The (Apparent) Allies

Rifkin: 

Born and raised in the backwards, sister-wife village of Loretto by his Human Mother. Rifkin’s Quarter-Elf, travelling minstrel Father was killed by his Mother’s close-minded, inbred relatives while she was still pregnant with him. Loathed by the villagers for being different, the teenage Rifkin took his Father’s mandolin and left the moment his Mother died. Though cowed by the constant beatings of his youth and timorous by nature, Rifkin still sought adventure and used his good looks, natural charm and musical skills to earn a living.

Estrid:

A powerful, magical and long lived Fey creature, beautiful but righteous, Estrid, as ‘goddess’ of the pool, guards the magical glade, deep in the Feylands. She protects both her people and the mysterious portal beneath the life extending properties of the crystal clear waters themselves. She granted the outlander adventurers ’Champion’ status and her protection within the Feylands in exchange for their help. Now though, Estrid’s concern and priorities have changed with the return of the adventurers and their alarming news.

Thornberg:

A haystack of a man and powerful member of the ‘Circle of the Scale’ Druidic order. Thornberg (and his gigantic bear; Bamse) has recently spent a year of his life in a bubble in time, teaching the Halfling outrider; Liga Bur, the secrets of the ‘Green’. He has grown fond of Liga Bur over those twelve months and wants to keep him close but still respects the scarred Halfling’s desire for both justice and independence.

Tsigan:

The Centaur Prince, initially an enemy, has become a powerful ally to the Party, alongside his noble Father and the rest of his semi-savage herd. Despite his rescuing of Rifkin, under the Calcientan suns, he still feels indebted to Fortu, Arowe and Liga Bur.

Magritte: 

The dashing but pragmatic Satyr has formed a liking and an admiration for the adventurer, especially Fortu. A nimble, talented warrior and potion keeper, he also has the ear of (the occasionally suspicious and often ferocious) Estrid.

Henshaw:

A mercenary from a family of mercenaries, Henshaw is lean, tall, surprisingly intelligent and, perhaps as a consequence of that intelligence, overly cautious. Although a self-professed ‘Bad-guy’, his recent association with Fortu, Liga Bur, Arowe and Rifkin has caused him to re-evaluate some of his previous life choices.

Barbella:

Lifelong friend of Henshaw, Barbella is a thief of the lowest order. A goatee sporting, gold-toothed mugger and backstabber, he is however surprisingly skillful in several useful areas and loyal, at least to Henshaw.

Doberman:

As dumb as he is fat, Doberman is almost too stupid to be considered merely ‘retarded’. Treated as an imbecilic but tolerated pet by Henshaw and Barbella, he is strong, round and relentless in a fight. 

Dijonn:

A small but psychopathic fire elemental, left behind in the desert oasis when the Party was forced to travel through the water filled passageways between dimensions. It has, however, sworn a ‘life debt’ to Liga Bur when he was rescued from a hundred years trapped on a meagre wick in the ‘Singing tower’.

Lightning Tree:

Though a monstrous, flesh eating tree, it possesses a fine mind and a surprising store of knowledge. It also, weirdly, considers Fortu its friend for sparing its life and still waits patiently in the Fey forests for his return with that promised meat.

Shananaghan:

One of the two remaining ‘summoning’ charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the tiny but foul-tempered, gossamer-winged Pixie has decidedly mixed feelings about the Party. Non-Fey creatures, especially Humans, are the hated enemy but the goddess; Estrid has ordered him to assist the Party to the best of his ability when summoned and, although begrudgingly, he’ll do it for her.

Lorellie.

The second and last of the two remaining magical charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the flirtatious, small, green-skinned and fin-toed Nixie is more Fey-curious about the outsiders than antagonistic. Physically weak but a powerful swimmer and natural water breather, she may yet prove vital in an aquatic environment.

Four Seasons in One Day

With one hand grasping the thick, wiry pelt of Thornberg’s huge brown bear; Bamse and the other wrapped in the reassuring, softer fur of his own hound; Mir Hundur, Liga Bur, after what seems like hours of silent plodding through vague, formless, earthy nothingness, follows the towering Thornberg out of the magical ‘Green path’ and feels the gentle rays of sunshine warmly kiss his face.

Unsure what to expect; Liga Bur had agreed to Thornberg's 'price' out of a weird feeling that it was somehow fated to be, as much as a way to save his friends from a potentially unwinnable battle. The bright sunlight momentarily dazzles him, but as his eyes adjust, he's pleased to see the old, winged dog; Dawk and the handsome adolescent fox sitting beneath the arching trees, waiting for him on the path, both of their tails wagging.

After stroking each of them on the undersides of their upturned chins, the big, bearded Druid guides Liga Bur to a beautifully tended glade, with a massive circle of stone Menhir’s arranged like pillars. There’s a small pool of crystal clear water and a comfortable looking thatched, wooden cabin slightly distant. Liga Bur notices the new, small and vibrantly coloured wildflowers freshly emerged from the lush and fertile soil; it’s Spring here… Wherever ‘here’ is?

Looking around, Liga Bur feels no danger. On the contrary, the battle-scarred Halfling has never felt such a sense of serenity. Birds sing in the trees surrounding the grove and succulent fruit hangs from almost every branch.  

It’s only then, that Thornberg finally speaks. His voice is deep and gravelly, like a man who doesn’t speak often and has grown unaccustomed to it.

“This is to be your home for a while. These four animals; my bear, your hound, the hawk-dog and the fox will be your companions and I will be your teacher and guide. Despite your, surprisingly thorough, basic training in the 'Green' arts, you still have much to learn, and although you must forsake your bow and your lance, this is far from a prison sentence. Rather than a punishment, I will share the secrets of our Druidic order and perhaps, over time, we will become friends. I do not say this lightly, for all our obvious differences, I believe in you. I believe in you because of the reports from my Satyr friend; Magritte, the Centaur Prince; Tsigane and the Frost giant; Droofin. I believe in you because this little adolescent fox and this elderly hawk-dog didn't just vouch for you; they championed you.”

The training is difficult but rewarding and as Spring passes into Summer, Liga Bur watches with pride as the little fox grows from cub to bold, young Reynard.

The Summer seems long, but the company is good and the initially intimidating; Thornberg turns out to be a surprisingly kind and patient man.

Summer turns to Autumn and with it the realisation that the grey in the muzzle of the old Dawk has spread all the way down to his rudder-like tail and his movements have become slow and hesitant.

Winter finally arrives and the snow that falls can't mask the sadness as the athritic Dawk finally succumbs to old-age.

Mir Hundur, the now adult fox and the great bear; Bamse all howl in the moonlight, as Thornberg lays the wrapped body of the strange, hybrid creature into the freshly dug ground. Liga Bur can’t hide his tears for this silly, brave and gentle soul. He’d grown fond of the kind-hearted creature and although he understood everything mortal has to die, the pain of the loss takes him back to everything and everyone he’d already lost and his heart breaks anew.

The bulky, brown-robed Thornberg places his muddy but reassuringly heavy hand on Liga Bur's shoulder.

"This is your final lesson. For every summer, there must be a winter. For every day, there must be a night. For every birth, there must be a death. For this is the way of balance and, now a full year has passed, you have finally earned entry into the Circle of the Scale."

Back in the Green

Even as he's advising Rifkin on how to find his way, Tsigane feels his burning back and shoulders start to cool. He tries to wish the Bard 'good luck' but he can't be sure if he heard it. The Demi-Elf will certainly need it.

Unsquinting his eyes for the first time in an hour, the chestnut coated Centaur circles around, trying to get his bearings. He's back in the Fey wilds but astonishingly, exactly where he was. Despite running for the best part of an hour, he's travelled nowhere, not even a hoofstep in his own world!

Tossing his head in disbelief, Tsigane finds the nearest pool, wades straight in and immerses himself completely. The cool water stings his sun blistered skin but after the initial bite, it soothes him. It'll take a few days, but he'll be fine. Gulping down on the water between chokes, The centaur thinks of his Father. He wouldn't yet know that his son was missing, let alone settled their debt with the Goddess of the Pool.

Smiling broadly, Tsigane shouts out to the bright blue sky through the green canopy.

"Our blood debt is paid and I still live!"

Rolling to his four feet, the Centaur clambers out of the water and heads back to his camp. Rozinante must be told and Estrid must be updated of her Champions... Progress?

Talking Man-Horse Sense

Despite his substantial weight, the thick-set, four-footed Tsigane manages to keep track of the faster desert horsemen and then later, keep pace at a safe distance, with their slower wagon. 

Rifkin has managed to heal his own, hoof inflicted wounds and is still clinging to the mighty Centaurs back, but he knows that this solution is just a temporary one. The Goddess; Estrid had been quite clear about the abilities and conditions of the magical charm bracelet.

'You can summon any of the four creatures on the charm bracelet. Anywhere and at anytime but they will only be able to stay with you for a single hour and can never be summoned again.'

Awkwardly patting his sturdy Centaur companion’s bottom, Rifkin requests that Tsigane stop and let him down.

"Don't worry Barely-elf, I'm not done yet."

Regardless though, it's getting close to the hour and the sweating Centaur is glad of the break.

Using his remaining few minutes, Tsigane uncorks his full water-skin and takes just a sip before (despite the blistering heat and his sunburned shoulders) offering the remainder to the protesting Rifkin, along with some fruit from his satchel. 

"From what you say, you're still at least two more days from Valdez city and there'll be no sand cloud or tracks to follow soon. You'll need every drop of water you have, but I'll be fine, safe back in a cool forest glade. I can rest in the shade for as long as I need and drink my fill from the crystal clear pools there."

Gratefully accepting the gift of food and water, Rifkin drinks and eats as he watches Tsigane pointing to the three suns and listens to him explaining which way to head.

Then, as if fading like a mirage in the harsh sun, the Centaur disappears, leaving the delicate skinned Bard to strain his pointed ears at Tsigane's rich baritone goodbye...

"Good luck fair Bard. I fear you're going to need it!"

Staring for a moment at the space left behind, the well dressed Bard slings his mandolin over his shoulder and presses on... Unprotected and all alone.

When the Tough get Going

Despite wearing the little silver centaur charm around his neck constantly for this very event, the rugged Tsigane is still startled when it suddenly starts to glow and hum.

"The call!"

It was fortunate he was at the start of a hunt, with his heavy bow in hand, a quiver full of his thick arrows and a small holdall containing a water-skin and food supplies. With a  momentary glance around at the cool green woodland he may never see again, Tsigane snaps the leather cord, grasps the charm in his meaty hand and wills it to answer the summons.

After a disconcerting moment, where reality seems to shift and melt under his four hooves, Tsigane feels a prickly heat burn into his naked shoulders and he's forced to shield his eyes from the sudden yellow brightness.

Squinting through the haze, he finds himself in the centre of a frenetic battle with men and horses on all sides. He's arrived just in time to see the armoured Human; Fortu collapse, as if chopped down by an unseen axe. The only people he recognises still on their feet are the two Elves; Arowe and the nearby Rifkin.

Arowe is almost immediately barged and buried under a quartet of those beautiful horses but the bloodied Rifkin stretches up his hand.

"Quick! Get us out of here!"

Yanking the lightweight Rifkin onto his back, Tsigane gallops off, away from the melee as fast as he's able on the shifting sand. Sweat's already pouring off his muscled human torso and a white salty lather covers his chestnut coat. He's not built for this environment, he's too heavy and while carrying Rifkn, he won't be able to maintain this pace for long...

Luckily for them, they're not pursued and, when a safe distance is put between them, the puffing Tsigane slows to a trot before stopping and helping Rifkin down.

"Where are we, who were they, what do you want to do and how can I help?"

Knights in White Satin

Still breathing deeply after the exertion of the battle, Khalil; leader of the eight desert horsemen, leans across on his finely decorated, traditional, tribal saddle and gently admonishes the adjacent Wizard Moody.

"You said that they didn't have any Magicians but the one that got away was clearly a Bard."

Moody sneers.

"Bards don't count."

Nostrils' flaring slightly, Khalil risks annoying his employer.

"He summoned a Centaur!"

The seasoned Khalil had cautioned Moody against this attack. He'd considered the Party of adventurers too big. Nine men against seven wasn't good enough odds, even with their well trained horses and home/desert advantage. The flint-eyed Enchanter had insisted though. He'd been furious about the death of his falcon and was going to take his revenge on the Elf regardless.

Fortune though, had smiled upon them. Only three of their opponents had attacked at range and all of them had targeted the magically protected Moody, rather than his riders. All but the Bard and the Halfling had arranged themselves in a single spread out line and, with the exception of the Halfling Dog-rider, they'd just waited to be attacked. They didn't organise themselves into human barriers to prevent horse barges or jumps. They even failed to exploit the three large, dozing camels to break up direct charges.

Only one of the group surprised them. The Halfling, riding the big dog, broke to the side and rushed up their flank, avoiding his men and horses and taking the fight direct to the Wizard. It was fortunate for Moody that he came alone and chose arrows rather than sword.

Ultimately though, their well practiced tactics had been successful, with Moody's charms sending all but the Elves to sleep. The Bard conjured a very powerful looking Centaur and managed to escape over the dunes but the Archer was snared in a net, dragged across the sand and hoof-stomped to unconsciousness.

Khalil had considered giving chase to the Bard but ironically, for their intended entertainment, his type weren't much in demand.

Looking down at the beaten and bloody Elf who'd killed his falcon, Moody considers taking his revenge there and then, but after a brief moment, shakes his head.

"You're worth nothing to me dead and I doubt you'll survive three bouts in the arena."

The Goddess, the King and the Prince

King of the nomadic centaurs; Rozinante, listens carefully to the small songbird warbling into his slightly pointed ear. Immediately, after hearing the message, he sends a young guard to run and fetch his eldest son.

Less than an hour later, his handsome heir, pushes aside the heavy, draped cloth and enters the tent.

"Tsigan, my beloved boy. I've just been contacted by Estrid."

Tossing back his long and luscious, chestnut mane, Prince Tsigan frowns.

"What is it Father? Has the Goddess of the pool requested our aid?"

The silver haired Rozinante, smiles wryly.

"Not... directly. It appears that she's passed on her magical charm bracelet, and with it our promise, to the very adventurer you very, nearly killed just a few weeks past."

The heavyset centaur's frown softens.

"You mean Arowe of Glendorne? Why, in Skerrit's name, would she have done that?!"

The old leader of the centaurs, strokes his wild beard a while before answering.

"I can only guess that the Goddess had dire need of the elf's help. Help that she had to barter heavily for. Apparently, she sent the whole lot of them down through the underwater portal and out into the void beyond."

Tsigan, scrapes the ground with his hoof.

"So, now those four adventurers can magically summon me from anywhere, anyworld, for a single hour, in a time of need?"

Rozinante nods.

"Considering she sent them into the Givrad void, I imagine, when it comes, wherever it comes from, it'll be in a time of desperate need!"

Smiling widely to reassure his Father, Tsigan reveals a set of perfect, pearly-white teeth.

"Well Father, if that's the Goddess' will, I'll be ready. Our blood debt will be repaid in full, even if it costs me my life."

The remnants of Rozinante's smile fades completely in response to his son's bravado and an expression of grim resolve replaces it.

"I pray, for my heart's sake and for our people, that it won't come to that."

Rewards, Exchanges and whatever was in the Dead Soldiers Pockets

The magical, shimmering portal used by the soldiers has faded and in the silence of the aftermath, Fortu looks around at the carnage. The bodies of the dead Human soldiers lie scattered like wheat amongst the tiny, fallen Sprites and, despite near immediate attention from skilled healers, one of the Dryads had also been wounded beyond saving.

Many of the other Fey were lucky though. The Human soldiers were well prepared and all carried 'cold-iron' tipped crossbow bolts and swords. This dark metal an anathema to Fey magical defences. Arowe shudders at his realisation of how forgiving the goddess Estrid and the Dryads had been for his use of the evil sword; 'Amargor Feybane'. He'd felt its warnings before but hadn't suspected its evil intent.

Only five of the Human invaders are still alive and they are all bound and kneeling in a line beside one of the rock formations in front of the magical pool. Of those five, Captain Hall and the 'Wizard' Egrow have already had their eyes burned out by Estrid's power.

The terrified, middle-aged and slightly greasy looking Sergeant Philco pleads for his life.

"Please spare us! Sir Briefadel tricked us all. Don't you see he just used us as a distraction? We were just fodder in his plans!"

He's cut off by his Captain, who despite his burned out eye sockets, strains against his bindings and screams at his Sergeant.

"Stop your snivelling, you cowardly dog! These inhuman scum are incapable of compassion. Act like a man, they're going to kill us all regardless of anything you say."

Estrid smiles and even Liga Bur is taken aback by the rage he senses behind it.

"You are quite correct Human. I have no kindness in my Fey heart for monsters such as yourself."

And with that, she takes the rapier from the Satyr; Magritte and stabs him through his unarmoured throat. The tied soldiers whimper as each of them is killed in turn until only Sergeant Philco and the blinded Egrow remain.

"Neither of you raised a weapon against my people. Possibly due to cowardice but I believe you both. This 'Briefadel' obviously somehow knew about the hidden portal to the Givrad Void and viewed you as dispensable. Sadly for both of you though, your Captain was correct; I have little sympathy for your kind."

Her smile fades as Estrid slashes both their throats without a stroke of joy.

Uninterested in the items the Human invaders brought with them, Arowe, Rifkin and Liga Bur are allowed to rifle through the limp Egrow's brightly coloured robes...

Gifts from Estrid: For pursuing Sir Briefadel into the Givrad Void.

Bracelet of Friends: Containing four named charms:   

(Each one can summon the creature represented by the charm once for one hour, no matter where you are.)  

1) Shananaghan: Sprite (Tiny, winged, stealthy Pixie.)

2) Loralai: Nixie (Small, amphibious, big eyed, observant fish-woman.)

3) Magritte: Satyr (If Tom Selleck was a handsome elven, pirate, goat creature.)

4) Tsigan: Centaur (Horse-man Prince of the woodlands.)

A quiver of 20 Masterwork Dryad medium arrows for Arowe.

A quiver of 20 Masterwork Dryad small arrows for Liga Bur.

Arowe also accepted an exchange of Magritte's flamboyant, gold hilted magical +2 Rapier for the darkly sentient; Amargor Feybane.

The soldiers had nothing magical or of any immediate worth other than the Masterwork 'cold-iron' weapons but it seems unwise to take them.

Sergeant Philco had a coin purse containing 25pp, 79gp, 32sp, several (never to be paid now) IOUs from the soldiers and a pack of (apparently, according to Rifkin) marked cards.

Captain Hall's coin purse only contained 2gp and 14sp.

Their old 'Fire-starting' travelling companion; Egrow though had that 'Burning hands' wand, a Magic dagger, and a surprising amount of colour coded Magical Scrolls.

Wand of Burning Hands. Unknown number of charges left.

Dagger (Cold iron) +1

Scrolls:

1) Windwall x 3 (Blue)

2) Fireball x 3 (Red)

3) Stinking Cloud x 3 (Green)

4) Levitation x 3 (Yellow)

5) Invisibilty x 3 (Black)

6) Cure Light Wounds x 6 (White)

Gold: 20gp

Life of the Party

In all his hundred and something years, Arowe had never felt so terrifyingly close to death. Closer than when he was struck by Tsigane's arrow. Closer even when he was impaled on the War's giant tusk. That accursed Lightning tree had sucked the very life from him and would have surely killed him if he'd been alone. Despite his weakened and vulnerable condition though, he was proud he'd stood with his teammates.

Regardless of his current struggle to even string his magical bow, he's uncomfortably aware, that his ongoing enfeeblement was costing the party time trying to cosset him. Still, Sir Briefadel's instructions had been rather vague...

'Find the pool if you can and get back to me. You'll be handsomely rewarded if you're successful.'

'Handsomely rewarded'?

In their excitement of discovering the Three-Quarterling's magical loot, they hadn't really considered what Sir Briefadel had actually intended... Gold? Magic? Land? A title?

Ultimately they were searching for the 'Dryad pool' for the sake of adventure rather than reward and were therefore under no real time constraints.

Then Liga Bur heard the wolves and suddenly Arowe felt the desire to move. A sizable wolf pack is no joke and they've been known to take out many an unwary elf in his childhood back in Glendorne.

Arowe tries to remember how much land wolves can travel in a day and to calculate how much time they have? If they stay camped, the wolves will be on them in about two days. If they ride at a gentle enough pace for him to recover a little, they'd stay ahead for a couple of days more. If they ride hard though, they might even double that but he'll not get any chance to recover any more of his strength back.

Whatever his friends decide, however weakened he is, Arowe knows that he'll stand with them 'til the last.

Centaur Camp Tour

After their potentially fatal initial encounter, the cynical Fortu is surprised to find himself sitting in a camp clearing, sharing a fire, food and wine with the very horse-men creatures that had, so very recently, tried to kill him. He'd never imagined life outside the arena could be so much like it was within it.

The ruggedly handsome Tsigane, had been true to his word and the group of adventurers were made welcome, even as the two gravely wounded Centaur warriors had been hurried away to the tribal healers. Sir Briefadel had repaid their hospitality with the majority of his remaining wine stocks but it turned out to be a wise gesture. What could, potentially, have been an awkward evening had turned into a glorious feast with music, dance and genuine laughter.

The 'Centourists'; Silver and Mr Ed are by far the most attentive, curious for news of the elven and human worlds. They are cautiously watched over though by the true centaurs though, and any responses to questions from the party about the magical pool are quickly stamped out with a stern glare or subtle shake of a maned head. Perhaps Sir Briefadel had better luck in his private conversation with the grizzled Chief Rozinante?

Later on though, Little Silver organises a choral performance and sings an emotional but odd song about a magical 'Lightning tree'. The elven Arowe enjoys the powerful blend of savage and sylvan influences. The more closed off Liga Burr though, notices the deliberate eye contact Silver keeps making with him and, although the lyrics are lost on him, he's gratified to see their bard; Rifkin paying close attention. 

One by one, everyone drifts off to their shared marque-like tents, some more worse for wear than others but Sir Briefadel and his wizard squire; Egrow are conspicuously the first to retire.

That night, Arowe and Liga Burr examine the longbow and medallion gifted as restitution and gratitude for sparing their young warriors lives. The Longbow is masterfully crafted, even by elven standards and obviously enchanted. The medallion though remains a mystery. Even Rifkin and Egrow can't define its purpose beyond 'magical protection' of some sort.

In the morning Egrow's normally tasteless gruel-like porridge breakfast is made surprisingly palatable by the addition of fruit, nuts and berries supplied by the Centaurs.  Finally, with broad smiles, floral leis and wishes of good luck, the party lead their horses out of the camp with a renewed feeling of optimism.

"We're close." Sir Briefadel beams. "I feel it in my very bones!".

The Lightning Tree - Follyfoot TV Theme (1973) - Bing video

Tsigane’s Friendly Greeting!

 

Arowe Shot First

Dragging one of his fallen brothers on a hastily constructed travois, the barrel-chested Tsigane sighs. His voice is deep but contrite as he talks downward to the elf walking beside him.

"I... We appreciate your graciousness in victory. When I saw you chasing after poor Charlie, I assumed the worst. Our past dealings with Humans haven't gone well and, in fairness, you did shoot at me as soon as I cleared the thicket."

Arowe can't contain his curiosity about the poor dumb creature.

"As an elf, I've had dealings with your kind before but I've never seen such a creature as 'Charlie-horse' before. Does this 'accident' happen often?"

Tsigane allows himself a half-smile and shakes his lustrously maned head.

"He's not one of us. Although we are a nomadic people by nature, we tend to repeat route patterns over the years and we found him during our last migration to this region. We felt pity and took him in. He's a pathetic creature. A frail human body but with the mind of a dumb horse. He gets confused and scared but he's harmless and we care for him out of empathy for his plight. But for the grace of Skerrit: The God of all Centaurs, his condition could have easily been ours."

Arowe's incredulous eyebrow elicits a further response from the brawny and hirsute Tsigane.

"He's not the only waif and stray we've adopted along the way. There are a couple more members of our tribe that you may find of interest."

The odd group of centaurs, horses, humans, elves, a halfling and a dog move steadily but slowly for the sake of the two wounded centaurs. The bizarre reverse centaur creature, they refer to as 'Charlie' is tugged along behind by a loosely tied rope around his neck. He could easily lift it off with his untethered hands but it seems to not even occur to him.

At this plodding speed, the journey back to the centaurs' camp takes several hours but Tsigane is unwilling to risk further injuring his brothers. Rifkin, though not that skilled in the healing arts, continues to check on their wounds, reapplying dressing whenever necessary.

Eventually though, Tsigane's deep, rich voice calls out.

"Nearly there now."