Ryn'ntar did not sleep, the Du'ellofar had instilled in him very early in his training that such things were not requirements, that during sleep the mind connected back with the natural world, but that a stilling of the mind and a feeling from the earth was what rested the body once more. So instead of sleeping, Ryn'ntar fell back into the state he had been in when the humans had invaded the glade, a meditative state in which he was resting, but was still aware of the forest around him.
In his mind, the images burnt into his memory that fateful night almost a decade ago. The death, the goblins, orcs and giants, as they stepped over thewalls of Haunts as if it were a bump in the road. A foul stench assailed his nostrils, the smell of goblin, orc and demon. The smell was so violent and permeating, that he almost dismissed it as dream, until he heard the tell-tale grating of a badly made orcish blade becoming battle ready.
Ryn'ntar was instantly aware of his surroundings, his evish abilities informed him that none were awake. The Half-elf was asleep in the tree above him, the newly named F'lar was also sleeping, curled into a ball next to where Ryn'ntar had been laying.
Kneeling, Ryn'ntar Toro'eth reached over and clamped a vice-like grip over F'lar's mouth. When his companion's eyes shot open, the ranger put a finger to his lips, in the universal sign for silence. He then made an ugly face, that he hoped resembled an orc.
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Fumbledumb The Bold, was not very heroic. In fact his name was rather ironic, as he was not at all bold, but was instead cowardly. His greenish skin was now wrapped in black-human smelling fabric, so he could blend in with the night time forest, like the rest of the war party.
Flang Burtwart, the orcish commander of the war party, was directly in front of the cowardly goblin Fumbledumb. Flang stood well over seven feet tall, every inch of it corded muscle. He wore many many human scalps, drapped across his beefy chest. Fumbledumb, if anyone ever bothered to ask the goblin, thought him to be rather stereotypical, big, dumb, skillful with a blade, but dumber then an average orc. Fumbledumb didn't think whatever orcish group that chose the warriors weren't the shinyest blade in the armory cave.
All around Fumbledumb, the orcs drew their assorted weaponry. Axes, swords, maces and spears were in a wide variety, but there was also a goodly number of halbreds and garrots in evidence. Fumbledumb felt incredibly small, when faced with the tall orcs, he was a mere three feet high. His self esteem was once again assaulted, as he noticed that the knife he held was a only three inches long.
Fumbledumb The Bold nerely soiled his buckskins, as the Orc Flang raised his five foot long sword above his head and yelled at the top of his lungs "Slaughter them boys!"
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Silvar It'cham Vatta smiled his brilliant white smile at Queen Marie Eff'ngham, as they walked through the Castle Eff'ngham. She wore a flowing white and gold gown that had many layers of skirts, sheilding her perfect legs from sight, as the hem drug across the ground. Marie's lips were a shade of gorgeous crimson, as she leaned in close and whispered what was to come, if he met her at this spot later that evening. A strand of her long aubrun hair fell over her face, as she spoke in a husky tone to her lover.
Indeed, the captain wanted to, he loved this woman, as he was sure she loved him. As he leaned in their lips brushed so slightly that neither party felt the intimate touch. Silvar spoke of things that caused the Queen's cheeks to turn a violent shade of crimson.
So it was that later that night, Silvar It'cham Vatta and Marie Dun Eff'ngham met in their prearraged location. They immediately fell all over each other in fits of passion that would send a chastity bound woman into hysteria. Silvar relished his time with Marie, as with nothing else. They fit perfectly together, he tall, handsome and bold, her slender, beautiful and seductive.
But this night was unlike the countless one's they had spent together before, for outside the small greenhouse secreted in a remote and forgotten corner of the castle gardens a band of figures lurked to reveal the lovers. King Marka'lo Dun Eff'ngham stood with his best friend, Duke Terioth, by the side of the greenhouse. They listened with mixed emotions of the loud moans eminating from the building, The King listened with a profound sense of betrayal and loss, while the Duke listened because he was genuinely intrested.
The King straightened his posture and walked to the door of the lover's secret place. The king had noticed the smear of the red Marie put upon her lips and in that tiny blotch of color, he watched his entire world flow away on a swift tide.
