickering and go walking around the woods, chasing spooks and starving most days and just once it'd be nice to be able to feel my toes and fingers." Terrick turned back to the fire with a scowl and rubbed his hands together as Hoqator seemed more offended at the half-elf's refusal than his insults.
"He's right," Atticus spoke up and warmed himself before the boy could respond. "Fire's a bad idea. But I don't care, neither. So quit complainin' and enjoy it while ya can."
The youth knew he was outnumbered and gave up to thaw out with them by the fire. They huddled close and stared into the flames shivering beneath the blankets draped around their shoulders. The snow began falling again. In silence they sat, leaving each other to their own private musings.
Atticus' dwelt on the dream. It was visiting him in his slumber with more noticeable regularity now. Always the same vision. Minute details varied from one to the other but it always ended with the same cryptic warning amidst the nightmare induced drow charge and the rapidly receding treeline.
We're all gonna die doin' this, he thought with the flames dancing shadows across his face. And for that moment, he knew it as an indisputable fact, alongside dawn always approaching from the east and ten sunsets constituting a ride. That's the only way this can end, mentally shrugging. They gotta get ya some time, even if it is only one ad'da time.
This gave him pause as he finally let this inevitable truth stain itself to his mind. Death came in time to all things, he knew well enough. But he'd never given much thought to his own eventual demise. He'd always trusted that his services would be rewarded with other lifetime's to continue his work and tried to comfort himself with this belief. But he was already caught in his own philosophical trap.
What if the calling was misunderstood? What if they were misled? What if they had strayed from the ideals?
He contemplated how the world would go on without him. But wasn't it doin' just fine on its own before?
He was insignificant and Faerun would do just that, continuing as it did after his father's death, Caston's, Dunther's, Hester's, Cambriella's, Aryndul's, Vartul's. Life just went on. It truly pained him just how unimportant everyone and everything he held dear and loved really was in the grand scheme of things.
A fella's time was too short to be spent risking his life and dying for a cause. It was time to live for one.
Yet, no matter how hard his heart was made by the unforgiving winter, it was softened by the promises of fresh plantings to begin in the fall. Atticus had his doubts but he was willing to spend one more relentless season chasing specters if it meant a truly renewed effort.
A sharp howl snapped all three men from their reverie. Atticus and Terrick locked eyes in twin expressions of horror as a different howl answered the first.
"Wolves?" Hoqator asked in tone that betrayed his false hope.
"Not quite," Atticus said without looking at the boy.
He didn't know exactly what those howls meant but he and Terrick had heard bays similar to that to know them for what they were. And they had a sneaking suspicion that they knew what the baying was all about.
The three of them slowly drifted their eyes to the fire. Frantically, they stomped to smother the flames, even if it was too late. In the middle of trying to conceal their sin, Farsel appeared from the bushes, sounding the general alert. They gaped at the elf guiltily.
"Gnolls," he whispered as he crouched by their position and did a double-take. "What's with the fire?" he asked indignantly, eying them all in turn with a nasty scowl.
Atticus, Terrick and Hoqator waited for someone to speak up. Finally, Terrick offered lamely, "It was only for a little while. How's I supposed to know something'd smell it in this cold?"
"Are you serious?" Farsel bit back with as much vexation as outrage. "You really think--" the elf waved a hand to dismiss the whole argument. "Forget it. We'll deal with this later. Ready yourselves and meet back at the main camp. Gnolls are headed this way." He gave them one final shake of his head before disappearing into the bushes. The three men were a moment recovering from the scolding before they fitted themselves for battle.
"Told ya it was--" Hoqator began.
"I don't wanna hear it!" Terrick interrupted before the boy could finish.

The first gnoll came into sight, stalking forward at a cautious gait and pausing to swivel its horrendous hyena's head as it sniffed the frigid air. It advanced with an arrow nocked to its bow, its lips curled back to expose a set of nasty, yellowed canines. The scout appeared alerted to something yet unseen but continued to draw closer to the ambush laying directly ahead.
Atticus crouched beside a tree watching the dogman through a small fold from beneath his winter blanket, trying to pass himself off as a snowdrift. All around him his comrades were hiding in like fashion spread generously throughout the area. Snow plunged heavily from the sky filling the forest with the sound of a thousand minuscule glasses shattering against the frozen shards already accumulated on the soil. The mood in the atmosphere was that of an illuminated twilight as the fading light fighting through the clouds began to give way to a long, cold night.
The pivoted its head toward its back and emitted a low rumble. It continued forward with the snow crunching beneath its shaggy feet. It continued forward for several yards before its pack came into view. From his limited scope, Atticus counted nine following the vanguard in single file. Only three, from what he could see, sported bows. The others bore axes and a few shields among them.
The scout was permitted to pass through without harm. The dalefolk needed to be sure there were no stragglers and if that meant all the gnolls passing them right by before they were certain, so be it. It was easier to shoot gnolls in the back, anyway. The main body neared the far edge of the vicinity and still no rearguard showed.
The whistle of an arrow buzzed in the air quickly followed by the alarmed barks of gnoll speech. Farsel's voice was heard yelling, "Grolimar!"
Without needing to see it, Atticus knew exactly what was happening, so far as his friends were concerned. Farsel was on the run from the gnolls after springing the trap. Grolimar was revealing himself and firing one arrow before turning tail himself but not before hollering, "Terrick!"
One heartbeat. Sound of arrow flight. Terrick's voice. "Atticus!"
Atticus shot upright from beside the tree and quickly took aim. The adrenaline pumping through him seemed to slow the chaos and in one eye blink he caught the scene of gnolls chasing after Farsel and others doubling back after Grolimar and back again after Terrick. He let loose at the nearest gnoll to unshoulder its bow. The missile struck it in the shoulder as he cried out, "Hoqator!" and was on the run, bounding through shin deep snow with a pair of gnolls after him.
It was working, if none of them got caught. The dogmen were splitting up after every archer that showed themselves and were falling fast. In mere moments, Delie completed the firing order and it was all over. The snow was littered with dead gnolls about the place, their blood a stark contrast against the white-blanketed earth.
Besides the biting numbness in their limbs and digits, the dalefolk were no worse for the wear. They set to stripping the corpses of every practical object and retrieving arrows that they could still get another shot from. Even some bits of food that the more adventurous were willing to stomach were removed from the bodies.
With that done, Farsel stood and said, "Conceal these bodies, cover the blood. Make sure we leave no footprints. We leave immediately after." Turning to Atticus and Terrick, he said with a wave of his finger, "Follow me."
"Here it comes," Terrick mumbled out of the side of his mouth.
"Don't lay into him," Atticus whispered. "He's just as upset and uncomfortable as we are. 'sides, we shouldn'ta had a fire, anyways."
"Gods! Spring can't get here soon enough," Terrick groaned and followed Farsel with Atticus in tow.

[racestark]

Winter's unforgiving grip gave way to the nurturing revival of spring. Streams and creeks swollen from the melting snow and thawing groundwater pumped lifeblood through the forest. The warmth woke the trees from their slumber and they swayed their countless fingertips in the breeze with soft, young buds emerging from their cuticles creating a myriad display of green, yellow, red and orange pinpoints against the drab browns that had yet to rouse themselves. Birds trickled back from their southern migrations in search of a suitable place to roost. Squirrels, berrygobblers and the other small furry creatures stirred from hibernation and scurried about seeking sustenance to break their seasonal fasting. The droning of early hatched insects reverberated through the air and thick clouds of midges swirled along slowly in search of a meal to pester.
And in southern Battledale, another sort of renewal was unfolding. The collective was made whole again as the drow hunters rejoined with their families who had spent the winter among the townfolk. Relatives embraced, lovers kissed and friends jostled and teased one another. Their joyful reunion was punctuated by the whoops and hollers of those eager to depart and everyone answered in like fashion to each acclamation. An outsider may have looked upon them with the thought that they were preparing from some private festival that they were not made aware of. And to the collective, it most definitely was.
It was actually going to happen. The first planting in years.
After their initial greetings were made, they set straight to work organizing and doling out responsibilities of their meager possessions strewn about the field on the roadside. Many of the older adolescents who had been on a planting before lounged lazily in the grass, avoiding family they spent the winter cooped up with and skirting chores necessary for their departure. Those for whom this would be their first, and there were many after all these seasons, actively sought to help, to the amusement of the older youth. Incessantly, they questioned the adults trying to instruct them on what they needed. "Where are we going?" "What's it like?" "Wha'da we get to do?" "Will there be monsters?" "What's in that bag?" "How come I can't go with them, instead?" and on and on until eventually they drove some of the adults mad and they snapped at them to go find someone else to assist.
Atticus elbowed Terrick in the rib softly and pointed to the youngsters with a grin. "Remember those days?" he asked.
"Mmmhmm," Terrick nodded. "Used to make everyone nuttier than squirrel scat. Good to see some things don't change."
"Fun as they were, I like givin' the chores more than receivin' 'em."
"I'll second that."
"'ere, boy, and make sure this food and medicine gets there safe," Mesra ordered from beside them as she indicated three parcels resting by her feet.
Atticus slumped his shoulders and flailed his arms once as if in a tantrum. "Ahh, but, ma--" he whined playfully.
"Hush and just do it," she answered amusedly. "I got other matters to see to."
"No worries, Mesra," Terrick assured with his usual boot-licking behavior toward Mesra. "Atti and I have it under control. Don't we?"
"Some'ow, I don't think I'll gain sleep from that," she joked before walking off to other tasks.
The two shrugged at each other and Atticus asked, "So wha'da we do?"
"Why, exactly what Vartul would have done," Terrick replied.
"Get the youths to do it?"
"You got it."
The two scanned the tall grass for any of the adolescents hiding in the field. One made the grave mistake of meeting eyes with Atticus and immediately attempted to mend his blunder by fumbling with an impromptu bag at his feet but it was already too late. Atticus gave a sharp whistle that forced the boy to look back at him. He pointed straight at him and waved him forward with a finger. The youth cursed and approached begrudgingly.
"Don't forget your friends," Terrick yelled to him. Atticus snickered.
The boy dallied collecting the others, probably in a vain hope to be forgotten if he took long enough, but eventually came forward with two other fellas. The trio dragged their feet and appeared downtrodden and singled out unfairly. Their mumbled complaining died off as they got closer and stood before the two men.
"Didn't think you'd get away without carrying anything, did ya?" Terrick teased. One of the boys answered with a roll of his eyes.
Hefting one of the bags by his feet, Atticus gave an exaggerated groan and looked at the youths. "Which one of ya's the strongest?"
The adolescents hesitated as they looked between themselves. Probably for the first time in their lives, none of them wanted the honor of that title. Two of them eventually pointed to the shortest one. Terrick gave a delightful snort.
"Nonsense," Atticus said. Nodding to the first boy, "Y'er taller so here ya go," and dumped the sack in the boy's arms. He handed the other two each a pack, grunting with false strain under their weight.
"What're you gonna carry, then?" the taller one complained.
"Us?" Terrick said pointing a finger between himself and Atticus. "We're carrying your safety all the way to our destination."
"How come we can't do that? We ain't just pack animals, ya know."
Terrick shrugged at Atticus and unshouldered his bow. "Tell you what. If you can pull back on this bowstring ten times--nay--five times without getting weary, I'll take your load and you can escort us there."
The half-elf offered the bow to the young man who hesitated at first, thinking they were playing a dirty trick. Slowly, he laid his baggage on the ground and took the weapon. Terrick stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. The youth pulled back on the string with a bit of strain showing in his face. It took some effort, but the boy did pluck the bow five times.
"Fair's fair," Terrick admitted and began undoing his sword belt. "You'll need this," he stated absently and removed his quiver from his back, "and this."
Unsure if he was serious or not, the adolescent began arming himself, watching the two men as if expecting them at any moment to admit their ruse.
"Don't forget y'er..." Atticus reminded, pointing at Terrick's leather armor.
"Right. You'll need this, too," he said and began removing his protection. "Probably won't fit none too good, but--" He cut himself short as he saw the boy's gaping jaw. "What?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"This stuff's already heavier than what'cha gave me," the boy complained.
The two men exchanged glances. "Tell us about it," Atticus scoffed.
"But I thought you wanted to help in some way without being a pack animal," Terrick said disappointedly.
"I think I'll just stick with this," the youth said snagging up the pack.
"If you say so," Terrick conceded with a tone that suggested the boy was missing out.
"Y'all can go back to y'er play 'til we leave," Atticus grinned. The three boys scampered off with their bags. "And don't lose those!" he yelled after them.
"Kids," Terrick commented with a shake of his head as he watched them go. He turned to Atticus and said, "Well, I'm going to see what the others are up to. Coming?"
Atticus wrinkled his nose. "Nay. I'm gonna get my feet a bit of rest."
"Suit yourself."
Atticus sat himself on the ground and Yonia rested on her haunches beside him. The wolf leaned her head forward and nuzzled her human companion's hand atop her head. Atticus smiled at her and pet her as he watched his family. A wolf cry sounded out and everyone paused to howl in response.
Yes, it was a very mirthful mood about them. Too many springs had come and gone without so much as a seed hardly being planted. What was once a common custom took on a renewed mysticism. Never before in Atticus' memory had an eminent planting elicited such excitement.
With preparations complete, folks milled about conversing and goofing off, awaiting the final word from Farsel. Atticus sat there, observing them, with his knees hugged up against his chest. The laughter of a small group gathered not far off drew his attention. They were crowded around Grolimar and Atticus watched the elf moving his hands through the air to better illustrate his story. Another fit of laughter and Terrick spied his friend watching the tale being told. The twinkle in the half-elf's eye was recognized by Atticus right away. That was mischief and it forced Atticus to stand and join the gathering to prevent whatever trouble his friend had cooked up. As he approached, he realized he had walked straight into Terrick's trap.
"Tell 'em the one about Atti here falling asleep during watch," Terrick said gleefully.
"Y'er gonna hafta be a bit more specific," Stinson quipped. Atticus rolled his eyes.
"The trolls..." Terrick coached.
"Oh, right," Grolimar raised his eyebrows as he remembered. "So, Atti, Terrick and I were pulling watch one night and it was getting to be near the end of our rotation with nothing to report. We were all up in the trees, lest something sneak up on us, and looking forward to a good respite.
"So, we're sitting there, Terrick on my left and Atticus on my right, when I start to hear this deep, throaty rumbling, almost like a deep purr." The elf paused as Terrick demonstrated the sound for the audience. "At first, it froze me in my place because I'm thinking it's some big cat prowling about. So, I'm looking for it and don't see anything. Finally, I risk asking Terrick if he hears it, and I tell he can once a mention it. After trying to figure it out himself, he asks, 'What is that? A cat?' I say, 'Sounds like a cat with a dove caught in its throat cooing.' So, I turn to Atticus and ask him. He doesn't answer so I figured he didn't hear me and asked again. That's when I notice him sitting there like this." The elf folded his arms across his torso and rested his chin on his chest. "He's leaning back against the tree trunk straddling this branch."
"I still don't know how you were comfortable sitting like that," Terrick joked.
"Stand with y'er feet apart and I'll show ya how it felt," Atticus offered.
Grolimar continued,"And he's got himself perfectly balanced somehow so he doesn't fall out of the tree. That's when I realized he was snoring." There were a few chuckles as Atticus tried to keep from blushing. "I turn to Terrick and tell him what's making this purring sound and, you know Terrick," more laughs, "he gets a delightful idea. As quietly as we can, we switch positions except Terrick gets a little closer to Atti than I was, you see? He leans in close, and I can tell by the way his shoulders are shaking that he's trying not to laugh, and then he yells 'Trolls! Trolls! Scores of 'em!" A few more chuckles. "Atticus wakes up like he's ready to bolt." Terrick did an exaggerated impersonation of Atticus being rudely awakened for them amid more laughter. "He damn near falls straight out of the tree but manages to catch himself, dangling from this branch. He--" Grolimar stopped to let a few laughs pass through him. "He's trying to get back on top of this branch and the whole time he's yelling 'Where? Where?' I never seen him in such a fright before."
More roars of laughter and Atticus hung his head, shaking it from side to side but smiling despite his humility.
"Wha'd ya do after that?" Landric asked Atticus. Grolimar and Terrick snickered.
With a shrug, Atticus answered, "I promised to flay 'em if they tried it again and went back to sleep."
Landric guffawed. "That'a boy."
They fell silent after the story and some had to wipe tears of mirth from their eyes. Atticus gave Grolimar and Terrick a playful glare.
Delie tapped Fyrna on the shoulder and pointed toward Farsel, drawing the attention of the others grouped around them.
"What's got Farsel all rattled?" he asked.
The elf was speaking with a half-elf who Atticus recognized as Calentheral. The group couldn't make out what they were saying but it was obvious by Farsel's demeanor that, whatever it was, it didn't bode well. His face was made into a scowl as he spoke and he gaped when Vengilis' messenger replied. The crowd watched in graveyard silence as Calentheral jabbed an argument-ending finger in Farsel's direction before turning to disappear in the high grass. Breaths passed before a hawk took flight from the field and soared north. Farsel stood there alone seeming very cheated. He stared at the ground shaking his head slowly. When he looked up, he unintentionally noticed the small clique watching him and his eyes betrayed much to them before he even spoke it. Even from where he stood, Atticus could see him sigh as he slowly moved to address the entire collective.
Turning back into the circle, many of the small group were fuming in anger.
"By the Nine," Fyrna swore venomously and unceremoniously dropped her pack. She threw her arms up and walked off only to return immediately.
"What?" Hoqator asked apprehensively, looking from face to face for any clue as to what infuriated them so. The elder folks exchanged ireful glances.
Typical, was all Atticus could think and by the shaking of some heads, he wasn't alone.
"What?" Hoqator queried again.
"We ain't goin', m'boy," Stinson finally answered the young man. "At least not on a plantin'."
"Huh?"
"Just listen."
Farsel drew their attention and more hoots and hollers went out among the other circles, thinking it was time to set off. Farsel closed his eyes painfully at this. Nearly two score gleeful faces waited expectantly for his announcement. With a few simple, hammering words, their joy was shattered into so much crystal upon the earth.
"It is with a heavy heart..."
And like that, it was over.

[racestark]

Of all the injuries they had suffered, be it the harshness of winter, the treachery of Isi'yante or the crimes of the drow, this injustice--nay, this infidelity--was the most insulting. Atticus saw it quite clearly now. Or so he thought. His rationale rattled off a dozen accusations for Vengilis' betrayal, though not a one founded in fact. But that was beside the point. Blame had to fall upon someone and, surprisingly, Vengilis seemed the obvious culprit.
This was not a simple squabble over a few seeds going unplanted and wildlife kept unchecked and unbred. In his mind this was a fight to cling onto the last vestige of his religious tenants. The security of his very soul was at stake. A planting was the act that guaranteed their return in one form or another to perpetuate Cormanthor's rebirth. It was the physical manifestation of the covenant Vengilis' own brother, Hythrael, had claimed to have made with Rillifane Rallathil. These few winters past were beginning to shape more into a new bargain made with Shevarash.
Or submission to Essembra, Atticus thought bitterly.
Indeed, one of his charges against Vengilis for this pointless patrol was to gain favor and influence with Battledale's lord. Why else would they be prowling the woods to secure the festivities of townfolk? To make matters worse, they were not even responding to a drow sighting. They were merely safeguarding against a theoretical one.
Admittedly, under different circumstances Atticus would not have thought twice about doing his part to combat a threat to the dales. After all, they believed the destinies of the dales and Cormanthor were essentially entwined and he was dalefolk, anyway. It was the fact that several winters spent patrolling for drow had turned fruitless at best. Add together that they had been sworn to that this sacrament would restart this spring, it was only understandable, in his mind, that his eagerness to partake in this phantom hunt was not very great.
From the scowls and clenched jaws he observed on his fellows within in sight, he was not alone in this line of thought. Why had they even agreed to go on this excursion? Loyalty to Vengilis' judgment? Clinging to the spirit of Hythrael when he named Vengilis his successor? A need to believe that neither had or could err? For if that were possible could not their beliefs be flawed?
Atticus stopped his thoughts short there, lest he find a question he dare not ask even himself. He wanted to scream and did mentally. But that did him no good. So instead, he continued watching the woods for danger and concentrated twice as hard on his frustration. He nearly begged for a spider-kisser to materialize so as to release his anger upon it.
The four wolves pacing the sixteen bipeds off to their right flank felt this hostility permeating from all of the. Their scent tracking was superficial at the most. And instead of fanning out, like the two-leggers should have been doing, they bunched together, probably taking solace in each other's shared bafflement about the two-leggers' anger. But they tried to make a show if it, regardless, as they froze occasionally in mid-step to give their symbiotic pack questioning stares. Their distress was odd to the canines. It was not for lack of food or water. There were no foreign scents. No predator pursued them. But felt it they did and it adversely affected their behavior.
Atticus and the other three responsible for them had long given up on keeping their noses focused. And so their hunting formation began to degrade, collapsing in on itself ever so slowly. They were all so lost in their own thoughts that even this escaped them as they slowly gravitated toward the center of the formation.
This is ridiculous, Atticus thought for the umpteenth time. Absolutely ridiculous.
"This is ridiculous," Terrick whispered in his ear. The half-elf's proximity startled Atticus.
Instead of rebuking him for getting too near, Atticus said, "Tell me somthin' I didn't know."
"Why are we even out here?"
"Weren't'cha listenin'?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Well, I'm guessin' ya have a thought about it."
"Y'er supposed to be fannin' out," they heard Stinson hiss from behind them.
Terrick have him an incredulous look and hissed back, "Then why are you getting closer to us?"
"Not all of us have elf ears, I'm afraid. Kinda hard to hear ya from back there."
"There ain't nuthin' to hear," Atticus whispered.
Stinson's mouth rounded into that of an "o" and he rolled his eyes. "Right. I forgot when the two of ya be whisperin' to each other it don't mean nuthin'." He increased his gait until he was beside the two of them. "Ya both as angry as I 'bout this, too?" he whispered.
"Angry?" Terrick said. "Why would we be angry? Just because Vengilis went back on his word and jeopardized our souls so we can go traipsing through the woods looking for something that, by previous patrols, probably isn't there? That what y'er upset about?" The half-elf gave him a glare that left no doubt of the cynicism in his response.
Stinson gave a snort before answering, "'Course not. I love doin' my part to secure a seasonal festival for townfolk." He spat with a scowl. "How 'bout you?" he asked with a nod toward Atticus.
"Me?" Atticus said, still keeping an eye on the surrounding tree as they moved along. He noticed other small groups such as theirs forming together and whispering to each other in pairs and trios. Their expressions conveyed the same bitterness the three of them felt. "I'm just hopin' there's more of this once Midsummer's come and gone. This is exactly what Hythrael intended for us to exhaust our efforts on, if ya ask me." He, too, spat and shook his head with a clenched jaw to keep from saying more.
"Vengilis' prob'ly a Shevarashan in disguise," Stinson accused, dismissing all the sarcasm and cutting to the heart of matter as he typically did. "Why else would he become this obsessed 'bout huntin' spider-kissers?"
"Maybe," Atticus whispered with a curt tilt of his head. "But no elf need be one to love killing them." Immediately, he felt awkward defending Vengilis and just as much so for feeling this way.
"Then let him kill 'em," Stinson almost snapped at him. "And if that were the case, then why're Fyrna, Delie, Yosalae and all the other Fair Folk chafin' under this. Even Farsel don't seem too pleased."
"But he's still leading the expedition," Atticus retorted. "And draggin' all of us with him."
"No one made you come along."
"Nor you. So why're we even here?"
"You're both wrong," Terrick hissed. Both men turned to the half-elf. "Vengilis is trying to get in good with Essembra, methinks. That's why we're doing this."
"Pfft," Stinson gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Essembra's always been in good relations with the Fair Folk. What else could he gain?"
Terrick shrugged. "Influence? A favor to be returned? Ilmeth may be cordial with the elves, but what voice does our little 'cult' have in his ear?"
"But for Vengilis to brush aside our entire missionary work?" Atticus posited. "I think you may over guess Ilmeth's influence with some of the other dales."
"And why are we headin' south when Essembra's north?" Stinson whispered.
"Dunno," Terrick hissed back. "Why don't you ask one of the other dozens of questions running through my mind? We may just come to another half-concocted conclusion."
"Aye, or I may just get one of y'er cleverly disguised cynical remarks that I love hearin' oh so much."
"Take it easy, both ya," Atticus hissed. "Keep y'er voices down."
Terrick and Stinson, realizing they were about to tear at each others throats over nothing but their mutual frustration, both nodded a wordless apology to the other. Taking another quick survey as they advanced, Atticus spied the other small groups coalescing into each other. Even at that very moment, Fyrna and Delie were nearing them. Both elven faces were masks of sour resentment. Atticus began to wonder how long it would be before one of them finally snapped and confronted Farsel.
Stinson, of course, chose that moment to answer his speculation.
"That's it," he announced in a hushed voice. "I'm gettin' some answers."
"What're you gonna do?" Terrick asked with a bit of trepidation, his brow wrinkling as if to cringe at what was about to happen.
"Watch and learn," Stinson answered, not bothering to look at the half-elf. "Farsel!" he hollered.
"Use the proper call!" Atticus hissed at him
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks whirling on the man who'd been foolish enough to announce their presence to everything within earshot. Some put a finger to their lips to quiet him as others nocked arrows in case some danger should come crashing through the woods to inspect the outburst.
Stinson ignored all of them and shouted again. "Farsel!"
The elf came running from his place near the front of their procession, turning his neck to look behind himself as he approached. His lips were pressed into a stoic line but his eyes flared with a mixture of anger and concern. Annoyance crept into his face as he saw the rear ranks had bunched together and he pointed angrily at one such trio for them to stay put as they moved to approach him.
"What in Lloth's black heart are you shouting about?" he hissed angrily as he came near enough to be heard without raising his voice. To Atticus, the hiss carried more menace than any loud berating. "Do you want to get us all ambushed? Use the proper call!"
"'Course not," Stinson replied, not showing any signs that Farsel's wrath phased him.
"What then? And be quick with it?" The elf glanced back toward the front once more before turning to Stinson again for his answer.
"Why're we out here?" Stinson asked very deadpan.
Farsel's face became that of revulsion and was a moment finding the words to rebuke him. "Are you serious? That's what you're yelling about?"
"I'd say it's a fair question," the human responded calmly, almost smirking. Atticus and Terrick took a few deft steps away, distancing themselves from the object of Farsel's ire. They'd been in that position once before and had no desire to even be near it again.
Farsel recovered quickly enough and wiped the smug look from Stinson's face by saying, "You are aware I could have you executed here and now for that?"
Stinson's jaw nearly fell to the ground and, probably for the first time in his life, he was stunned into silence but not for long. Finally, he was able to stammer, "F-fer what?"
"You are a member of the militia, are you not?"
"Ya already know the answer to that."
"And I'm sure you know this is a militia patrol, meaning the moment you volunteered for this you were placed under my command." Farsel turned to Terrick to ask, "What was the first order I gave before setting off?"
Terrick took a dry swallow and replied, "Not a sound unless it's a necessary call."
"Necessary proper call," the irate elf critiqued. "Which means you defied an order on the field, thus endangering the lives of the rest of your company."
Stinson responded lamely, "I wouldn't call exactly a company with--"
"That's beside the point," Farsel cut him off. "While on maneuvers, I am charged with the safety of all of you and your outburst was a direct violation of an order I gave to ensure that safety." Farsel paused to take a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats before releasing it. "Now, we can proceed with your sentencing or you can drop the issue and focus on keeping your friends safe and we'll forget that it ever transpired. Your choice, which is more than any regular army would offer."
Stinson opened his mouth to speak but the hard stare from the elf made him think better of it. Hanging his head in defeat, he simply muttered, "Forget it."
Farsel scanned the area and gave everyone a warning look to leave no doubt what would befall the next one to shout out. He began to turn to retake his place when Bartella stepped forward, stopping him short.
"He does have a valid question," the priestess insisted. "In fact, one I'm sure we all share a curiosity about, perhaps even yourself. And rightly so. You know what is at stake here for us all, Farsel."
Perhaps it was the honest, imploring tone that heavily contrasted against Stinson's smug attitude which never seemed to fail to get under someone's skin. Or that Bartella had never once grumbled about the misspent seasons previous as most of her comrades had, Farsel included. Or that they both were survivors of the same decimated collective.
Whatever it was, Farsel did not even turn to the woman with a frown, much less threaten her with execution. He didn't even display any outward signs of anger. If anything, he seemed to become very burdened by her question, as if he was avoiding asking it himself.
"Please, if you know something, tell us," she pressed. "It may do much to lessen our frustrations and attend to the task at hand."
Farsel regarded her for a moment. Atticus was starting to hope that Bartella's disarming nature had won him over. The elf took another look around at his fellows before answering in a voice that everyone could hear.
"I would very much like to share it with you. But not while we are still here in Battledale. But believe me, when the time is right, after we have reached safety. Can we all agree on that?"
There were affirmatives and hesitant nods all around.
"Agreed then. But for the time being, not a peep unless needed. You are all smarter than that." He looked toward Stinson and gave an apologetic smile. "Let's be off, then. And get those wolves back to sniffing our trail properly, please."
Quickly, yet quietly, they began to form a proper marching order. Farsel, seeing that both sides had assuaged some of the others apprehensions, for the time being, crept ahead to the front of the patrol.
"Wha does he mean, 'not while we're in Battledale?'" Atticus whispered to Terrick.
His friend shrugged and answered, "Sounds to me like he's taking us into the Semberholme."
Atticus furrowed his brow quizzically at this but the half-elf just shrugged again before moving to take his place.
"Guess we'll find out when we get there."

[racestark]

Home! He had begun to never think it but now dare he believe it? They were actually going home?
Farsel had made his intentions of mutiny and defection known to them the previous night as they shared a meal around a fire, of all things. He admitted that the Semberholme was not where Vengilis had beckoned them to but to the outskirts of Essembra. The elf went on to assure them that they were in fact bound for the old woods in Deepingdale. Perhaps even the one they had abandoned after their decimation at the hands of the drow. That is, if they were still willing to follow.
There were immediate volunteers, Stinson being the first and the only one not originally of the displaced collective. The others, though they shared Farsel's frustration with Vengilis' current leadership, were skeptical to break from him. They accused that they would be no better than the Shevarashans near Peldan's Helm who had deserted to carry their own vendetta against drow deeper into Cormanthor.
"At least they fight and die for their cause," Farsel had answered with subdued anger, "rather than dying for someone else's. And if we continue with Vengilis' path, we'll be dying for Shevarash's cause anyway."
That won some over, but others still argued that Vengilis was, after all, the last kin of their prophet, to which Farsel had countered that Vengilis was not their prophet. He also assured them that it was not a schism, but a return to their true mission. Vengilis would be more than welcome once he remembered that, along with any others who would do the same.
"Just as we follow Hythrael's example, perhaps they will follow ours in our recommitment to his dream," Farsel had reasoned.
One by one, the remaining hold outs agreed to continue on with him and caused many to sleep restlessly, at best, whether it be through excitement or contemplation. In the morning, when asked by Terrick how long he had been pondering this 'defection', Farsel had admitted with a grin that the idea had originated with Aryndul all those seasons ago.
And here the twenty of them were. Seven humans, six elves, three half breeds and four wolves, making their way silently through the trees, seeking home. The gods bless Farsel for his resolve to give them the nudge they so desperately had needed to return them to the proper path.
And despite his excitement, Atticus could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Ever since they had continued from their highsun meal, some incorporeal sensation kept the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. He signaled a cautionary alert to the rearguard and found that they shared his trepidation.
Atticus tested the breeze once more and found it still remained a headwind blowing in from the south. Whatever spawned his suspicions, they did not originate from ahead.
Minutes passed without event. Atticus thought he heard a slight grunt from the rear and looked back once more and spied Grolimar. Serisole and his wolf, Arcalla, were nowhere to be seen. Atticus paused immediately and scanned the woods for any sign of them. He hand signaled to Grolimar to know if he saw them. The elf was in the middle of his concerned reply when a large mass of spindly legs appeared from nowhere, snatched Grolimar and disappeared all in the same breath.
Atticus' heart lept into his throat and he screamed, "Spider!"
Everyone whirled around with an arrow nocked and ready. Atticus backed away from where the arachnid had disappeared with his friend. He was seized with the flight or fight mentality and every muscle in his body urged him toward the latter almost sure he would be next if he favored the former.
"Grolimar? Serisole?" Farsel called. "Where are they?"
"It took Grolimar!" Atticus answered him with a quavering voice. "I think it got Serisole and Arcalla, too. It just came from nowhere and disappeared into thin air! Since when do spiders do that?"
"Be ready, folks," Farsel cautioned. "There could be more than one. And keep an eye on your partner."
They bunched together, keeping either back to back or a vigil on the woods behind their assigned teammate. Atticus made certain Yonia stayed right by his side and scanned the trees past Hoqator's shoulders. The forest sounds became deathly still. Nothing happened for several agonizing minutes. Atticus began to feel light-headed and realized that he was holding his breath.
Thyrnsis gave out a cry and Atticus spun around in time to see her lifted toward the tree canopy by a shimmering strand of webbing. He watched her quick ascent and stared in horror into the many eyes of an ettercap at the other end. Before he could find his voice again, someone had the right frame of mind to put an arrow through the gossamer thread, snapping it in twine. The half-elf lass fell as quickly as she had risen and landed on her stomach with a thud in the vegetation. She gasped laboriously for air.
Before anyone could combat the new threat, the sounds of an incantation echoed from the woods. A large swirl of energy materialized three feet from the ground and shot forth a ball of rolling fire into their midsts as a drow sorceress became visible at its point of origin.
"Look out!" Landric yelled and everyone dove for cover without bothering to check where they would land.
Atticus felt a wave of immense heat propel his jump further from behind and landed into a thornberry bush. He winced and cursed as the barbs lacerated his face and hands. He fought to regain his footing and cut himself some more in the process.
"Delie! No!" he heard Fyrna shriek.
A black, smoldering corpse that he guessed to have once been Delie lay at her feet. The elf had been too slow in getting out of the way of the fireball. Fyrna fell to her knees and cradled the charred body, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Atticus ground his teeth and charged the drow with blades drawn, joining Hoqator and Terrick, all three screaming promised death to her. They didn't even close half the distance when the sorceress gave them a wicked grin and vanished. The spider almost immediately reappeared in her place. The three men didn't even slow their assault.
A dozen beady, black eyes stared unblinking at them as they came; Terrick first, followed closely by Hoqator and Atticus. Terrick flanked to its left and Hoqator to the right. Atticus ran straight at its clacking mandibles and the bear-dwarfing spider reared up for the attack. At the last moment, just before its fangs could sink into his flesh, Atticus slid feet first beneath it and thrusted his longsword up into its thorax, spilling green ichor on his face and chest. It squealed an ungodly sound and nearly collapsed on top of him as Terrick and Hoqator each hacked off a leg at its chitinous knuckles. The arachnid disappeared in the blink of an eye.
But there was no time for relief at this small victory. The fight had been joined by another spider along with two more ettercaps to supplement the first. One already had Yosalae entangled at the feet in webbing and was clambering head first down the tree to claim her. Terrick rushed to aid his beleaguered mother and would have been ambushed by a fourth ettercap if Stinson hadn't thrown a hard shoulder that knocked them both to the ground and away from the beast's trap.
Atticus retrieved his elf-crafted bow and joined the barrage on the second giant spider that had teleported into the fight. The thing was so large that the shafts embedded in its abdomen were difficult to distinguish from the thick hairs protruding from its body. He let fly another arrow but the monstrosity disappeared, leaving only empty air for nearly half a dozen missiles to streak through. A canine yelp sounded out and Atticus spun around to see the spider snatch another wolf and teleport away in a flash. Okfal screamed in distress as the beast and her companion vanished.
With no time to mourn over fallen comrades, Atticus took a quick assessment of their situation. Terrick had reached his mother, decapitated the ettercap and was currently assisting her in freeing herself from the sticky substance. Two more ettercaps had made themselves known, bringing their current count now to five. Mass panic was beginning to seize his friends as they alternated between firing upon the spider-men in the trees and cutting loose allies that the ettercaps kept attempting to fish from the ground. Worse of all, though, was Farsel's position. The spider-kisser had him locked in magical combat and from what Atticus had seen from her so far, it was doubtful Farsel's limited schooling in the Art would see him through it.
"Hoqator, with me!" he barked. The two dashed to assist Farsel and Atticus stopped only briefly to drag Fyrna from Delie's still smoking body. "On y'er feet! Mourn when we got the time!" Heartless as it was, she was only making easy prey of herself. But Fyrna took the prompting and ran at the head of their charge, screaming for blood.
Her lead allowed the spider to separate her from her two human allies when it reappeared.
"Gnoll spit!" Hoqator swore and dove to avoid a gigantic leg bearing down on him.
Atticus skidded to a halt and drew the arachnid's attention with his movement. Without thinking, he threw himself behind the nearest tree and tried to melt into its trunk with his back. A thick pike of a leg stabbed and retreated to one side and then to the other and then another back at the first side with a fourth right back again. Atticus moaned frightfully and it was all he could do to squirm in disgusted terror out of reach of each alien appendage that kept coming his way around the tree.
"Malar's flea-bitten hide! Do sumthin', Hoqator!" he screamed in his desperation.
A wolf's howl reverberated over the shouts and sounds of battle and suddenly the legs stopped altogether. With wide, doe eyes, it took Atticus several racing heartbeats to notice that the legs had ceased coming. He poked his head around the tree and his jaw dropped.
Yonia was beneath the massive spider, barking and growling as she circled its legs. She had the arachnid locked in a rapid, circular dance as it tried to get her within striking range and she attempted to keep out of it. For all its size, the behemoth still retained the agility that its infinitely smaller, and infinitely preferable, brethren claimed.
Atticus took advantage of her distraction and aimed at the beast. On its next rotation facing him he released the bowstring and let fly. The missile zipped through the air and found its way home right below one of its bulbous eyes. He immediately realized it was a mistake. The spider whirled back on him and forced him back into the same cat-and-mouse as before. Except this time, he forgot about Hoqator.
An insectile scream nearly burst his ears and a large thud shook below his feet. When he peered out from his shelter, Atticus saw the spider collapsed on its belly, its feet curling up against its body. And atop it, with sword buried to the hilt above its eyes, was Hoqator splattered in gooish arachnid blood. Atticus gave him a relieved, thankful smile and the two sped to return to the fray.
Fyrna had bought Farsel some time but that was all. The two elves bled from several wounds and Fyrna was favoring her right leg. It would only be moments before the drow wench slew them both.
Atticus fired a missile at the mage. The arrow ricocheted off the drow as if striking stone and bounced harmlessly into the woods. Atticus' heart sank.
Bowing his head, "Treefather, guard me from the elements," he prayed. As the blessing fell over him, he threw aside his bow and drew his blades once more to rush into the fight.
A tongue of lightning shot out from the drow's fingertips, passing through Farsel, Fyrna and Hoqator, stunning them all for a breath or two. The electric charge sizzled inches in front of Atticus and his divine barrier dissipated from him. He continued his charge and thrust his sword at the spider-kissers gut. The blade made sparks as it careened off of flesh without a scratch to its mark. The drow lifted a finger at him and spoke a word. In the snap of a finger, every command his mind gave his body went unheeded. The only control he retained was the ability to watch as the fight went on in front of him, frozen in a perilous posture of a lunging attack.
Farsel took another swing at her head and his blade rebounded off of it. Fyrna stabbed at the drow's side with the same effect. Hoqator's strike began with the same results but ended with the drawing of blood across an arm. The drow shrieked fearfully and hurried the makings of a spell.
Farsel was quicker.
"Kiss this," he growled and drove his shortsword straight into the spider-kisser's face.
Atticus found that he could move again as she convulsed once and slide off the blade to the ground. Farsel and Fyrna succumbed to their injuries and slumped slowly to the earth.
"Bartella! Okfal! Help!" Hoqator hollered.
With the death of their mistress, the two remaining ettercaps fled through the trees for their lives. The defenders let them go and Okfal came rushing to her friend's distress. The elf spoke several healing prayers over her injured comrades and inspected Fyrna's leg admitting that she would have to endure the pain of a broken bone for a day until Bartella could beseech Eldath for the proper blessing. Fyrna didn't seem to hear her. She only stared sorrowfully at Delie's scorched remains.
When all were recovered and a search was made for their missing friends, all told, Grolimar, Serisole, Delie and the two wolves, Arcalla and Ritiva, lay dead. The elated whoops and puffed out chests that should have swept them as they orbited the field toward home two days later was absent and replaced with tear-stained cheeks and downcast faces after having recommitted five friends to the soil.
Atticus stood a moment at the southern edge of the wooded hilltop and gazed over the trees trying to spy the Thunderpeaks before trudging on to find rest. Some itch in the back of his thoughts wouldn't let him believe he was at home, yet.

[racestark]

Atticus stooped before the pitiful stump of what had once been a proud oak, the grandsire of those saplings that once surrounded it, gently caressing the splintered wood as he would the brow of a dying friend cradled in his arms. From this posture, he craned his neck to survey the blatant treading and exploitation of the axeman.
The weald resembled land which is more inclined to farming than that of a regrowth forest.
Every sight that he beheld bore the scar of some money-seeking Archenfolk. Every tall, proud tree that had every right to believe it would grow to old age had been cut down in its prime and carted off on wagons whose ruts were still evident all over the ground, crushing underneath flower and shrub without discrimination. What underbrush that had been otherwise unaffected had been put to the torch, as some of the charred skeletons of bushes testified. All that remained to proliferate were the wild grasses and weeds that took every opportunity to gobble whatever sunlight the trees would allow before the plow took them in turn.
What Atticus saw was a lifetime of meticulous labor swept away in a few rides that involved no thought beyond that of the coin the lumber and land would bring.
"Another for Chauntea's bounty," he heard Terrick grumble from behind him. "For all that's happened, the drow may as well have done this." The half-elf spat.
"At least they display a degree of respect many of our own kinsmen lack," Stinson grumbled.
"That is something best left unspoken again," Fyrna growled. Taboos and time aside, the elf still felt the sting of loss left after Delie's demise.
"Such a waste," Terrick said with another look around."
"What now?" Atticus asked without emotion from beside the stump.
"Terrick gave a sigh and replied, "To Moonrise Hill, I suppose. The others will meet us there in a ride or so. Nothing left for us here to even start over with."
His friend's last statement reverberated inside Atticus' thoughts as the quintet prepared to depart. The sight of the ruined copse had nearly made up his mind for him, adding water to the soil provided by seasons of playing one-sided 'tag' with the drow. Once germinated, Terrick's observation provided the sunlight for the decision to grow.
Atticus would part ways with them, he decided. After this carnage, the stressful dreams would never cease hounding him. He would of course explain to them why. They were owed at least that much.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Wha' d'ya mean y'er leavin'?" Stinson exclaimed around a mouth of food. "I thought we were all goin' together at first light?" He looked up at Terrick for confirmation.
"I meant the collective," Atticus elaborated. "I'm leavin' the collective."
"Fer what?"
"Cormyr," Atticus stated bluntly, looking up from his untouched meal for the first time since his announcement. He tried to give a hard stare to deter any protests, continuing, "To the orphaned forests of old Cormanthor."
"What in the Hells for?"
Atticus took a deep breath and looked each of his friends in the eye before explaining. He told them of the nightmarish dreams he'd been having with increasing regularity. As he explained the details etched into his memory after so many visits while he slumbered, each of the other three displayed different reactions to his tale. Stinson took him for a loon, Fyrna eyed him impassively and Terrick listened intently not seeming all that surprised.
"Coupled with what we just saw south of here, I fear the same fate awaits the old forests south of the Thunderpeaks."
"Aye but that was Archenfolk that did that," Stinson argued. "And what're ya gonna do anyway if another army of axemen come? Fight 'em off yerself?"
Atticus shrugged. "We didn't always have o run off the over zealous logger with force. Even most axemen still possess reason'. Or the ability to learn moderation in their cuttin'."
"Or they'll simply cut YOU down and be done with the nuisance altogether," Stinson snickered.
"Last I saw, there ain't no shortage of folk willin' to stand between an axehead and a trunk. And the Cormyrians are better tempered than Archenfolk. And more than just the logger threatens a wood."
Stinson rolled his eyes back at him.
"You believe you could gather together another collective?" Fyrna asked skeptically.
"Maybe," Atticus answered, sounding not at all sure of the prospects as the thought entered his mind for the first time. "That ain't my original intention but it would be a blessing if it could be done. But I'll be the first to admit that ain't much for the leadin' type. They'd have to share the faith, to begin with, which may prove fruitless in this life, but I hope not to be in want of friends and allies. I'd like fer y'all to come with me but I know I couldn't ask ya that."
And none of them volunteered an answer to his poorly veiled wish. It was true that each collective had been an offshoot of the original after the number of its members swelled beyond that which was viable for the surrounding forest and made extended missionary work safe and feasible in other parts of Cormanthor. But for one soul to set off on their own would border on madness. One NEVER went into the woods alone. It spelled certain death.
Atticus even acknowledged this to himself but knew the dreams would make certain of the job if they were allowed to persist.
"You think this is a vision?" Terrick asked with all seriousness, standing with his arms folded across his chest.
Atticus exhaled audibly before answering. "Possibly. Maybe. I don't know, but there's only one way to find out. Maybe Hythreal had the same doubts when he began havin' his." He shrugged.
"And there's no convincing you otherwise?" Although it was posed as a query, Terrick voiced it as if he already took it as fact.
"None."
"Well, I for one won't stand in your way," Terrick conceded. The half-elf knew better than most that once his friend set is mind on a something, there was no convincing him otherwise. It had been the same when Atticus had volunteered for scouting into Cormyr in the first place.
"Ya mean y'er just gonna let 'im go?" Stinson nearly choked on the meal that he never suspended through the whole debate.
"Aye," Terrick nodded. "We're even gonna help him."
"Help 'im? We?"
"Come now, Stinson," Fyrna said in a placating tone that was not totally absent of mockery. "You would send your brother in faith out in his own without at least lending him your traveling coat?"
"You've all gone daft!" Stinson gasped.
"So you won't aid your friend, eh?"
"I said ya'll gone daft. I never said I ain't helpin'. Gods know I've done some half-brained things in my time. Maybe not this half-brained, but 'twould be a bad show if I didn't help in the same."
"Then we'll get you to Highmoon in the morn," Terrick said with a clap of his hands. "The sooner we find you a caravan to tag along with, the sooner you can find out how right or wrong you were."
"Caravan?" Atticus asked with a raise of his brow.
"Aye, caravan. Through Sembia, most likely. You didn't expect to pass over the Thunderpeaks alone, did you? Especially this time of year?"
"I suppose not with all the storms and passes flooded with mud."
"Sembia," Stinson scoffed. "Ya sure ya still wanna make this trip?" he chided Atticus.

[DM Grizwald]

//what a tale man!

Hope to see you back in FRC again soon