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Wyrd was a curious creature. Since the day Ceidy crossed paths with it within the Feralas Forests the two have shared a strong magical connection. It seemed at times as if the creature were a conduit of pure arcane energies, yet chooses to manifest it in different ways.

The creature is fully capable of independance. In this way he is, assuming its a 'he'...frankly its difficult to tell and the mage never really inquired, but in his way he is much like a cat. Comes a goes as he pleases. Ceidy is very much aware that the Sprite Darter is only with her because it chooses to be, so this makes the creature more of a companion and friend than a pet. When you look at him you can tell that there is more going on inside that tiny head than might appear.

Perhaps the strangest of all things about the connection they share is that he responds to her at times as if he can read perfectly her every thought, intent, or emotion. He even seems to be able to channel and even duplicate several of Ceidy's own magical abilities. For instance, the ability to use a simple conjuration to summon crystalline water to fill the bathtub, and then slightly alter a combustion spell to heat that water perfectly. Who really knows how or why the creature does it, but that it can and does makes him... well... Wyrd.

The mage sat up and pulled her pack from the small table beside her chair. From within she pulled her book. It was thick with notes, diagrams, charts, personal journal and logs all about her discoveries within the nether.

Thinking back on her experience it felt like she had only been there a day, yet she knew that some of the experiments she had conducted had to have taken longer than a day. She tried to pull up specific memories of things she knew she had studied...but they were fading. It was like trying to remember a very vivid dream the next day. Everything is clear when you awaken but as the day passes so too do your recollections, until finally you're left with only vague emotional impressions.

She flipped through the pages of the book, grateful for them. She must be feeling an after effect of her time spent within the nether. She suddenly had the impression that it was a good thing she didn't stay longer. Could she have really lost herself?

She dropped the book in her lap and rubbed her temples. It couldn't have been more than a week. At most.

Still...

She pulled from a side pocket of her pack a small round item that looked very much like a pocket watch attached to a chain, but the watch was slightly larger than normal. She held it in her hand and simply desired an answer to the question in her mind. When?

Faint blue and green lines, letters and numbers glowed, quickly skittering across the face of the round device in her hand. It told her the day's date and current time of day at her present location.

"Incredible." She muttered. It just couldn't be. Nearly two months had passed since she stepped into that dark netherstorm on the fringes of Outland. Did that storm have anything to do with her loss of time? Does the gnomish device she had Nixim build factor in some how? She hadn't considered those two possibilities. Maybe this was just another effect of the nether.

She held aloft the book and looked at its cover. She was going to filter through the notes, condense them into a more coherent and pointed study... but this just feels too big. She had to share them with someone. Two people in particular. Other than these she would keep this under wraps for now. She needed to ask around. Read more. Then perhaps attempt another trek but with more of a focus than before. It was decided.

She released the book. It remained suspended in the air before her. She focused her abilities, honed her intent and wove a complex web of spellwork around the book. When she was finished she placed one hand on the back cover and the other on the front, palms flat. With some exertion she lifted her hand away from the front cover. A blue energy glowed between her palm and the cover, and with the effort she pulled a copy of her book from the cover. An exact duplicate, fully materialized in her hand. She set it aside and repeated the process, taxing as it was.

She pushed two copies back into her pack. The original and a copy for an interested party in Ironforge. The second copy she held in her hands and grinned, remembering a promise. Holding the tome in her left hand she pressed her right palm flat against the cover and rubbed in a circular motion. Again she exerted her will and focused her intent weaving a fairly less complex spell across the cover and throughout the book. She released it when she had finished and as before the book hung suspended in the air. Bits of energy traced rings, patterns and spell designs in the space around it as well as skittering across the book cover. It slowly tilted and opened, its pages floating freely and lines of the same blue energy traced ink lines across each page.

The spell slowly altered the condition of the ink, the make of the page, the pressing of the cover and altered the weave of the binding. It was a slow transformation. Slow mostly because replicating it twice had drawn too much out of her, but also because the work that needed to be done needed to be precise and precision on this scale took time.

It was overkill really. She didn't need to do it, but it made her grin to know that she was being true to the word she gave her friend Genevra, sarcastic as it had been. "The finest gilded skins."

Leaving the book to its spell work she strode to the tub full of warm water. Wyrd perched at the head. In an age where almost everything imaginable has a magical shortcut, it was important to her that some things remained the same. Some rituals were more important than others. Such as the taking of a simple bath. She was long overdue for a good soak.

Matron Stoneheardt,

Since our gathering last week atop the fortress wall west of Kun-Lai I have returned to Stormwind and made all the preparations for my journey north. I am not sure where I will be residing, but will send word along the way. For the interest of security, should I go missing or should you need to find me, I have attached my travel itinerary. I will be traveling on foot at a rather leisurely pace, so I expect my travels will take me some time.

Please keep my abreast of the guild news, and do not hesitate to contact me should you have an assignment that needs my attention.

Respectfully yours,

Ceidy

Itinerary

The main road from Ironforge through Thelsamar by the loch. I expect to spend at least a day here, visiting friends.
Pass as swiftly as possible through the wetlands.
In the highlands I expect to tarry for a time, I know not how long. Spend a few evenings at Refuge Point.
Cross Thoradin's Wall.
Head toward Chillwind Camp either by way of Aerie Peak or the river. I expect to spend some time recovering supplies and exploring the area, and while I am there I shall pay respects at Uther's tomb.
Follow the main road through the western forests of Lordaeron. I will be stopping at the different farms along the way to gauge my journey ahead and offer aid where needed.
Hearthglen. I will tarry there no more than a day.
Pass the river into the eastern forests of Lordaeron. I will likely take my time, stopping at each outpost along the way to gauge the severity of the plague upon the land.
Light's Hope Chapel will be my final stop.

[Original Post and response found here:]
http://conclaveguild.org/forum/5-in-character-postings/913-the-dispatches-open-rp-for-all?start=6

The mage blinked back into existence near the middle of the stone bridge.

Thandol Span. She glanced behind her toward the wetlands. Good. She thought. They hadn't followed. And why would they? In truth the Dark Iron cultists of Dun Modr were never aware of her. Heaving a sigh of relief Ceidy resumed the even cadence of her well practiced stroll. Duties to her research for the Conclave would relegate her to the northern lands for quite some time. She wasn't sure exactly where to begin, having undertaken an enormous task, but she saw no reason to rush into it. There would be plenty of time. She scoffed. Plenty.

Her work aside, she also had personal interest for the work. As she left the stone ruins of Thandol Span behind the Highlands welcomed her. Ceidy drew in a deep breath, smelling the fragrant grasslands. The rushing waters and falls nearby filled her head with such joyful emotions. Memories of a more innocent time flooded back.

Images of her running through the grasslands as child, playing with other children, her brothers running along with her. Sometimes they played, other times they fought. She learned quickly how to hold her own. There was a lot of love between them. Things were much simpler then, and there were times she longed for their return, though in truth she knew it could never be. At least, not as it had been. Those she had known, her family, her friends, loved ones. Now nothing but a fond memory.

Cediy fought back a tear and pang of nostalgia. Passing beneath an ancient stone-arch monolith that stretched over the road filled her again with the same wonder as it always had as a child. Questions filled her head.

What were they? The structure was simple. Two large stone blocks stood vertical holding aloft a long rather large single block of stone that stretched the width of the road way. The road, she surmised, had been a much later addition, but it still begged the question: Why?

Who built them? For what purpose? There were several other such monuments dotting the highlands, that she could recall. Recent studies by the Explorer's League and other such groups were all led to believe that the ancient Arathi peoples had built them. If so then how were they built?

Ceidy knew there were several different ways it could be done today. There were a variety of magical spells, rituals, incantations she could personally implement to achieve such a simple monument, but that wasn't the point. If the ancient Arathi tribes had no such knowledge then how would they have built it? The possibilities marveled her more so now than they had. What possible secrets were they guarding? Now, grown to a fine intelligent adult and rather talented mage, she would set out in an attempt to answer these questions. An exciting prospect.

As she followed the road, it bent around a tall hill that she recognized. Cresting the hill she looked out across a long deep valley and spied in the distance the strong walls of a now ancient kingdom fell to ruin. Strom. More memories threatened to fog her vision and she turned away. Facing east she spied in the far distance the a remnant of the third war. A former interment camp and for her a bitter reminder of darker days.

Her head tilted back and she pulled her hood and mask down. Sun washed over her face and neck, highlighting her long straight auburn hair with a bright reddish glow. A fresh highland breeze ruffled her robes. She filled her lungs once more. A sense of calm, of purpose, of peace came over her. She was indeed home, and after so long.

There was yet another matter she needed to tend. Her eyes opened and peered northward. In the far far distance a dark line separated the golden highlands with the verdant green forests of the foothills beyond. Thoradin's Wall.

Before leaving Stormwind she was given a message to deliver. A particularly sensitive correspondence from one old friend to another. He was typically had hard one to find, but Ceidy and he had a certain knack for always running into each other. The old one said to look for him in the foothills near the Hinterlands, and so that is where she would be heading next.

She'd had enough of walking for one day. Ceidy relaxed her body, cleared her mind, gathered her will and focused her intent to a pins point far in the distance. She pulled the hood and mask back over her head and lifted one foot forward. The grass around where she had been standing lifted up, swirled in a circle, then gently fluttered back down upon the hill top as she disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Dirt, rocks and broken branches tumbled and cascaded in a small avalanche behind the man as he plummeted down the mountain. Low hanging boughs from pines smacked at his perspiring face and scratched his bald head while roots and small bushes wrestled with his footing.

“I’m going to kill him!” had there been anyone else plunging down the mountain with him he would have said the same thing to them, but there was no one. So he said it to himself.

“That…Stupid…arrogant…slimy….stupid…” an arduous breath forced its way between each word as he ran.

The steep downward angle of the mountain suddenly changed to flat sending his knees and face to the ground. With a flailing of arms and scampering of feet the recovery from the fall was quick and he was again on his way. The hillside changed again and again from up to flat to back down.

Over the hillside he ran his legs burning and sides aching, never taking the chance of looking back at his trail. Finally he peaked a hill and slammed his body into a tree hugging it tightly to keep from falling face first to the ground. His breath was fast and hard and his clothes were soaked but he finally saw what he wanted to see.

At the base of the mountain stood Thoradin’s Wall. It was still miles off but now he had a clear sight of where he was going. And it never looked so beautiful.

He allowed himself a small smile. “That git is going to die.”

For the first time he took the chance and looked back from where he had come. He saw only trees and rocks and hills. No sign of any pursuers. And there were no sounds other than the wind in the trees and the birds in the air.

“When I get my hands on that addle brained bronzehead I’m going to rip that silly orange beard off his face and strangle him with it.” To anyone listening his words would have been nothing more than a mumble between labored breaths.

“What kind of name is Susen anyway? They must have thought he was a woman when he came out of his mother. Those dwarves all look the same anyway.”

The man reached for his pack that was tight on his back, bringing it around in front of him and opened the flap. Looking in made his smile widen. Could this be it? Could this be what he had spent so many years looking for?

“That half-sized cur.” The thing in his pack looked so beautiful. “I’m going to rip his eyes out of that fat dwarven head.”

THHHHHWWWUNK!

Jove brought his eyes up in a flash. A troll arrow stuck out of the tree next to him a mere foot from his face. His pack was closed and on his back and he was off down the hill before the troll had a chance to notch a second arrow. A battle cry erupted from the trees. There was at least 8 trolls closing in on him last he counted as he made his path down to the wall.

“Slimy overgrown murlocks!” He mumbled as he ran. “I’ll kill them all!”

- - - - - - - - - -
[Edit:]
Posted with permission of the author, unaltered save for some formatting. Part of a larger collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.
The original text of this post was overwritten for the sake of this story's continuity.

Bits of dry grass atop a hill lifted into the air and swirled. She appeared in the blink of an eye, standing on the hill top, road side with a splendid view of the forever white Stromgarde walls. As the little blades of grass gently fluttered back to the ground she smiled behind the cloth mask she wore beneath her hood. No matter what befalls these ruins the old kingdom would always be to her a special place of wonder, mystery, and awe.

Ever aware of the ogres that tended to wander nearby, the masked mage gazed over the highlands. Her reminiscence was shattered by the dark form of a distant wooden structure with which she was all too familiar. It saddened her to see the scars left by the invasion of the orcish horde and the conflict that it bred over these decades past. It was a history with which she was well acquainted. These conflicts had occupied the majority of her existence, in so much that she had nearly forgotten who she was.

Tailor?
Soldier?
Alchemist?
Spy?

All were true, and yet in a certain frame all were just as false. She was much more. Much more than these conflicts had made her be. The old one knew this. Jove knew it too. Despite their unwavering silence on the matter she could tell their memories were sound. All she had to do was look into their eyes. She had averted their gazes for far too long. It was time she rediscovered herself.

Several hours had passed since her arrival and the sun would soon wither behind the Alteracs. For the most part the Highlands remained as beautiful as she remembered. It almost felt like ages since she had last visited her homelands. Ages indeed.

Ceidy studied several of the ancient structures as carefully as possible as she quickly blinked across the grasslands. The curious mage paused from time to time to make quick notes or take as accurate a measurement as she could on her own. Since she was here it seemed a pity to just race past all this history.

That is exactly where she found herself now, pacing around a seemingly ordinary stone pylon no higher than her hip. She had spied it from atop a distant hill while fixing on her next blink location. Conveniently it was near Thoradin's Wall so she was already on the last leg of her journey across the highlands. So close to her destination surely it wouldn't hurt for her to indulge curiosity a bit. Jove could wait.

The arrogant beast of a man was likely hold up someplace anyhow, working on another one of his... conquests.

Perhaps once I find him, he'll be of a disposition to give me some aid.

Ceidy paused, notebook and quill in hand. She half grinned knowing that had he been with her now and had she said that aloud Jove would have found a way to insinuate something lascivious. She shook her head with a sigh.

On second thought, perhaps it would be better if...

At that moment she became aware of them. Faint fluctuations of energy. In truth she had become aware of these years ago when she was much young, but she had thought them merely an anomaly. Her mind was in other places then, and so she shoved the matter aside. After a few minutes of careful observation however she reached a conclusion. These faint fluctuations of energy were anything but an anomaly.

The mage had dedicated much of her academic years meditating both on and around just such fluctuations. Only at that time she had already known what they were; major ley lines and powerful arcane nexus'. Their power was unmistakable even among the most novice of magi.

These energy fluctuations were different. They were weaker, which explains why they felt like mere anomalies. Unless one were attuned to such frequencies and consciously searching for the every shifting energy fields they would be easily missed. They were also different in some other manner however. She could not yet explain exactly how just yet.

One thing was certain. These were Ley Lines.

- - - - - - - - - -
[Edit:]
Part of a larger collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.
The original text of this post was overwritten for the sake of this story's continuity.

Jove grasped his side with one hand as he ran.

The knot in his side pained him something fierce but more anent was the large bleeding gash on his hip. Blood trickled through his fingers as he applied pressure, soaking his pants and shirt. It had happened when he came to a clearing on the mountain side made from a rockslide in centuries past.

He decided it would be a good idea to try and slide down the rocky slope on his rump rather than traverse the side of the mountain following the tree line. He had only been able to stay on his backside for a moment or two before his plan fell through and he found himself rolling head over heels down the rocky opening.

On any other day he would have looked at the tree that had stopped his fall in adoration. It was a beautiful old salty pine that was nearly four foot in diameter at its base. But today he saw nothing beautiful about it at all. He had crashed into it with his side after rolling some fifty feet downward.

At first he was sure he had broken something. At first it felt like he had broken everything. The only thing that got him back up and moving was the barrage of arrows falling around him as he laid on the ground trying to breathe again. He was lucky that a nasty gash on his hip was all the damage he took. But one thing was for sure, his shortcut gave him a huge lead on the trolls that were perusing him.

“Those……Dirty…” his breaths were beyond labored. “Green…blood…”

- - - - - - - - - -
[Edit:]
Posted with permission of the author, unaltered save for some formatting.
Part of a larger collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.
The original text of this post was overwritten for the sake of this story's continuity.

The heat of the day was beginning to make him dizzy.

The loss of blood wasn't helping either.

At the top of the mountain pass he was sure he was going to freeze to death but now nearing the base of the mountain he was praying for a breeze. The dwarf was also still on his mind, despite the danger from the trolls.

That thick, dimwitted half man had abandoned him. Worse, he had made the trolls aware of Jove’s presence and THEN abandon him. This was the last straw for Jove. The dwarf would pay for this.

The terrain had changed in the last mile or so. The steep grade from the mountain had progressively become more horizontal. The trees were thinning and spread out more evenly. He could no longer see the great wall but it wasn't far off. He had lost sight of it as soon as he had hit the base of the mountain since he was no longer looking over the tops of the trees. It was one, maybe two miles ahead of him. And once he reached the wall, he reached camp.

At the camp was the new recruit. A hunter in profession by the name of Jäyne. He was sent out with Jove to be tested; to see what he was capable of. And he was about to be aggressively tested. Jove hoped Jäyne was as good with his bow as he claimed.

The trees suddenly opened up and a clearing emerged from the forest. A beautiful meadow filled with brilliant yellow flowers. Immediately Jove recognized the place. This land was a second home to him. He had sent his good friend Nella here on occasion to pick the flowers for his alchemy. He knew over a dozen potions using the small flowers but the special way of picking it without losing its potency was aloof to him.

But all the pretty flowers meant nothing to Jove now. He was just under 1 mile from the camp. Without stopping he turned his alarmingly slowing progression a few degrees to the South West. Once he crossed the clearing he tried his best to turn and see if he could spot the trolls but he saw nothing as the clearing was within moments again hidden with the trees.

With wishful thinking he thought that maybe the trolls had grown tired of the chase and turned back. But as much as he hoped for such an outcome, he knew the trolls too well. They would not stop. Not till their axes were red. They were still behind him. But just like him, they were tired.

His plan was simple really. He would come into camp where he would find Jäyne, the hunter. He would then shout some directions then pull his sword from his pack and stand his ground using the ruins of the decaying wall as cover. He would fight the trolls with whatever strength he had left, while the hunter would be fresh and fully rested and ready for a fight.

All Jove would have to do is keep the trolls off him long enough to let Jäyne pick them off one by one from wherever it is he would be perched.

There were holes in the plan but it was the only one he had at the moment.

- - - - - - - - - -
Posted with permission of the author, unaltered save for some formatting.
Part of a larger collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.
The original text of this post was overwritten for the sake of this story's continuity.

And, supposing they survived this hole-filled plan, when he had finished with the trolls he would then find the rogue.

With death close behind him Jove was still seething over the dwarf rogue. He had to fill his mind with something while he ran. If he focused too much on the pain in his side he would be fully aware of how bad it was. But if he thought of something else he could mask the situation. But all he could think of was the dwarf. And the dwarf made him angry.

If I get out of this alive, he thought, I’m going to light him on fire and watch…

Jove continued to run but something had changed. Something had broken his thoughts.

Someone.

He saw no one but he felt their presence within him. Part of him. At least… she use to be part of him. He shook his head to clear it.

Why was she here?

She must be here on purpose. It cant be coincidence that she would find him in the middle of nowhere like this. The dwarf now long forgotten he tried to make sense of it. She was here but he was still being chased. Answers would have to come later. Right now he needed to focus on the events at hand.

He thought hard and fast. Camp was a half mile out still. And then it came to him. A plan.

“Stone Talon!” he yelled.
“Stone Talon Mountains!” She had to have heard him. But just in case he screamed it one last time.
“Stone Talon!”

To his right was a large bolder surrounded by trees. It would be a good spot for a fight. He slid to his knees using one of the trees as cover, throwing his pack down off his back. Turning, he peeked around it to watch the forest behind him as he caught his breath.

- - - - - - - - - -
Posted with permission of the author, unaltered save for some formatting.
Part of a collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.

Fool.
Poor poor fool.

The masked mage shook her head with a heavy sigh. She stood off at a distance and watched the familiar bald headed man sprint through the trees some distance ahead of her. He was moving at a good clip too. Had he not been yelling ...no, screaming like a little girl at the top of his lungs and crashing through the undergrowth like a yeti... she might have missed him altogether.

Teleporting across the open hills of the grassy highlands was one thing. A simple matter really. Teleporting through a forest was an entirely different matter. If she wasn't focused and patient, choosing line of sight destinations and largely predictable paths, she could easily end up like so many other mages and reappear with an arm fused to a bolder.

Or worse. Images of truly talented magi she had once known briefly flashed through her mind. Magi who had died when they attempted to blink into a dark room or through an unfamiliar wall, and instead ended up becoming part of that wall... or separated in half by an end table.

Ceidy shivered at the gruesome memory and refocused on her destination. She blinked her eyes and in that instant she was at her new location. Upon arrival the mage began scouting her next teleportation point. She calculated that in two more blinks she could intercept the bald bumbling fool and get from him what all the fuss was about.

In the distance she heard his familiar voice scream a third time.

“Stone Talon!”
“Stone Talon Mountains!”

She would have giggled at the sight and sound of him running for his life, but he ruined the moment by reminding her of the time in Stonetalon. The dark blue mask over her face hid her grimace at the recollection.

She glanced up the slope behind him. Surely he was running from something. Her mood now completely despoiled by him and his never ending antics, she focused on a location further up the gentle slope and crouched gathering her dark blue and green robes around her.

Time to don the hood of a spy once again. Lets go see what's the matter. She thought as dry pine needles lifted into the air around her.

- - - - - - - - - -
Part of a collaborative work between Me (Spectrål) and Jôve.

It was silent.

He panted hard, knowing he was making enough noise to attract any predator within a mile. But that was okay. He needed all the focus to be on him. The trolls needed to think he was alone and tired of running.

…but would she remember?

More importantly…would she even help? To her it might seem a good idea to watch Jove die. And by the hands of trolls! How deserving.

From behind a large tree 50 yards behind him, back up the gentle slope, stepped a troll. His blood thirsty eyes were fixed on Jove who stared right back. A second troll appeared to the left of the first, ax in hand.

Sneaky green bastards. He thought to himself. A third appeared, then a fourth. Jove got to his feet.

She remembered the Stonetalon Mountains. In fact, she would make sure Jove made it through this alive to remind him of how much she hated to be reminded of their time there. His confidence was shaky but growing.

Jove stepped out from behind his own cover tree and walked a few paces into the open towards the trolls. He bent to pick up a thick branch in his path as a weapon. His side was clearly stained with blood and he exaggerated his limp to look worse than it was. The trolls just watched. Jove thought he saw a smile on the ones face but trolls were so ugly it was hard to tell.

He kept walking.

The troll that was clearly in charge raised one hand in the air and spun it in a circle signaling the rest of his band. Slowly, one by one, more trolls emerged from the forests concealment.

Good. Jove thought. They are taking the bate. They don’t see me as a threat.

“I bet you wonder why I was in your village.” Jove spoke loud enough to be clearly heard in the gap between him and the trolls. “If you can really call it a village. It looked to me more like a pig pen.”

He didn't know for sure if these troll understood him or not. He didn't care.

“You see, I say that because pigs will crap wherever they please. Everywhere, until every inch of ground is covered in their filth and then they'll lay in it. And that is what it looked like you were doing. Laying in your own heap of crap.”

Jove had such a wonderful way with words.

He continued limping towards the head troll. He could clearly see all of them, and they were many. A few held bows with quivers slung on their backs. He needed to watch for them when the brawl started.

“It was your mom!” He laughed his most boisterous arrogant laugh. The comment was completely random though it didn't matter. What mattered was the theatrics and the hope that they'd help him sell his next little diversion.

He paused abruptly, lifting the stout branch to point at them.

“No, but seriously. She invited me.” With all the calm sincerity he could muster, Jove gestured with the branch, pointing behind them.

* * * * * * * * * *

The trolls stood in a line, confident in their numbers.

They each glared like ravenous animals at the bald headed prey they had finally captured, each prepared to devour their fair share of the man. It was their custom to consume the flesh of their enemy, so that they may gain his strength and the favor of the Loa.

They didn't understand his rantings. It didn't matter. Them were wise to the tricky ways of Man and would not fall for this one's obvious attempt to distract them. Not to say that it would ever give him an upper hand even if it had worked. The trolls were simply too many.

And yet, there was at least one among them who couldn't help but wonder.

Wat was dis crazy man pointing too? Wave'in his stick a'round as et were some great weapon.

The youngest hunter among them stretched to his full lanky height of nine feet. He turned left and hooted at his fellow head hunters who echoed the call. He turned right and hooted a war cry at the warriors who cried back. Those fearsome warriors with faces painted blood red in the ancient tradition, glaring with death in their eyes.

That same young hunter then cantered his shoulders and turned his head for a brief glance behind them. They were all alone. Confusion gradually twisted its way across the troll's face and he looked to his left and right once more, but this time counting. Five head hunters to his left. Seven warriors to his right. Including himself and the witchdoctor they were fourteen. They were at least twice that moments ago...

The young troll hunter glanced behind again. The grove naturally thinned behind them, lending to small patches of clearing between the spaced trees.

Standing in the midst of one such clearing was a solitary figure cast in shadow from shafts of light of the falling sun that pierced the lush canopy. It took a moment for the young troll to recognize the shadowed frame as human, and another moment to see that it's hand was raised. Hand open, palm facing him. His eyes widened and he drew in a deep breath to sound a warning cry.

A cry that never came.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jove felt a little foolish, standing there pointing with his stick. The troll was only 5 yards from him now but he wasn't giving Jove the satisfaction of turning to look.

Trolls were stupid, Jove knew, but not stupid enough to fall for a novice trick such as “Hey! What’s that over there?” And he hadn't actually seen Spectral yet. He only felt her presence somewhere in the direction he was pointing. It was a blind faith he was putting in her, which was another thing that felt a little off about this situation. There had been a time when his faith in her was complete and without question but the years apart from her made his stomach uneasy.

There was a small flash of light at the back of the pack of animals that was hardly noticeable in the daylight, because that what all trolls were to Jove. Animals. He watched a single Troll in the far back of the pack suddenly drop into the vegetation. The sound accompanying it was soft, grotesque, and hardly noteworthy. Within a heartbeat two more went down in the same fashion.

A smile lit up his face. Maybe she did still care about him.

A troll to the side made a disgusting grunt that made Jove crinkle his nose. The troll turned one way and grunted then the other. It’s hard to believe they can communicate with such filth, he thought.

The head troll raised his ax, gripping the handle in both hands in front of him. Jove could hear arrows being notched and the eerie creek of the tensioned bows.

Now would be a very good time, girl.

The troll before him opened his mouth to let loose another horrid grunt but was cut short by a sharp CRACK! Like thunder it rang through the trees. The trolls all turned in time to see the former grunting troll collapse to the ground in a dark green heap, blood flowing freely from its face and neck.

This was his window of opportunity and Jove didn't hesitate. He closed the gap between him and the troll straight ahead of him in a flash and in one smooth stroke he grabbed the dagger from the trolls own belt and brought it up and across his stomach and chest. Its reaction was instant, throwing its arms up to block the human, but it was too late.

The troll stumbled backward. The slash wasn't deep enough, merely a flesh wound. In retaliation the troll swung wide and hard with his ax. Jove used his stick to parry the ax. A clumsy strike. He stepped into the troll following his parry immediately and swept the dagger across the troll's belly a second time. At the end of his slice with the dagger that opened the troll’s belly, he pulled back and jabbed it in and out of its chest.

It was a strange feeling, using a dagger. It didn't feel right in his hand. Too light and small. He gave one last quick stab and left the dagger buried in the trolls chest. With both hands took his stick and swung hard at the trolls head. The troll was so worried about protecting its stomach and chest that its head was wide open, and the stick in Jove’s hand met the troll’s head with a deafening CRACK.

Jove took one step back and watched as the troll slowly collapsed into a heap at his feet. A bit of pride washed over his victory but his joy was fleeting. The rest of the trolls were now looking back at him. All of them were confused, but all of them were armed.

Their axes and bows all came up at once. With no time to think about it Jove did what he always did in these sort of situations. And throughout the years there had been many. He ran as hard and fast as he could to the closest troll.

“STONETALON!” He yelled once more.

All the rest of the trolls came at him at once. He had lost count by this point of how many were still standing so his best move would be to keep them all in front of him. A feat that sounded much easier than it was.

Jove went to the ground in a roll that allowed him to snatch up the fallen trolls ax and spring right back to his feet. Another feat easier said than done. His run, no fall, down the mountain side left him aching with fatigue not to mention the other injuries. With each labored breath he could feel the light surge within him. The injuries were being healed, but that did little to belay the fatigue.

Jove was well aware of his body's limitations, and he was fast reaching them. This little soiree needed to end quickly before exhaustion set in and he simply collapsed.

Ax in hand he dove forward swinging hard, not at the troll but at its bow that was notched and aiming. He caught the troll’s hand that held the bow slicing off several fingers, well... both fingers... and shattering the bow. A scream erupted that sounded worse than the grunts that so disgusted Jove but he didn't stop to take another swing. Instead he ran past his victim into the cover of the trees knowing arrows would soon follow.

There was another POP behind him as he scampered behind a tree, dodging arrows. Spectral was picking them off like flies while they all focused on him. But once they discover her they will be on the offense. If its one thing most Trolls know it is how to fight a mage. A painful lesson they learned long ago.

An arrow whistled by Jove’s head as he ducked behind his tree.

“I said STONETALON!” He yelled.
“This is NOT Stonetalon!”

He knew she wouldn't like to be reminded of the place. Stonetalon held a particularly sensitive memory for the both of them. Well, more for her than for Jove but this was not time to cry over spilt milk. His life was on the line here.

He was breathing hard, not yet fully recovered from his run. And the burst fighting just didn't help him catch his breath. He peeked around the tree. The trolls were now taking cover behind other trees and forming a ring of defense, trying to find out where the mystery attacker was coming from.

If she would just listen to him they would quickly have the upper hand. Stonetalon. She heard him. There was no doubt that she hadn't. But why would she not listen? She knew as well as he did… fire was needed. Fire is how you fight trolls. Fire would give them the upper hand.