The Way we Were...

The winding path, leading up to where 'old-mad' Konig's map shows the magic pool to be, is both steep and narrow and therefore potentially treacherous for the hesitant horses. Due to that, Sir Briefadel orders the now provenly ineffective wizard; Egrow to wait at the bottom of the path to guard the entrance and prevent their mounts from wandering off.
As the others start up the path, they feel a vague tugging in their minds. A subtle urge to move forward but nothing they can't or want to resist.
The party scale the rocky pass and after half-an-hour or so, eyes shining with an inner zeal, Sir Briefadel clambers up the final few stone steps to reveal the hidden garden in all its glory.
Barely able to suppress a shout of joy, he growls out, "I've finally found it! The answer to my all my prayers!".
Silently signaling to Arowe, the lithe elf slips past him and, keeping low, creeps silently through the suddenly long and lush grass.
The secret glade is breathtakingly beautiful with a carpet of grass, abundant fruit trees and several carefully cultivated vegetable patches. Sunlight sparkles off a waterfall at the far side that pours into a freshwater pool below, some of which has been diverted to irrigate the stepped crops and hanging garden.
Aside from the difficult to find entrance though, the whole area is contained within sheer cliff-like vertical walls. Each stoney face between twenty to thirty feet high and so steep to be almost impossible to climb unassisted.
From his concealed vantage point behind a large pear tree, heavy with sweet aromatic fruit, Arowe can only see two creatures out in the open. A disconcertingly small looking, red haired man, dressed in simple robes tending to his crops and an even odder looking ruffled horse, head stooped, drinking from the pool.
Neither seem to have noticed him and, after sharing a look and affirmative nod from Sir Briefadel, The elven archer fires three arrows in rapid succession into the feathery flanks of the monstrous horse.
The tranquillity suddenly shattered, the 'horse' rears and squawks in rage. The way its head unnaturally revolves all the way around, reveals it to be more monstrous than even Arowe suspected, with huge saucer-like eyes and vicious beak! He also notices with alarm that the arrows he'd fired from his recently acquired magical bow, seemed to have barely penetrated it's thick, feather-covered hide.
The tiny man, blue eyes wide and terrified, instinctively seeks shelter and dashes behind another of the bountiful fruit trees, out of the sharp eyed Arowe's line of sight.
It matters not though, as Sir Briefadel, Fortu and the halfling Liga Bur, astride his faithful hound, rush into the fray.
Arowe, Liga Bur and Fortu face off against the ferocious owl-headed horse, while the heavily armoured Sir Briefadel rushes directly toward the small man cowering behind the tree.
The little man proves a frustrating opponent however, as he runs around the trees to avoid Sir Briefadel's deadly sword, whilst simultaneously seeming to both heal and enhance his horse-like companion.
Suddenly a tiny, blood-red tauric creature scuttles from a cave mouth and hurls itself at the comparitively enormous Fortu. It has the legs, body, claws and stinger of a scorpion but the torso, arms and head of a minuture orc. Spittle flying from it's miniscule mouth, it screams,
"I'LL STING YOU GOOD, YOU BIG, UGLY, STUPID, GIANT!"
Finding purchase, its pincers grip on to Fortu's flesh, as it attempts to bring its poisonous stinger into play. Unable to use his gigantic blade properly in such close quarters, Fortu is forced to use it to literally scrape it off of him like a giant razor.
A red and yellow smear is all that remains as the dissected Scorcion body falls lifeless to the ground.
Between them, Arowe and Liga Bur drive arrow after arrow into the maddened Howl's feathery, leathery hide and Sir Briefadel manages to corner the three-quarter scale druid against the stone wall beside the magical pool.
With one last, desperate squawk, The abomination between owl and horse takes a final arrow direct to the eye from the too swift, Liga Bur and dies on the spot.
It's only then, that the undefinable pull to approach the pool and drink from its water, manages to overcome both Arowe's mental defences and Liga Bur's faithful mount; Mir Hundur.
Like sleepwalkers they turn and plod directly towards the calling pool but are both stopped by the quick witted actions of Fortu and Liga Bur.
The battle hardened Halfling, uses his mounts harness and his own riding skills to wrestle the big dog into temporary compliance. The beefy ex-gladiator though, is forced to snare his errant team-mate with his ever-ready battle-net.
With all hope seemingly lost, the too-small-to-be-a-man, simultaneously leaps away from Sir Briefadel while transforming into a catfish mid-air, as he dives into the shimmering water.
Standing at the edge of the magical pool he'd so keenly sought and momentarily confused, Sir Briefadel curses to the heavens!

It's only then that the bard Rifkin's inspiring music stops and a deadly hush descends across the glade...