Chapter II - A new day

[Menweh Reolláolásh’miés]

When Morden tapped her on the shoulder she knew that this was going to be fun. Fun, to her at the moment was going to be a display of physical wind magic that just might, literally, knock the youths off their feet. she chuckled softly as she slithered to where Morden was hidding, thankful for the dark green cloak she wore that not only blended her with the grasses and shrubs, but protected her pristine, white traveling dress.

In the moment she felt like a ranger, dashing amongst the rushes and reeds, tracking her quarry. In the shadows of the tree she felt more like a ranger, a rogue, a mischief maker. Her heart pounded as she thought of the scare the boys would receive from her. She chuckled softly as she picked up some soil in her hands, then let it fall as she whispered her incantation. As she let the soil fall, so to did the earth ounia from the air, and almost immediately, a wind began to gust. It wasn't a strong wind, not yet anyways. The elfess had a few more tricks up her sleeves, one that involved the dwarf. But she was not quite done with her preshow antics just yet. Picking up another handful of soil and letting it cascade down she sent another gust against her previous gust. This effect had to be done quickly, as she stopped the stain of one for the other.

Menweh watched to see if her plans worked. For a moment, nothing. Then to her great glee she saw little whirls of dust near the boys. The wizardess smiled at her handiwork as she let the other zephyr die down.

" So what is your plan Morden?" She chuckled softly. The wizardess hoped that the elder dwarf would have something wonderful fiendish buzzing in his head. Menweh was read to work some magic, in more ways than one.



 

[Foraste Lydan]

Foraste tensed as the youths grew near. They began their familiar tirade of insults and posturing. Foraste hoped the rest of the group was ready to attack. The dwarf had obviously thought of a plan and had slunk into the shadows. Foraste had dropped his pack and quickly strung his bow back at the village and was ready for a fight. He hoped that the scrap could be resolved quickly without injuring the younger ones who obviously knew no better.

Foraste deliberated how best to attack the boys, he ran to an elevated mound on the side of the road and pressed his arrows into the ground. He saw the elf begin a wind incantation directed at the boys. The wind gusted unnaturally around the boys, no doubt the goal of her spell. This will make shooting difficult, he thought. He nocked an arrow and took aim at one of the boys, then thought better of it. The woman probably did not want any unnecessary deaths from this conflict.

Foraste calculated how to release a shot that would pin the cloth of the lead boys tunic to a tree, not far from the embankment where Morden hid. None of his other companions had made any moves so he decided to initiate. He held his breath to steady his aim and released, letting the arrow buzz toward the young man.

[Rookie Brownbark]

So the hussy thought she could teach them a lesson, did she?  Well, at least she had shown once again that she could twist people around her oh-so-elegant little finger, as the presence of this ragged band of travellers proved.  How dare they swan into their village carrying weapons and waking around like they owned the place. They certainly did not, this was his patch and if they thought they could mess with him and his band they were sorely mistaken.  Unfortunately they seemed to think they could randomly attack whomsoever they chose (he had conveniently forgotten the stone-throwing) and one of them fired an arrow straight at him.  Thank the twelve that the man did not seem to be a particularly good shot, because the missile hit the tree behind him, catching the very edge of his cloak.

Jornek roared in anger, "Shoot at us would you, freckles? Well we fight like real men, knuckle to knuckle!  Get 'im boys!"  Picking up a torn-off branch they had been mock-fighting with, and hefting it like a club, he began to run towards the man with the bow before he could to any more damage, expressing his anger in a slightly less than deep-throated roar.  He was, after all, only just gone twenty-one.  The other seven rushed towards the travellers with unequal haste - some delighted at having a real enemy to vanquish at last, some rather uneasy.  Perhaps they were suddenly frightened at the thought of one of those arrows finding them, or perhaps significantly better at judging the odds than their forthright leader.  One remained behind, whirling his sling, two picked up farming tools, a sickle and a pitchfork, and the rest grabbed their makeshift clubs.  Suddenly their mock-battles were about to come real.

[The Illiana Twins]

Xander looked calm all the way to the lads' pond. He acted calm, spoke calmly, and essentially looked completely unruffled. Xanth, however, knew exactly what lay underneath her brother's cool exterior. The slight tightness at the corner of his mouth, the meaningful strides. The impatient caressing of his bow. She knew him too well. Her twin was thirsting for revenge.

For what, Xanth knew. As they drew closer, the youths threw insults at them, slinging crude phrases at them, evidently under the impression that their party was one of no skill. The fight started pretty quickly, the newcomer shooting an arrow at the group, with barely any preamble from the lady. Morden had melted into the background, most likely planning some sneak attack. Menweh, the wind magess, had already started up a rather annoying wind spell. She had most likely manipulated whatever it was in the air and caused the wind to strengthen around the kids, like some miniature typhoon, though not as lethal.

Xanth quietly slid her Whirlwind from its sheath. By the looks of the arrow that the lady's friend had shot, the motley gang of humans were gearing themselves up for a fight. Bar brawls were normal for her, especially with that belligerent brother of hers. Course, most bar brawls involved some sort of broken bottle and a heavy tankard. This one involved clubs and pitchforks. The elf raised her sword, feeling her Whirlwind's light weight. Her heart started beating fast, like it always did before she entered a fray. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated on the upcoming mob, picking out her target.

Xander glared at the small gale. It was definitely going to affect his archery skills. He got the magess' intention, but it was still an irritant. Considering that there were two bowsmen here, it was surprising that she didn't stop her spell. Giving a small sigh, the elf looked around for a makeshift spear. He wanted to be sure of making these punks hurt, and shooting an arrow in that wind would be akin to throwing the arrow at the kids – useless. His sharp eyes spotted a medium sized stick on the ground, about a ped and a half in length. It wasn't perfect – the branch was pretty uneven in thickness but it was sturdy, and it had a pointy tip. The elf threw a sideways glance at Xanth, and with the barest of nods, the twins leapt in tandem, Xander's makeshift spear and Xanth's Whirlwind aiming for the nearest youth.

[Foraste Lydan]

Foraste watched the arrow fly true and slam through the fabric of the lead boys tunic. Instead of intimidating the man it drove him into a pigheaded frenzy. The delinquents charged the group swinging various farm implements and sticks.

The twins had begun to prepare their own offense, the girl had pulled out a monstrous broadsword that made his own sword look like a toothpick. The boy had his own bow but decided to use a branch as a spear instead.

The youths had drawn dangerously close and Foraste hoped that whatever the mage and dwarf were planning, they would get on with it. The leader was too close for an aimed shot so Foraste made a quickly nocked and arrow and let it fly randomly into the mass of approaching boys. He quickly returned his bow to its quiver and dropped ist to the ground.

I hope I remember the those sword lessons, he thought while yanking his sword from its sheath, polished herne gleaming in the sun. He leaned into defensive posture and swung his under the man's club.

[Morden Peshirgolz]

"So what is your plan Morden?"

What?!? What plan?!!

Swivelling his head around, Morden was startled to see that the elf Menweh had snuck up upon him once again. This was most confounding to Morden, and slightly irritating since he took such pride in being very sneaky. Obviously Menweh had a few tricks that trumped the conventional means of stealth. As if affirming this last thought, a gust of wind had picked up out of nowhere, on a day without wind. Morden wondered just how much skill this elf had, supposing that he would soon find out. He just sincerely hoped that she was the only one that had followed him. It would make for a very unintimidating group if they all snuck off into the shadows at the hint of a fight! Now Morden needed to regroup his thoughts around the idea of this elf helping in his plans.

So she wanted a plan, eh? Well, that meant Morden had to actually come up with one. He hadn't actually thought out anything spectacular, since originally he had hid here by himself. He simply wished to jump out, yell a few dwarven battlecalls, brandish his axe, and generally give these yelps a good scaring. But, hadn't the elf startled him pretty badly when he had first met her? She could help out wonderfully with his original idea, though she would have to think up the particulars herself. He straightened up a bit, peering about the tree's edge for a glance of the surroundings, before answering in the slightest of whispers, "Methinks, lass, that I'm afixing to scare these young uns. I'll simply take me axe, see, and shout at them from beneath this helm. A few feints of my weapon, maybe a bruise or two, and I think these youths'll clear out."

"Ya can help me, I thinks, if ya can use some o' that skill of yours, ya know in winds and hiding and all. I don't know much about the details o' such work, but I'm sure that you can conjure something considerable frightful. This don't look ta be a difficult fight, and I don't see much muster in these uns, if any. We'll have running before ya knows it." With that, he turned his body back towards the spot where the youths were gathered. He crept up to the very edge of his hiding place, and steadied himself against the tree once more, testing his grip upon his axe once again. He had by now donned his helm, and was as fierce looking as a one-handed dwarf could probably manage. All was ready, and he was glad that he had taken such time to prepare this secret attack.

That was when he was, for the third time in recent memory and the second time in the last few minutes, terribly startled. An arrow thudded into the tree, naught more than a palmspan from his face. Fortunately, a gnarled root above him on the enbankment had caught the apparently ill-fated arrow. Morden's face blanched at the thought of what might have been. It seemed that what he had conjectured to be a harmless scrabble could have more serious repercussions if he were not careful. As he attempted to quickly recollect himself to make his attack, he heard several shouts accompanied by a din of cries from the youths. They were making an attack! Morden cursed at his bad luck, and felt disappointed that he had not started this fight as he had planned. Ah well, it was now or never, and now was certainly the better option.

As Morden took one leaping step to reach the top of the enbankment, a thought rumbled its way through the back of his head. It was only a passing doubt, a mild curiousity, a nagging wonder. It came in a blink, and passed just as quickly. But still, there it had been, and the uneasiness that came with it remained with him after his thoughts had long given themselves over completely to the task at hand. Why, he thoughts, are these hooligans attacking? They were all young, some just barely of fighting age but many not, and they were outmatched in skill. Were they really this rash, or was there a deeper intent to their apparently frenzied anger. The idea ignited a momentary firestorm of associations in the dwarf's mind. Images and remembrances of past battles mingled with each other as they flew through his head, leaving one common theme. Many times Morden had faced traps, ambushes, deceit. Orcs were usually the culprits in his memory, but he had not escaped their wiles every time. There was always that once in while, that stray chance, that missed detail.

But Morden had to hurry to avoid missing the band of youths rushing past his position, and the thought died away in the depths of his stirring mind. Morden shouted at the nearest humans in the group, calling out battlecries to Trum-Barol and wishing ill-will upon the fools, before lunging at the nearest person. He set the flat of his axe parallel to the young man's body, then braced the handle against his own body before slamming the axe's weight, and his own, into the running man. Morden stumbled back from the recoil of the blow, before quickly brandishing his axe at those humans still standing near him, calling out taunts and curses in the Thergerim tongue. They'd better be scared now, if they knew what's good for them.

[Menweh Reolláolásh’miés]

Menweh turned to the dwarf, and was slightly surprised when he said he didn't have a plan. The wizardess thought for a moment. Drawing out a piece of quartz from one of the spell pouches around her belt. She touched the stone to the dwarf as he turned to look over the battle. the Elf murmured the incantation that would hide him from sight. She fought to control the two spells for a breath of a moment before she held them fast.

She then turned her head wanting to see if the youths had been disturbed by the gale winds that came from no where. She bit her tongue as she noticed that some of her comrades wielded bows. An arrow took a chance flight through her wind storm. The Storm Father must have been laughing as the straight flying arrow, was bent in mid flight and sent straight at her hiding place.  The arrow buried itself deeply in the wood next to the dwarf. 

" I should be more careful with my magic" She thought aloud. Gazing over the wind swept stretch, Menweh breathed deeply and let the first spell go, causing the violent winds to die just as quickly as they had started to gust. She shook her head, as the dwarf rushed out only being seen by his footsteps.

Menweh looked out  at scuffle, She hoped no one would be severely hurt. Just a good thrashing is what they needed, not death. Menweh looked over at the woman who had brought them here. The elf wondered what the transgressions where that the youths had done. The wizardess turned back to the fray, watching to see when her winds would be needed again.

[Irid alMenie]

The fight started out promising enough, with all the gang rushing at the interfering strangers. However, as they soon found out, enthusiasm – even the reluctant enthusiasm of the laggers – was not nearly enough to beat men and women trained for confrontations. It started even before they had reached their opponents. First there had been that unnerving wind, which had flared up and now died down. It had not been a natural kind of wind. Then from their side had come battlecries, apparently out of thin air, and one of the youths suddenly slammed into something that he could not see, but that was uttering the battlecries. He paled as he remembered all the ghost stories he knew, and started backing away, together with one other who had seen what happened and who wanted nothing to do with it.
The others did not fare much better, despite their opponents being visible. The sticks and clubs that they were brandishing were really no match for the superior weapons of the other group, and before long several of them were covered in bruises. It almost seemed to their leader as if they were all trying hard to not kill anyone, though hurting they had no problem with. When he received a punch to the face from the original archer, who was quite a lot stronger than he had given him credit for, he uttered a cry and retreated, together with the rest of his group, though not as far away as they had previously been. He uttered a string of profanities that he had learned from his father.
“Damn you. Damn you all! Who do you think you are, interfering with us like that? What did we ever do to you? And all on her instigation, too. You know why she riled you guys up, don’t you. The truth is, she wanted to get it on with me. Did she tell you that? And when I told her no, I’m not interested, she went off all in a huff, and ever since she’s been setting up people against me and my friends.”
His words were cut off by Madeleine: “NO, those are lies! It’s them, all them! They’ve been bullying me! I’m innocent!!!” Even the most casual observer could hear that her voice was decidedly shriller than before. Then she lapsed into a sullen silence, with a pout that betrayed the truth behind the youth’s words even more than her words. Indeed, one might wonder what she had hoped to gain by setting these strangers on the youths. Had she thought that he would have shut up about it? No, she was not as good a manipulator as she had imagined herself.

[Foraste Lydan]

The boys were angry for sure, they flailed around with little regard for who they were hitting. Foraste ducked a clumsy punch and struck the owner of the fist quickly. Foraste swung again, hitting another youth with the flat of his blade. He turned to swing again when the burly leader called for them to run. Foraste checked his turn and sheathed his sword stepping back from the fleeing group of delinquents.

The mob turned an the leader swore angrily, "Damn you. Damn you all! Who do you think you are, interfering with us like that? What did we ever do to you? And all on her instigation, too. You know why she riled you guys up, don’t you. The truth is, she wanted to get it on with me. Did she tell you that? And when I told her no, I’m not interested, she went off all in a huff, and ever since she’s been setting up people against me and my friends." Foraste would have thought that a lie if the woman had not replied,"NO, those are lies! It’s them, all them! They’ve been bullying me! I’m innocent!"

The youths deserved to be taught a lesson for what happened back at the tavern, but helping a vengeful woman was not the right way to do it. Foraste turned to the group and spoke his opinion, "I've done what I came down here for, even if it was for the wrong reasons, I won't help this siren anymore." He sat on his pack and listened to the deliberations of the travlelers.

[The Illiana Twins]

The thrill of the fight coursed through the twins' veins. Their movements were swift, trained. Xanth left many red welts as she attacked, mostly at the stomach and their upper arms. Her style was fluid and graceful, almost as if she was wielding a whip and not a sword. Xander though, was much more rough, preferring power over agility. Each whack with his branch left a bruise that throbbed. The elf had no qualms with bare punches or chops, unlike his sister, who preferred to use her weapon.

The “battle” was won almost too easily. The lads were young, inexperienced and had no skill at all. Their fighting was mainly throwing punches and hoping it landed somewhere. As the leader reeled back, swearing, he launched into a tirade against the lady. The elves stopped in their tracks, taking in what the boy had said. It was pretty obvious that the lady was in the wrong. In fact, it was confirmed when she started whining about her innocence.

The archer had already stopped attacking, choosing to sit on his pack instead. Xanth tilted her head and gazed thoughtfully at the woman. “Is this true?” Xanth's mild tone was curious, more than mad. Xander however, was not paying an ounce of attention to the woman. It mattered to him not if the woman had lied to get them to help her. What mattered was that he wasn't done with the boy, not yet. “Maligning women now, are we? I don't care if she lied to us. What I do care about is your lack of manners, and that foul mouth of yours.” Xander threw away his spear, and launched his fist at the lad's nose.

[Menweh Reolláolásh’miés]

OH! This is interesting, Menweh thought to herself. It was almost sad that this woman needed their group to come in and inflict pain upon these poor lads. Menweh sighed and watched them from her little grove. This was actually very ridiculous. These poor lads, they had done naught more than to scorn a woman, still I guess the old saying applied. The man, Foraste?  Had the right idea, they should just leave.

With the exception that Xander seemed to have different ideas about that. He had tossed aside his spear and had tried to punch the leader. She was glad that she had conjured the wind before, and now she felt she'd need to again to get the idea through his thick skull. The elfess murmured the spell's incantation and sprinkled a little dust. Menweh then sent a zephyr at the chivalrous man, weaker than before but it still had some heart. His heart was in the right place, but everyone could use some help. Xander reminded Menweh of one of the lovers she'd read about, she chuckled softly as she focused herself on her spell, hoping he'd get the idea.

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