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"Untitled Fantasy Story"

This is another piece from my ongoing saga of battles and magic and stuff. This one has a pace a little different than the Rogue's, but I'm sure it's still just as good . . . I hope. Aaaaanyways, I'm keeping you from reading this thing, so I'll step back now, and let her take it away. She is . . .



"The Waywatcher"

I call the Tartraz Valley my home - as my mother had, and as her mother before her. Through five generations, we have learned to live happily within the nearby glades. Through decades of dedication, my family has come to coexist with the beasts of the land, may they be the lowly boars that roam the land or the mighty eagles that make their homes within the walls of the canyons. As passed down by my ancestors, it was our birthright to watch over these lands, keeping them safe from the hordes of defilers and the clutches of tyrants. I have come to fear that perhaps this sacred duty has come to be no more than a ritual than an actual responsibility from years gone by - our love for the land was dying. I was going to rectify that.

I'm not sure how I was able to let my guard down enough to let vandals desecrate the valley with the gored vessels of fallen men once again. They were like spoiled children - constantly testing their limits as to how far they could go. My efforts stopped them often, but not often enough. They just kept coming. They knew they were unwanted and that the trees were not for their weapons, nor the Tartraz as their . . . mass grave. The heinousness of the latter was especially trying for me, as it was slowly causing the creatures within the valley to change and mutate, both physically and mentally, for the worst. The once-docile wyverns of the lower caves slowly became the things of nightmares, with an unyielding palate for human flesh. Such is the defilation that I have lived to prevent . . .

I had about an hour or so before the resource gatherers would return, and hastened my efforts in digging and lining my fourth pit along the roads that led to the Tartraz. My initial attempts to persuade the men were short and simple - perhaps too simple. When the loggers disrupted the land, I confronted them with arrows. I let one land before the men and let one fly through their leader's sleeve, which stapled him to a nearby tree. I told them to leave, and yes they did - but not before they vowed to return in greater numbers and greater force. The life of a defender is not an easy one, nor is it glamorous or appreciated. It is simply something I have to do.

When I started implementing my traps throughout the area, I was still unsure whether lethal force was necessary, so I restricted myself to snares, nets, and the like. My own personal preparation for my upcoming guests was also underway; my hardened leather was strapped tightly to my body, and my forest-green cloak flowed freely around me. With my final minutes drifting away, I sat down in my glade to meditate (something my mother did - like mother, like daughter).

My mother taught me everything I knew, from archery and fencing to local lore. I learned to love the forest and adore the valley. When my ancestors had first taken up residence in the beautiful sanctuary, they took up a crusade to maintain the area as one of peace and stability. When the raiders marched through the valley, whether they were the frenzied hobgoblins or the marauding orcs, my people were always there to stop them. There was once even a time when my family took up arms against the two cities they sat between, preventing any forms of expansion into the Tartraz. Up until now, our borders were undisputed and civil; Khanduras had accepted a truce and Ascorbia preferred to rather ignore us completely. Recently, though, the Khandurans have been testing their limits, taking the wild for their own . . . . .

It was times like this I regretted how I had to take the fight alone. In the olden days I had an entire clan supporting me, but as time went it started to dwindle. As a youth my father left the valley, unwilling to accept the life my mother had grown up with. My mother was lost during the campaign of a vicious (and now very dead) orc warlord from five years ago. That same fate befell my sister Elena two years later. I was the last of the Tartraz waywatchers, and I was not ready to become a martyr just yet . . .

A flush of birds escaped the thick layer of brush and disappeared into the cool sky. Their point of exit told me it could only mean that the loggers, in their greater force, had returned. I grabbed my bow and my sword and glided towards my first position, effortlessly ignoring the plant growth around me. As per my setup, the rope ladder was waiting for me at my initial lookout point. Once I rose to the branch's level, I took a good scout's perception of the situation. What I saw next shocked me beyond compare. I had no idea just how important these trees were to these men - they were pulling out all the stops. As the battle drums beat through the greenery, the stormtroopers were marching in sync with them. They were only scouts in chainmail as opposed to the regular trooper's field plate, but nevertheless I was worried.

It had to be at least a full squad of ten or fifteen - I should have been flattered they held me in such high graces . . . close behind them were the loggers, cowering like the pathetic kittens they were. As they neared the first trap, I nocked an arrow so I could shoot the release line to the pit - that is, in the unlikely event that the trap didn't spring on its own. There was no need; the two stormtroopers leading the march stepped on the loose foliage and fell through. A tinge of panic swept through the ranks, and I then realized to my horror that I should have spread me traps wider to compensate for the scatter my targets would take after the first shock - this amateur mistake could be fatal . . .

Play the music!

I dropped from my branch and took to break-neck speed towards my second position, which would give me line of sight to several of the Khandurans. Halfway there I heard a snap and a yelp, which I accepted with a sly grin; some poor fool stepped in a snare. I continued running.

Once in my second perch I crouched in the tree, letting the environment flood through my ears. Along with the acceptable rustling through the brush I heard orders shouted amongst the men. Obviously I didn't hear it all, but I did catch the important part: "Lethal force; attack on sight." I wasn't fazed by it, but the thought of that many men trying to kill me wasn't a pleasant thought. I re-nocked my arrow and lined up my first target; he took it cleanly through the chain and chest and fell backwards. I quickly let fly with another arrow towards another of the invaders and escaped back into the woodland to my third position - on the ground.

I wasn't going to be able to hit-and-run the twenty-some men running after me. I needed to put my traps to use . . . I needed them to follow me. Once I found a nearby net I scanned around for a group of troopers. Sure enough, a formation of four or five Khandurans was hiking through the brush. Another arrow reduced their numbers and the remaining men took to a charge. I ran out to the road and got several yards away from the net - they kept coming. I leveled my bow and took aim: at the lead charger first, but at the last moment changing instead to the release line above him. All were hoisted into the branches above by the web of rope; all save one. As the scout came at me, I looped my bow over my head and shoulder and drew my longsword from my waist - yet another trade the women of Tartraz were highly renown for. We engaged in a fierce but short melee, and I dropped him cold when he attempted a fatally poor thrust.

With all the commotion around me, more and more of the remaining Khandurans came to rush towards my position; a welcomed approach, I assure you (as all my traps were still present). Soon thereafter, I had a third of the task force incapacitated or otherwise, and the other two thirds ensnared. What had become of the loggers I'd never know - they had all ran away too quickly. I slowly made my way through the traps, releasing the captives and telling them to leave. Most of them did - they knew when they were beaten. The rest served as examples to the others. I threw a rope down to some unwillingly entrenched stormtroopers and steadied an arrow as they climbed out. When they were both out of the pit, they attacked me. The first was shot down at half-draw; the second was slashed through the head during an unbalanced backhand.

Eventually the Khandurans did concede the battle and left the area, and I was able to breathe again. The problem of why they were so determined to mine the trees from the land still weighed heavily on me. It wasn't the first time they had tried, nor did I believe it would be the last. Still, I couldn't figure out why the rulers were so insistent as to send the military to enforce its operations. There was more to this than just resource acquisition . . . . .

A falling bird's nest directed my attention upwards. Above me was one of the loggers (who had apparently found one of my snares). He was an interesting sight to see, as he was quite the opposite of the image most people parallel with a trapped animal; he was fairly calm, as if he had accepted that he was already done for. He accepted that he was a captive.
"Okay, I'm going to let you down," I told him, "once I do, you are to leave this place and never return."
"I'll leave," he said, "but I won't be the last, I guarantee you." I nocked an arrow and pointed it in his direction.
"Then I guess you will just have to persuade them otherwise." He retorted,
"No, that wouldn't prove a thing! You don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"This gathering isn't just another festival picking. It's a matter of war!"

His last words startled me. This whole thing clearly went deeper than I had originally had figured. I pulled back further on my bowstring,
"You had best explain yourself. My fingers are getting tired."
"Pheh! When I return to Khanduras, I'm a dead man anyway. You might as well just shoot." He had strong words, but there was too much shake in his voice for such a statement.
"Well, if I must I must," and let go. The arrow sped towards the dangling man's head . . . . . and whipped through the long hairs hanging from his scalp. "I did not have to miss, you know. Now I am not a fan of torture-based interrogation, but if you don't start talking . . ." I nocked another arrow and motioned with my head and eyes to the lower portion of my body; " . . . I will have no qualms with taking you apart, tip by tip." The man's thumb twitched toward his nether-regions at my remark.
" . . . . . I'll talk."

The next few minutes were shocking; I had no idea how bad things had become. The logger himself was not high enough on the ladder to know everything, but from what he knew and heard, the Khanduran Inner Circle was in a voracious need for new resources. Due to its close proximity and untapped sources (due to me, of course) the Tartraz Valley would be the primary stock. Within the country itself, martial action had taken a rise, as were recruits into the forces. War machine and siege weapon production became a priority in the smiths, and the guilds had been working overtime to meet the impossible deadlines. A mobilization of this magnitude could mean the absolute obliteration of everything. Nothing would be safe - not the Tartraz, not Ascorbia, nothing!

I started running back to my glades to prepare for my new duty. As I did, the logger called to me to let him down; I shot the rope and he dropped - he then took to his feet back to Khanduras. As for myself, I refilled my quiver, sharpened my sword, and took to the main road. I gave three sharp whistles and my ever-listening friend Skaw swooped down and perched on my arm. For where I was going, I'd need all the help I could get, and a falcon's sight could probably do wonders for me. It was strange, though; it was the first time I had ever left the Tartraz Valley. Mind you I wasn't ignorant to "civilization", and I was fully aware of what I was getting into. At the same time, I had no idea what was to happen, though . . .

Either way, my destiny directed me towards Khanduras. If people felt this was a breach of my vow to protect the valley I wouldn't listen to them - if Khanduras wasn't stopped, there would be no valley to go home to . . .