<![CDATA[Ravenblade Forum

<![CDATA[Ravenblade Forum - All Forums]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/ Sat, 15 Aug 2026 08:22:05 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Blaylocke Anvilarm Level Up 15]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=303 Mon, 03 Aug 2026 17:35:18 +0000 Long John]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=303 Will take the average +5 HP
Proficiency Bonus is still +5
Bardic Inspiration is now 1d12

Gains 1 lvl 8 Spell
Power Word: Stun

-----------------------------------

Bastion Orders (if needed)
Simple:
Bedroom-Roomy
Dining Room-Roomy

Special:
Library-Roomy - Research Mierca Inagwy
Smithy-Roomy (The Anvil's Arms) - Craft weapons & armour with Smith's Tools to fill Storehouse for sales.
Storehouse-Roomy - Trade Goods.
Theatre-Vast (Dragonspine Theatre) - Empower: Theatrical Event - Begin run of new show
Archive-Roomy (attached to the Library) - Reference book - Bigby’s Handy Arcana Codex

-----------------------------------]]> Will take the average +5 HP
Proficiency Bonus is still +5
Bardic Inspiration is now 1d12

Gains 1 lvl 8 Spell
Power Word: Stun

-----------------------------------

Bastion Orders (if needed)
Simple:
Bedroom-Roomy
Dining Room-Roomy

Special:
Library-Roomy - Research Mierca Inagwy
Smithy-Roomy (The Anvil's Arms) - Craft weapons & armour with Smith's Tools to fill Storehouse for sales.
Storehouse-Roomy - Trade Goods.
Theatre-Vast (Dragonspine Theatre) - Empower: Theatrical Event - Begin run of new show
Archive-Roomy (attached to the Library) - Reference book - Bigby’s Handy Arcana Codex

-----------------------------------]]> <![CDATA[Enkili Level 15]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=302 Mon, 03 Aug 2026 04:19:35 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=302 ***15th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- / 15 / Average 6+5
Proficiency Bonus= +5
Features: Archetype Bonus.

At 15th level, you gain a feature granted by your Martial Archetype.
Additional ManeuversPHB p73
At 15th level, you learn two additional maneuvers of your choice.
Additional Superiority DiePHB p73
You gain another superiority die at 15th level.
RelentlessPHB p73
Starting at 15th level, when you roll initiative and have no superiority dice remaining, you regain 1 superiority die. (I believe this has to be limited or I'll abuse the heck out of the game Wink

)

8d10's of Superiority Dice.

Maneuvers: Goading Attack. When you hit a creature with a weapon attack, you can expend one superiority die to attempt to goad the target into attacking you. You add the superiority die to the attack's damage roll, and the target must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the target has disadvantage on all attack rolls against targets other than you until the end of your next turn.

Bait and Switch. When you're within 5 feet of a creature on your turn, you can expend one superiority die and switch places with that creature, provided you spend at least 5 feet of movement and the creature is willing and isn't incapacitated. This movement doesn't provoke opportunity attacks.

Roll the superiority die. Until the start of your next turn, you or the other creature (your choice) gains a bonus to AC equal to the number rolled.]]> ***15th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- / 15 / Average 6+5
Proficiency Bonus= +5
Features: Archetype Bonus.

At 15th level, you gain a feature granted by your Martial Archetype.
Additional ManeuversPHB p73
At 15th level, you learn two additional maneuvers of your choice.
Additional Superiority DiePHB p73
You gain another superiority die at 15th level.
RelentlessPHB p73
Starting at 15th level, when you roll initiative and have no superiority dice remaining, you regain 1 superiority die. (I believe this has to be limited or I'll abuse the heck out of the game Wink

)

8d10's of Superiority Dice.

Maneuvers: Goading Attack. When you hit a creature with a weapon attack, you can expend one superiority die to attempt to goad the target into attacking you. You add the superiority die to the attack's damage roll, and the target must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the target has disadvantage on all attack rolls against targets other than you until the end of your next turn.

Bait and Switch. When you're within 5 feet of a creature on your turn, you can expend one superiority die and switch places with that creature, provided you spend at least 5 feet of movement and the creature is willing and isn't incapacitated. This movement doesn't provoke opportunity attacks.

Roll the superiority die. Until the start of your next turn, you or the other creature (your choice) gains a bonus to AC equal to the number rolled.]]> <![CDATA[Party Bastions]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=301 Mon, 16 Feb 2026 03:53:24 +0000 Ravenblade]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=301
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Leiya Bastion.docx (Size: 19.1 KB / Downloads: 1)

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Enkili Bastion.docx (Size: 19.59 KB / Downloads: 1) ]]>
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Blaylocke Bastion.docx (Size: 20.48 KB / Downloads: 3)

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Leiya Bastion.docx (Size: 19.1 KB / Downloads: 1)

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Jolrael Bastion.docx (Size: 19.15 KB / Downloads: 3)

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Enkili Bastion.docx (Size: 19.59 KB / Downloads: 1) ]]> <![CDATA[Leiya Level 13 & Bastion Orders]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=300 Sat, 07 Feb 2026 23:53:59 +0000 Xura]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=300 Class: Cleric
Proficiency Bonus: +5
Spells: Now has access to Level 7 spells

Downtime activities

Obtain any special/rare spell components, such as diamonds for Resurrection and similar spells.
Assist with repatriating the freed ex-slaves. Do any of them need work? Perhaps they could be hired on to help Hubert's business, if he has need of them and if their skills are a match.
Consult with Lord Bercel about our mission and its outcome (I assume this will be roleplayed out as a party during our session, though, so this might not be considered downtime).

Bastion orders

Level 5 Garden
Orders:

Decorative (2) - Exquisite flowers. These are for Blaylocke's use for his opening night play performances, to decorate the theater and/or to be given out to guests or notables as he likes.
Food (2) - Rations.
Herb (2) - Healer's Kits.

Level 5 Sanctuary
Order: Create Holy Symbol (6)
These are for free distribution to local Melwenite temple and/or to any local Melwenite clerics or lay faithful who might want them.

Level 9 Greenhouse
Order: Harvest (6)
Potions of Healing.

Level 9 Sacristy
Order: Create Relics

4 Potion of Healing, Greater
1 Sending Stones
1 Wand of Magic Detection

It was unclear to me if we are now able to add/install another Bastion (for 13th level). If so, Leiya would like to add a Reliquary.]]> Class: Cleric
Proficiency Bonus: +5
Spells: Now has access to Level 7 spells

Downtime activities

Obtain any special/rare spell components, such as diamonds for Resurrection and similar spells.
Assist with repatriating the freed ex-slaves. Do any of them need work? Perhaps they could be hired on to help Hubert's business, if he has need of them and if their skills are a match.
Consult with Lord Bercel about our mission and its outcome (I assume this will be roleplayed out as a party during our session, though, so this might not be considered downtime).

Bastion orders

Level 5 Garden
Orders:

Decorative (2) - Exquisite flowers. These are for Blaylocke's use for his opening night play performances, to decorate the theater and/or to be given out to guests or notables as he likes.
Food (2) - Rations.
Herb (2) - Healer's Kits.

4 Potion of Healing, Greater
1 Sending Stones
1 Wand of Magic Detection

It was unclear to me if we are now able to add/install another Bastion (for 13th level). If so, Leiya would like to add a Reliquary.]]> <![CDATA[Bastion Facilities]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=299 Wed, 04 Feb 2026 21:39:04 +0000 Long John]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=299
Encourage players to create floor plans of their characters’ Bastions, configuring its facilities as they see fit and using the same techniques you use to create dungeon maps.

In addition to basic and special facilities, a Bastion can have the following features:

Closets. A basic or special facility can have one or more closets, washrooms, or similar enclosures. The closets must be inside the facility and can’t increase the facility’s area in squares. These features are free.

Corridors, Ramps, and Staircases. A facility can contain one or more corridors, ramps, or staircases leading to other facilities in the Bastion. These features are free.

Defensive Walls. A character can add defensive walls around their Bastion. A defensive wall is 20 feet high and may include a walkway along its top, with a means to access it (such as a ladder or lift). Each 5-foot square of defensive wall takes 10 days to build and costs 250 GP. If a character’s Bastion is completely enclosed by defensive walls and it comes under attack (see “Bastion Events” at the end of this chapter), reduce by 2 the number of dice rolled to determine how many Bastion Defenders are lost in the attack.

Doors and Windows. Each facility comes with one or more doors and shuttered windows, placed wherever the player sees fit. See “Doors” in chapter 3 for kinds of doors to choose from, including locked doors, secret doors, and portcullises. These features are free.

Combining Bastions

Two or more players can combine their characters’ Bastions into a single structure. Doing so doesn’t change the number of special facilities each Bastion can have, how those special facilities work, or who issues orders to each Bastion. Each Bastion retains its own hirelings, which can’t be sent to or shared with another Bastion. Bastion Defenders are handled differently: if some event deprives one character’s Bastion of defenders, another character can apply all or some of those losses to their Bastion instead, provided the two Bastions are combined.

Facility Space
The amount of space in a basic or special facility determines its maximum area in 5-foot squares, as shown in the Facility Space table. A player can configure the squares of a facility as they please on their Bastion’s map. The squares can be stacked so that a facility’s area is distributed over multiple levels or stories.

Space Maximum Area
Cramped 4 Squares
Roomy 16 Squares
Vast 36 Squares
Basic Facilities
A character’s Bastion starts with two free basic facilities, which the character’s player chooses from the Basic Facilities list below. One of the chosen facilities is Cramped, and the other is Roomy (see the Facility Space table). A Bastion can have more than one of each basic facility.

Basic Facilities

Bedroom
Dining Room
Parlor
Courtyard
Kitchen
Storage

A basic facility comes with nonmagical furnishings and decor appropriate for that facility.

Basic facilities don’t have any game effects, but they can inspire roleplaying opportunities and enhance a Bastion’s verisimilitude. A Bastion with a kitchen is functionally the same as one without, but the former gives you and your players a fun setting to start game sessions, have in-character discussions, or introduce new NPCs.

A character can add new basic facilities or enlarge existing ones by spending money and time, as discussed in the sections that follow. Any number of basic facilities can be added or enlarged at the same time. A character doesn’t need to be in their Bastion while basic facilities are being added or enlarged.

Adding Basic Facilities
A character can add a basic facility to their Bastion by spending money and time. The cost of adding a basic facility and the time required depend on the facility’s space, as shown on the table below.

Facility Space Cost Time Required
Cramped 500 GP 20 days
Roomy 1,000 GP 45 days
Vast 3,000 GP 125 days

Enlarging Basic Facilities
There is no in-game benefit to enlarging a basic facility, but a character might enlarge a facility for cosmetic reasons or to increase the Bastion’s size.

A character can spend money and time to increase the space of a basic facility in their Bastion by one category, as shown on the table below.

Space Increase Cost Time Required
Cramped to Roomy 500 GP 25 days
Roomy to Vast 2,000 GP 80 days

Special Facilities

Special facilities are Bastion locations where certain activities yield game benefits. A character’s Bastion initially has two special facilities of the character’s choice for which they qualify. Each special facility can be chosen only once unless its description says otherwise.

Unlike basic facilities, special facilities can’t be bought; a character gains them through level advancement. At level 9, a character gains two additional special facilities of their choice for which they qualify; they gain one additional facility at level 13 and another at level 17. The Special Facility Acquisition table shows the total number of special facilities in a character’s Bastion. Each new special facility immediately becomes part of the character’s Bastion when the character reaches the level.

Each time a character gains a level, that character can replace one of their Bastion’s special facilities with another for which the character qualifies.

Level Special Facilities
5 2
9 4
13 5
17 6
Requirements
Each special facility has a level. A character must be that level or higher to gain that facility. A special facility might also have a prerequisite the character must meet to gain that facility. For example, only a character who can use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus can have an Arcane Study.

Space
A special facility occupies a certain amount of space (see “Facility Space”). A player can configure the squares of a special facility as desired on the Bastion’s map. A special facility can be enlarged to grant additional benefits if its description says so.

Hirelings
A special facility comes with one or more hirelings who work in the facility, maintain it, and execute Bastion orders there, as described in the next section. A player can assign names and personalities to hirelings in their character’s Bastion using the same tools DMs use to create NPCs.

Each special facility in a Bastion generates enough income to pay the salary of its hirelings. Hirelings follow the orders they’re given and are loyal to the Bastion’s owner.

Orders
On a Bastion turn, a character in their Bastion can issue special orders - called Bastion orders - to one or more of their Bastion’s special facilities. A character needn’t issue orders to all the special facilities in their Bastion on a given Bastion turn.

The Maintain order is unusual; it is issued to the whole Bastion rather than to one or more special facilities. If a character isn’t in their Bastion on a given Bastion turn, the Bastion acts as though it were issued the Maintain order on that turn unless the owner can communicate with the Bastion hirelings using the Sending spell or similar magic.

The orders are as follows:

Craft
Hirelings in the special facility craft an item that can be made in that facility. During the time required to craft an item, the facility can’t be used to craft anything else, even if a special ability allows the facility to carry out two orders at once. The hirelings have proficiencies with Artisan’s Tools as specified in the facility’s description.

Empower
The special facility confers a temporary empowerment to you or someone else.

Harvest
Hirelings gather a resource produced in the special facility. During the time required to harvest a resource, the facility can’t be used to harvest anything else, even if a special ability allows the facility to carry out two orders at once.

Maintain
All the Bastion’s hirelings focus on maintaining the Bastion rather than executing orders in special facilities. Issuing this order prohibits other orders from being issued to the Bastion on the current Bastion turn. Each time the Maintain order is issued, the DM rolls once on the Bastion Events table. Bastion events are resolved before the next Bastion turn.

Recruit
Hirelings recruit creatures to the Bastion. These creatures might include one or more Bastion Defenders, whose main purpose is to defend the Bastion if it is attacked (see “Bastion Events”). The Bastion generates enough income to provide for the needs of its Bastion Defenders.

Research
Hirelings in the special facility gather information.

Trade
Hirelings buy and sell goods or services stored or produced in this special facility.

Special Facility Descriptions
Special facilities are presented in alphabetical order. The Special Facilities table lists all the special facilities presented in this section, along with their prerequisites and orders. Some facilities confer additional benefits, specified in their descriptions.

Level Special Facility Prerequisite Order
5 Arcane Study Ability to use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
5 Armory None Trade
5 Barrack None Recruit
5 Garden None Harvest
5 Library None Research
5 Sanctuary Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
5 Smithy None Craft
5 Storehouse None Trade
5 Workshop None Craft
9 Gaming Hall None Trade
9 Greenhouse None Harvest
9 Laboratory None* Craft
9 Sacristy Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
9 Scriptorium None* Craft
9 Stable None Trade
9 Teleportation Circle None Recruit
9 Theatre None Empower
9 Training Area None Empower
9 Trophy Room None Research
13 Archive None Research
13 Meditation Chamber None Empower
13 Menagerie None Recruit
13 Observatory Ability to use a Spellcasting Focus Empower
13 Pub None Research
13 Reliquary Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Harvest
17 Demiplane Ability to use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus Empower
17 Guildhall Expertise in a skill Recruit
17 Sanctum Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Empower
17 War Room Fighting Style feature or Unarmored Defense feature Recruit

*Certain orders that can be issued to these facilities have additional prerequisites.]]>
Encourage players to create floor plans of their characters’ Bastions, configuring its facilities as they see fit and using the same techniques you use to create dungeon maps.

In addition to basic and special facilities, a Bastion can have the following features:

Closets. A basic or special facility can have one or more closets, washrooms, or similar enclosures. The closets must be inside the facility and can’t increase the facility’s area in squares. These features are free.

Corridors, Ramps, and Staircases. A facility can contain one or more corridors, ramps, or staircases leading to other facilities in the Bastion. These features are free.

Defensive Walls. A character can add defensive walls around their Bastion. A defensive wall is 20 feet high and may include a walkway along its top, with a means to access it (such as a ladder or lift). Each 5-foot square of defensive wall takes 10 days to build and costs 250 GP. If a character’s Bastion is completely enclosed by defensive walls and it comes under attack (see “Bastion Events” at the end of this chapter), reduce by 2 the number of dice rolled to determine how many Bastion Defenders are lost in the attack.

Doors and Windows. Each facility comes with one or more doors and shuttered windows, placed wherever the player sees fit. See “Doors” in chapter 3 for kinds of doors to choose from, including locked doors, secret doors, and portcullises. These features are free.

Special Facilities

Special facilities are Bastion locations where certain activities yield game benefits. A character’s Bastion initially has two special facilities of the character’s choice for which they qualify. Each special facility can be chosen only once unless its description says otherwise.

Unlike basic facilities, special facilities can’t be bought; a character gains them through level advancement. At level 9, a character gains two additional special facilities of their choice for which they qualify; they gain one additional facility at level 13 and another at level 17. The Special Facility Acquisition table shows the total number of special facilities in a character’s Bastion. Each new special facility immediately becomes part of the character’s Bastion when the character reaches the level.

Each time a character gains a level, that character can replace one of their Bastion’s special facilities with another for which the character qualifies.

Level Special Facilities
5 2
9 4
13 5
17 6
Requirements
Each special facility has a level. A character must be that level or higher to gain that facility. A special facility might also have a prerequisite the character must meet to gain that facility. For example, only a character who can use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus can have an Arcane Study.

Space
A special facility occupies a certain amount of space (see “Facility Space”). A player can configure the squares of a special facility as desired on the Bastion’s map. A special facility can be enlarged to grant additional benefits if its description says so.

Hirelings
A special facility comes with one or more hirelings who work in the facility, maintain it, and execute Bastion orders there, as described in the next section. A player can assign names and personalities to hirelings in their character’s Bastion using the same tools DMs use to create NPCs.

Each special facility in a Bastion generates enough income to pay the salary of its hirelings. Hirelings follow the orders they’re given and are loyal to the Bastion’s owner.

Orders
On a Bastion turn, a character in their Bastion can issue special orders - called Bastion orders - to one or more of their Bastion’s special facilities. A character needn’t issue orders to all the special facilities in their Bastion on a given Bastion turn.

The Maintain order is unusual; it is issued to the whole Bastion rather than to one or more special facilities. If a character isn’t in their Bastion on a given Bastion turn, the Bastion acts as though it were issued the Maintain order on that turn unless the owner can communicate with the Bastion hirelings using the Sending spell or similar magic.

The orders are as follows:

Craft
Hirelings in the special facility craft an item that can be made in that facility. During the time required to craft an item, the facility can’t be used to craft anything else, even if a special ability allows the facility to carry out two orders at once. The hirelings have proficiencies with Artisan’s Tools as specified in the facility’s description.

Empower
The special facility confers a temporary empowerment to you or someone else.

Harvest
Hirelings gather a resource produced in the special facility. During the time required to harvest a resource, the facility can’t be used to harvest anything else, even if a special ability allows the facility to carry out two orders at once.

Maintain
All the Bastion’s hirelings focus on maintaining the Bastion rather than executing orders in special facilities. Issuing this order prohibits other orders from being issued to the Bastion on the current Bastion turn. Each time the Maintain order is issued, the DM rolls once on the Bastion Events table. Bastion events are resolved before the next Bastion turn.

Recruit
Hirelings recruit creatures to the Bastion. These creatures might include one or more Bastion Defenders, whose main purpose is to defend the Bastion if it is attacked (see “Bastion Events”). The Bastion generates enough income to provide for the needs of its Bastion Defenders.

Research
Hirelings in the special facility gather information.

Trade
Hirelings buy and sell goods or services stored or produced in this special facility.

Special Facility Descriptions
Special facilities are presented in alphabetical order. The Special Facilities table lists all the special facilities presented in this section, along with their prerequisites and orders. Some facilities confer additional benefits, specified in their descriptions.

Level Special Facility Prerequisite Order
5 Arcane Study Ability to use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
5 Armory None Trade
5 Barrack None Recruit
5 Garden None Harvest
5 Library None Research
5 Sanctuary Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
5 Smithy None Craft
5 Storehouse None Trade
5 Workshop None Craft
9 Gaming Hall None Trade
9 Greenhouse None Harvest
9 Laboratory None* Craft
9 Sacristy Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Craft
9 Scriptorium None* Craft
9 Stable None Trade
9 Teleportation Circle None Recruit
9 Theatre None Empower
9 Training Area None Empower
9 Trophy Room None Research
13 Archive None Research
13 Meditation Chamber None Empower
13 Menagerie None Recruit
13 Observatory Ability to use a Spellcasting Focus Empower
13 Pub None Research
13 Reliquary Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Harvest
17 Demiplane Ability to use an Arcane Focus or a tool as a Spellcasting Focus Empower
17 Guildhall Expertise in a skill Recruit
17 Sanctum Ability to use a Holy Symbol or Druidic Focus as a Spellcasting Focus Empower
17 War Room Fighting Style feature or Unarmored Defense feature Recruit

*Certain orders that can be issued to these facilities have additional prerequisites.]]> <![CDATA[Blaylocke Anvilarm Level Up 13]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=298 Mon, 02 Feb 2026 21:59:52 +0000 Long John]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=298 Will take the average +5 HP
Proficiency Bonus is now +5
Song of Rest is now 1d10

Gains 1 lvl 7 Spell
Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion

-----------------------------------

Bastion Orders
Simple:
Bedroom-Cramped - I'd like to upgrade this room to "Roomy" for 500gp + 25 days.
Dining Room-Roomy

Special:
Library-Roomy - Research Merketh
Smithy-Roomy (The Anvil's Arms) - Craft weapons & armour with Smith's Tools to fill Storehouse for sales.
Storehouse-Roomy - Trade Goods.
Theatre-Vast (Dragonspine Theatre) - Empower: Theatrical Event - Begin run of new show "The Folly of Frödendahl"

Add Special Room:
Archive-Roomy (to be attached to the Library) - Reference book - Bigby’s Handy Arcana Codex

-----------------------------------

Blaylocke would like to spend some down time to train to use his thieves' tools if there is time.

Since I didn't consider it last level, would it be possible to swap a cantrip out for another?
I'd like to drop 'Friends' and add 'Vicious Mockery' if I can. Blaylocke is pretty useless in combat when he runs out of leveled spells, this would give him at least 1 offensive spell he could use in those situations. Lol, Really offensive spell that is.]]> Will take the average +5 HP
Proficiency Bonus is now +5
Song of Rest is now 1d10

Gains 1 lvl 7 Spell
Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion

-----------------------------------

Bastion Orders
Simple:
Bedroom-Cramped - I'd like to upgrade this room to "Roomy" for 500gp + 25 days.
Dining Room-Roomy

Special:
Library-Roomy - Research Merketh
Smithy-Roomy (The Anvil's Arms) - Craft weapons & armour with Smith's Tools to fill Storehouse for sales.
Storehouse-Roomy - Trade Goods.
Theatre-Vast (Dragonspine Theatre) - Empower: Theatrical Event - Begin run of new show "The Folly of Frödendahl"

Add Special Room:
Archive-Roomy (to be attached to the Library) - Reference book - Bigby’s Handy Arcana Codex

-----------------------------------

Blaylocke would like to spend some down time to train to use his thieves' tools if there is time.

Since I didn't consider it last level, would it be possible to swap a cantrip out for another?
I'd like to drop 'Friends' and add 'Vicious Mockery' if I can. Blaylocke is pretty useless in combat when he runs out of leveled spells, this would give him at least 1 offensive spell he could use in those situations. Lol, Really offensive spell that is.]]> <![CDATA[Enkili Level 13 and Bastion Orders]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=297 Mon, 02 Feb 2026 05:00:31 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=297 ***13th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- / 13 / Average 6+3
Proficiency Bonus= +5
Features: Indomitable (two uses).

Bastion orders:
Barracks- Week 1) Enkili's Security head will hire 4 more defenders and have them trained and integrated with the first four defenders. This should bring defender total up to 8.
Week 2) The last four recruits are to begin training and integration into the defender unit. That tops off the 12 defenders allowed per barrack.
Week 3-6) After everyone is trained, everyone will have a shift patrolling the Bastions, training, then time off the clock every day. (Please ignore the conditioning that are making these fighting men and women fanatically devoted to Enkili. We have no designs for total domination, truly Wink

)

Training Area- Week 1-5, the recruits are to take shifts with a Weapon Expert, this is to represent their advanced weapon training. Week 6, the recruits will start training hand to hand skills with an Unarmed Combat Expert to help round out their defender skills.

Stables- Week 1-2) The trained warhorses need 14 days so that animal handling checks have advantage. After trained they are to be stabled elswhere
Week 3-4) Riding Horses are to be purchased and trained.
Week 5) The riding horses are to be sold.
Week 6) Warhorses are to be bought and then trained, this order will take in week 7 as well.

According to the Bastion rules a new facility comes to the characters. Enkili wants a Roomy Pub built.]]> <![CDATA[Spells...Who Needs Spells]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=296 Mon, 12 Jan 2026 06:28:02 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=296
When leaving will there still be a garrison to contend with, who will try to prevent our exodus? Should we seek an alternat exit to avoid the garrison if they remain?

I heard a suggestion that we should head for the Angierthan border posited. Does anyone else think this is a viable plan?

How are we supposed to keep these people together, most of the adult males and hale females may think their odds are better on their own. Should we let such individuals leave if that is their wish, in the face of our need to protect the weak and befuddled?

Enkili believes that we will be arrested if we head back to Nemsh. Does everyone else agree, or disagree? Explain your reasoning, please.

Post your own questions as well, this is not the full extent of the troubles facing our party at this moment.]]>
When leaving will there still be a garrison to contend with, who will try to prevent our exodus? Should we seek an alternat exit to avoid the garrison if they remain?

I heard a suggestion that we should head for the Angierthan border posited. Does anyone else think this is a viable plan?

How are we supposed to keep these people together, most of the adult males and hale females may think their odds are better on their own. Should we let such individuals leave if that is their wish, in the face of our need to protect the weak and befuddled?

Enkili believes that we will be arrested if we head back to Nemsh. Does everyone else agree, or disagree? Explain your reasoning, please.

Post your own questions as well, this is not the full extent of the troubles facing our party at this moment.]]> <![CDATA[Enkili Level 12]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=295 Mon, 12 May 2025 05:55:00 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=295 ***12th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- / 12 / Average 6+3
Proficiency Bonus= +4
Features: Ability Increase -Feat! Martial Adept
PHBp168

You have martial training that allows you to perform special combat maneuvers. You gain the following benefits:
* You learn two maneuvers of your choice from among those available to the Battle Master archetype in the fighter class. If a maneuver you use requires your target to make a saving throw to resist the maneuvers effect, the saving throw DC equals 8 + our proficiency bonus + your Strength or Dexterity modifier (your choice).
* If you already have superiority dice you gain one more; otherwise you have a superiority dice, which is a d6. This die is used to fuel your maneuvers. A superiority die is expended when you use it. You regain your superiority dice when you complete a short or long rest.
Source: PHB, page 168
9) Commanding Presence. When you make a Charisma (Intimidation), a Charisma (Performance), or a Charisma (Persuasion) check, you can expend one superiority die and add the superiority die to the ability check.

10) Disarming Attack. When you hit a creature with a weapon attack, you can expend one superiority die to attempt to disarm the target, forcing it to drop one item of your choice that it's holding. You add the superiority die to the attack's damage roll, and the target must make a Strength saving throw. On a failed save, it drops the object you choose. The object lands at its feet.

I need a determination on using Rally before I make my final choice for Combat Maneuver #10.
Okay, an answer was returned, and Enkili will not be able to misuse Rally as others have. So Disarming Attack will be the maneuver chosen.

In the meantime Enkili would like to help someone with their downtime project.

Too bad rumor has reached Enkili that his grandfather, the High Harbhamit, wishes to use the Sainted Sword for nefarious purposes. The man has always been ruthless, but plotting to have Enkili "Eliminated" as a contender for the family weapon is troubling, if true. All Enkili wanted to do was rescue the little girl then go home.]]> ***12th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- / 12 / Average 6+3
Proficiency Bonus= +4
Features: Ability Increase -Feat! Martial Adept
PHBp168

You have martial training that allows you to perform special combat maneuvers. You gain the following benefits:
* You learn two maneuvers of your choice from among those available to the Battle Master archetype in the fighter class. If a maneuver you use requires your target to make a saving throw to resist the maneuvers effect, the saving throw DC equals 8 + our proficiency bonus + your Strength or Dexterity modifier (your choice).
* If you already have superiority dice you gain one more; otherwise you have a superiority dice, which is a d6. This die is used to fuel your maneuvers. A superiority die is expended when you use it. You regain your superiority dice when you complete a short or long rest.
Source: PHB, page 168
9) Commanding Presence. When you make a Charisma (Intimidation), a Charisma (Performance), or a Charisma (Persuasion) check, you can expend one superiority die and add the superiority die to the ability check.

10) Disarming Attack. When you hit a creature with a weapon attack, you can expend one superiority die to attempt to disarm the target, forcing it to drop one item of your choice that it's holding. You add the superiority die to the attack's damage roll, and the target must make a Strength saving throw. On a failed save, it drops the object you choose. The object lands at its feet.

I need a determination on using Rally before I make my final choice for Combat Maneuver #10.
Okay, an answer was returned, and Enkili will not be able to misuse Rally as others have. So Disarming Attack will be the maneuver chosen.

In the meantime Enkili would like to help someone with their downtime project.

Too bad rumor has reached Enkili that his grandfather, the High Harbhamit, wishes to use the Sainted Sword for nefarious purposes. The man has always been ruthless, but plotting to have Enkili "Eliminated" as a contender for the family weapon is troubling, if true. All Enkili wanted to do was rescue the little girl then go home.]]> <![CDATA[Enkili Level 11]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=294 Mon, 12 May 2025 05:02:01 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=294 11th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- 11 / 6+3 take average
Proficiency Bonus= +4 (unchanged)
Features: Extra Attack, 3 attacks per round.

Enkili is going to petition the party for Riah's ring, the ring of Djinni Summoning.
If granted the ring, he will attune himself if required, that would take his second attunement slot.
Questioning Riah will be the first step to learn the bounds of their future relationship. "Will Riah be able to teleport them to Onastia?", for example. Will Riah prefer to be a combat junkie, scout, or lore drop vehicle, or help in another capacity?
Enkili feels he owes the Djinni for his life after a bound Djinni snuck int the City of Bronze to rescue him in his childhood.]]> 11th Level- Hit Dice/ Hit Die Type- 11 / 6+3 take average
Proficiency Bonus= +4 (unchanged)
Features: Extra Attack, 3 attacks per round.

Enkili is going to petition the party for Riah's ring, the ring of Djinni Summoning.
If granted the ring, he will attune himself if required, that would take his second attunement slot.
Questioning Riah will be the first step to learn the bounds of their future relationship. "Will Riah be able to teleport them to Onastia?", for example. Will Riah prefer to be a combat junkie, scout, or lore drop vehicle, or help in another capacity?
Enkili feels he owes the Djinni for his life after a bound Djinni snuck int the City of Bronze to rescue him in his childhood.]]> <![CDATA[Short Story "The Pulva Stone"]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=293 Sun, 27 Apr 2025 08:17:56 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=293

Roy L. Simms Jr.

The Pulva Stone

Ixtaqua had returned from the pale men's village and Pixtotle hoped that they understood why the Incsa people would no longer harvest the coca leaves for them. He prayed that the pale men were not angered. In his dreams he still saw their metal beasts plowing through the trees and screaming through the air, the rat-a tat-tat of their thunder sticks harvesting women, children, and warrior alike. Jungle knew the hopes and fears that Pixtotle harbored in his heart and it always took care of the Incsa, but now Jungle had told them to stop bringing the two faced coca spirit to the pale men. Word spread through the village that the shaman Uxuquat would parley with Jungle after Ixtaqua had delivered the pale men's reply.

The news that Ixtaqua brought had the entire village muttering in fear. The pale man called Roberto Redonde said that he would personally drop ten thousand fire eggs on the Incsa unless they brought him the coca. There were no men of Pixtotle's generation that had worn the beaded headdress's or warriors bracelets, the few living men old enough to have had those things had buried them along with their will to fight. Now all the men wore their hair cut square to the shoulders with no facial tattoos and they huddled and wept with the women when the drug lord's threatened war. Suddenly Uxuquat jumped up in the middle of the Heart Lodge and grabbed everyone's attention by stalking around the central fire applying the magic Chobba paste too his face. He spoke to the people while catching their eyes one by one.

“You are afraid of the pale men because of what Jungle has commanded us to do?” He berated, his scarred and tattooed features were very fierce. “Do you not think that Jungle will take care of us. It is aware that the pale ones are greedy and care not for the Incsa, It has felt their metal beasts tearing away at It. Now Jungle is ready to listen to us and work with us!” Pixtotle witnessed the change in the shamans' eyes. He saw how the pupils expanded and contracted to the pulse of the Incsa's heart. Uxuquat's voice also underwent a transformation into a thickening sub-harmonic, as though another voice spoke the same words at the same time. “You must let the pale men find the Pulva!” The voice of the Jungle had just spoken but the news only made the Incsa huddle closer wailing in fear.

* * *

Pixtotle saw Ixtaqua'a power as a speaker at Roberto Redonde's villa and knew he was destined to be a great statesman for the Incsa. He witnessed his cousin's power transform the pale man's anger into a look of speculation. He wished he could understand the Portuguese they were speaking to one another.

“You are telling me that this Pulva stone is valuable, why have I not heard of this before, Ixtaqua?” Redonde's cold eyes implying a threat to the South American aborigine.

“Because Jungle had commanded that we hide it from you pale men but now It tells us that you must get to know the Pulva stone.”

“What makes this stone so valuable?” The Peruvian drug lord demanded with his head wreathed in cigar smoke. Ixtaqua shrugged in reply, his native features conveying mild surprise.

“We have seen you fight among yourselves for the yellow and silver metals but Pulva stone has more power than those metals. You find the yellow and silver metals all over the world. Pulva will be valuable because there is only one place that it can be found. Jungle moved all the Pulva into the mountains that swallow the sun before making the animal and human peoples, now It wants you to have it so that you will hurt the Incsa no more.”

“Do you have a sample for me? I cannot agree to anything until I know this stone will be valuable.” In answer, Ixtaqua placed a heavy wax sealed jar on the Peruvians desk.

“Yes. Jungle says that if you take this to the learning place in Santiago you will find out how powerful Pulva is.” After witnessing the arranging of details Pixtotle saw the two men shake hands and he knew then that they would be safe from the pale men for a while. He sat down on the spot and began to sing a mournful sounding song that resounded with loss. His tribesmen gaped at him while the Peruvians stared, bewildered...

* * *

“Our stock has dropped a steady five points each quarter for the last three quarters, why the hell should I invest in this pulsa stone shit?” Mike Brandt, the CEO of Nestel Computing challenged, the jowls on his aging face quivering with hostility. Time to let the asshole see your brilliance, Tom Norwell thought to himself smiling brightly at his boss.

“Pulva stone.” He corrected as preamble while absently pushing his trendy new glasses up his long nose. “The Buenos Ares University has been studying this stuff for a few months now. They found out that when you mix it with a magnet it produces a substance with anti-gravity properties-”

“That's great for the Pentagon and Boeing, what the fuck does that mean for us?” Mr. Brandt wasn't normally a man who would interrupt someone before they had made their point, so Tom concluded that the Board was probably on his ass.

“Our R&D boys developed a great big mental hard on when they learned about this stuff, boss. They say that the Pulva's silicate nature makes it viable for integration with our chips, they're predicting that we could boost our processors by one hundred to five hundred percent just using micro-gram amounts. That would put us on the top again and get our computers into every house across the world.”

Mike looked at him blankly for several moments, then with his face breaking into a smile like that of a drowning man seeing salvation arrive he whispered,
“Are you for real?”

“The boys think so and they're usually right about these things.” The two men shared a long smile...

* * *

It took researchers eleven months to discover the vector of the new global pandemic. At that point two thirds of the world's population had already contracted the ailment. The CDC had to rename the disease once they determined that it was not caused by a germ but was actually a biological reaction. The Withers became known as “Pulva Sickness”...

* * *

Pixtotle led the villagers into the ruins of the now empty pale man village and they all spread out to begin collecting the items the Incsa considered useful. All around he saw signs that Jungle was returning to these lands that the pale men had churned up with their metal beasts. Molds, assortments of fungi, mosses, and weeds were flourishing everywhere. They even startled a band of monkeys who took to the roof tops to hurl leaves and complaints. As had been the new custom since nine macaws had rested on his lodge the children surrounded him and began to ask for stories.

Their demands for stories were very loud and competitive but all the children fell to expectant silence when one little girl quietly asked,
“Uncle Pixtotle, why did you sing a death song for the pale men?” Pixtotle felt humbled by their large eyed scrutiny but he was Incsa so he gave them an Incsa answer.

“When Jungle told us to give the pale men the Pulva stone, I wondered why It had not attacked them earlier with it. Jungle could have done this in our Grandfather's time. I asked myself why but I did not know. When I saw Ixtaqua use his power to persuade Roberto Redonde I suddenly knew that Jungle had waited because It loved them as much as It loves us. Jungle saw the pale men as our brothers so I sang them an Incsa death song to show them honor.”

“How were they our brothers when they look so different from us?” One little boy asked, a sullen look on his face. Uxuquat had joined their little gathering in time to hear most of the conversation, so it was he that answered.

“Just as Jungle is one voice of the earth so too are the pale men but one voice of us humans. They had forgotten how to listen to the earth just as they had forgotten that the earth knows how to fight back.”

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Roy L. Simms Jr.

The Pulva Stone

* * *

demotivational-posters-humans.jpg (Size: 64 KB / Downloads: 1) ]]> <![CDATA[Chapter 7 Manifestation]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=292 Thu, 06 Feb 2025 05:17:14 +0000 frenzied67]]> https://ravenblade.net/forum/showthread.php?tid=292 7/30/24

Ch7
Manifestation

Gilserand felt as though he was set between two worlds. Behind him fires flickered and guards laughed and played games with dice and cards, the living sounds of Humanity. Before him, as he stalked between the line of horses and the sharpened stakes angled at the night, tree frogs and crickets sang among strange trees wearing robes of moss. A world with the continuous whir of night music that could drown out all other sounds if he let it. After a month in the field he had learned that it payed dividends to pay attention to the horses, they could detect unusual things in the night that he could not see or hear himself. Even under these moss laden trees, tied to the picket line by their halters, they were better sentries than he could ever be.

This night the camp was on a high point of land in the forest, twenty five feet below a somewhat steep slope was the nameless jungles that were farther south than the lands controlled by Bolloren. After reaching the end of his meander before the horse lines, Gil turned about and began the fifty yard march to the northern stretch of the picket. There was one forty five degree bend in his line where he paced, where the horse lines not only had a gap, but they bent to accommodate the contour of the high ground. A blood bay horse snorted and stomped just ahead of Gilserand. When the horse did not pull on the line and continue snorting he realized the animal had awakened from the scent or sound of a person it knew; it was not shying away from a foreign stimulus.

Funny all the things I've learned this past month, mostly from observation. Sure enough a figure appeared where the horses pickets split at the bend. Just a slender silhouette, the person peered left and right. The way they tilted their body, one leg raised for balance, to peer up the northern bend informed Gilserand who his visitor was. She obviously had not seen Gil when looking his way to the west, the young lady was definitely night blinded from the copious firelight she had just quit.

"Gil?", Private Astrude queried the night, her voice low and vaguely tremulous.

Clearing his throat first as Gilserand continued to pace closer to the scout, he could not help but smile for what he intended.

"I ssspit you for the glory of the Sssauri nasshion," he declared in a quiet voice, extending his sibilants to mimic what he thought a Sauri would sound like. Alerted by the gravelly throat noise he had made first, his fellow guard turned his way with a laugh.

"It would be my luck to be speared by the ugliest Sauri ever hatched from an egg." His smile broadened as he came to a halt before Scout Astrude.

"Wait a minute, I'm a prince among my kind. By what knowledge do you judge my looks?" With both hands Astrude pushed a bowl into his chest, steam carrying a savory stew like scent to his nose.

With her usual quick wit, the scout had a counter to his joking challenge, as if she knew before hand what he would be saying.

"My urge to retch in your presence is all the criteria I need." In the light Astrude was a pretty brunette with long brown hair. Her dark eyebrows were thicker over her dark brown eyes and really thin at the edge of her orbital sockets. Wide cheek bones fit nicely with her oval face, deep smile lines framed nose and mouth. She had a short sloped button like nose with seemingly wide but delicate nostrils, the top of her smile lines followed the contours of those nostrils then angled out to the outer edges of her lips. Those lips were thin on top but somewhat thick with the lower swell; her teeth seemed to shine in the dark when she smiled, vestigial dimples formed just outside her smile lines when her grin manifested.

Gilserand was also very aware of her long smooth neck, which he imagined more than saw in the twilight margins between the Human world and the natural one. The private was a very desirable young woman, and she seemed to like Gil for some strange reason. Yet, though he loved spending time with her, the fire of desire never quite seemed to flare for him. For Astrude's part, she never quite provided tender for a flame to take root; though she flirted mercilessly when she thought an officer was nowhere in the vicinity. She seemed to have found him a safe vehicle to test her wiles upon; though there were many who did find her attractive, Astrude was not as confident in herself as someone with her looks usually was.

When he tried to take the bowl her hands remained under his for a few moments longer than a hand off required. Trust not lust. After the fiasco three weeks back where three scouts and two rangers had been murdered by the Sauri, the Bolloren rangers and Alren scout units had adopted Gilserand and even championed his cause with the senior officers. No more were the horse jocks allowed to haze him or abuse him.

"What mystery stew do we have here, and how many casualties did we take from the cooks tonight?" Gilserand asked as Astrude slowly withdrew her hands from under his. Chuckling at his characterization of the fare they were fed, the guard woman gave a surprising answer.

Taking his dueling spear from him, Astrude stepped back a half step.

"Tonight it's actually good. They didn't mix a bunch of food packs together for once. We scouts and rangers finally got permission to take game if we're not on the line. There's rabbit, squirrel, partridge, and I think one of those new tiny jungle deer in this stew. If only we had fresh vegetables to go with, then we would be living like kings and queens." Gil wasn't sure if she could see his widened eyes or amazed expression.

"You mean this meat wasn't stored away when our grandparents were young?" Her laugh came out as clear as water flowing in a rocky stream bed.

Firelight made her toothy grin seem to glow as she was pivoting to face north, Astrude began to walk along the parameter line so he could eat.

"Only the potato, carrot, and onions saw the passing of the last Faelora emperor. Eat up, I'm missing out on a killer card game for your stupid ass." She began to pace in earnest after he saluted her with the bowl. Squatting with his back against the tree where the picket line was anchored for the western horse line, Gilserand whispered a reassurance to the nearest horse who had snorted at the stew's smell.

Astrude had not lied to him, the fresh meat in the stew made a world of difference. Even the old vegetables seemed softer and more flavorful due to the addition of the various game meats. I wonder if we'll get the extra dried meat and jerky in our lunch rations now that we're getting fresh game for our other meals? Lunches were usually just meal packs that the cooks opened for the soldiers. I wonder how much trouble Major Liethor will actually be in when this expedition is over. They say the colonel was not very happy when he found out how the cavalry was treating me. If there's a courts martial I'll have to testify. It won't actually go that far will it? Unable to find an answer then and there, Gilserand just ate his stew and teased Astrude when she passed by walking his parameter.

Her refuge, the black she had retreated to while being beaten, was shaken by an odd slithering warmth across her back that wriggled then vanished. Was a serpent crawling across her body? Or was this her own warm blood still spilling out from the beating she was taking? The sensation returned, it slithered across the small of her back, oddly warm but cool at the same moment. Once again the sensation was transitory, there, then gone. A male voice droned indistinct sounds, and was answered with a woman's voice; a single uttered sound that did not register as a word. The raging pain in her body seemed to be fading away. They always said agony vanished before death came, still she thought it was better to die in the void....

"Hmm," a strange male voice intoned before Leachelle heard porcelain tap wood. "She obviously likes dolphins and horses, an odd combination of creatures."

"They have no bearing here. I just want the girl to wake up before we have to release those other kids, we need to know who was torturing her, and why," another male voice, not as deep as the first, responded. The word torture triggered her last waking memory, and Leachelle's eyes flew open; heart hammering. Above her was the familiar canopy of her own bed, the smell of lavender on her pillow also helped her orient her whereabouts. She was home; she was safe. How?

Before she could turn or lift her head to look at who was in her room, the last speaker realized she was stirring. "Gunther, she's awake!" Once again fear suffused her system when she saw two strange but well dressed men in her room. The man on her left was short and dark, having the stamp of a people who lived along the south western coast of the southern sea. Brown eyes and black hair with curls so tight they looked like batches of tiny springs adorned his head, this man had a flat nose with wide nostrils. The Bolloren magister's pin he used to hold his cloak told Leachelle who this visitor was; Sir Odemphi Sulhu, the only magister to have been knighted in Bolloren's history. Chief investigator in charge of the guard protectors.

It was the other taller man who addressed her though.

"Be at ease, Leachelle Gueardan, I am Lord Gunther Kriegle, truth finder for his Majesty, King Uldarnan. This is Chief Investigator Sir Odemphi Sulhu. Do you remember what happened to you last evening?" Lord Kriegle was a very tall man, possibly close to seven foot in height. He had wavy golden hair, styled to perfection. Dark eyebrows hinted that his hair or brows may have been colored. His blue eyes had an intensity that alarmed Leachelle, like those of a raptor about to dive on a fish; she felt like the finned creature he was currently fixated upon. He had a long thin nose, almost aristocratic, but failing that by having a slight bump at the bridge. His lips were thin and seemed permanently set in serious lines. Like Leachelle the lord had long ears, which was probably why he wore his hair longish and had the waves trained to cover all but his earlobes.

Sitting up made her back muscles pull uncomfortably, all around her ribs and belly the tissue felt stiff and sore making her adjustment more of a chore than usual.

"I... I was beaten with relic magic," she admitted, raising her hand to feel her cheek where she had been lashed. Thank the Lords of Light and Life, I must have been healed. Though her muscles twinged, she did not feel any of the lacerations she had sustained during the skirmish, and her face felt smooth and unscarred. She had been put in her peach night shirt, a bit of clothing she had not worn for over a year, her hands and wrists showed old yellowing bruising.

"His Majesty saw to it that you were sent to the healers, you were beaten most severely, Miss Gueardan," Sir Sulhu informed her. "Can you tell us who exactly it was that assaulted you?"

When Leachelle had been younger, she had her huge bed chamber set up with curtains to divide the space into a dozen sections, each with their own purpose. Those fifteen feet tall curtains ranged from lavender at the top of the dividers to dark purple at their base. To her right was a silver and white night stand with a lantern seemingly balanced upon a white porcelain horse. Beyond that was her matching vanity, which was basically a desk with many drawers, and a large mirror. Make up products were still scattered haphazardly across it's surface. That is where the marble wall was bisected by a curtain that curved in a semi circle around her canopy bed.

Rectangular tables sat end corner to end corner, next to and following the drapery's crescent, all were painted white with silver trim; dolls and stuffed animals in the thousands faced her canopy bed from those platforms. Nearer, five round tables with the dual argent motif were set in a crescent between the outer barrier of tables and her bed. Four of those tables were dedicated to porcelain figurines, while the one on the far left was for her breakfast; the only table with chairs. Lord Kriegle was just in front of the middlemost of those five tables. To Leachelles left, along the marble wall, was two large wardrobes dedicated to her sleeping garments, then nearer at hand was her other nightstand and matching horse lamp. Sir Odemphi was between her eating table, and her wardrobe, just before the gap in her drapery leading to her alcove of fashion which held racks and dressers dedicated to her clothing.

By the Lords of Light and Life, this is an official investigation. These men are Bolloren's top investigators, not mere guards. Leachelle had a guilt laden vision of herself suspending Taleen upside down in the class she had lead last winter, and she knew this deed would become a point to the two men before her. Wincing at both her physical discomfort and the trouble she was about to land in, Leachelle briefly thought about what to hide and who to protect.

"I was beaten by Taleen Houghton and Phinder Tugg, but there are other people involved." The knight raised an eyebrow, his thick lips pursed, but it was Lord Kriegle who fired off the obvious query.

"Who were these other people, and what was their involvement in this situation?"

Licking her lips, Leachelle worried about informing on Mishiel. Then she realized the girl had never been her friend. I thought she liked me, I thought we were becoming close. It was all a lie. Mishiel planted herself on me, and helped plan the attack!

"Mishiel Orngutter helped set up the ambush for Taleen, Lieutenant Echart Dunn bribed the doorman for the use of the cellar. There were two dark haired young men who acted as Taleen and Phinder's lantern bearers, I don't know who they were. Buchanin Hansil was my date, but he didn't come to help me through the attack. I doubt if he was involved, but at this point I don't really know. Who came to my rescue? Who broke up the attack on me?"

At her question both men tilted their heads like dogs trying to hear familiar sounds from their Human's diatribe. Mound like furrows formed on Sir Odemphi's brow.

"You did, Miss Gueardan. You shielded yourself with your relic then knocked the club's cellar door off it's hinges. We've been told that those are both rare feats for a magister in training." Leachelle tried to pull her head back as her own forehead wrinkled with troubled thoughts, her headboard checked her bemused reaction.

"No. What? How?" Unable to fathom that information, her statement and questions came out sounding like she was near babbling.

Like the tag team duo they were presenting themselves as, it was the king's truth finder who spoke next.

"We have been told that you have manifested a rare genetic talent that few Human magisters have, a talent some ancient Faelora manifest. You were able to forge a connection with your relic without physical contact. Are you telling us that Buchanin Hansil and Echart Dunn had involvement in this issue? We were assuming those two were just bystanders injured by the flying door. That is how they characterized themselves." How they characterized themselves? she asked herself, trying to fathom what had been happening with the two men while she was being tortured. Buchanin should have said he had been my date, that he was there with me....

Not liking the sums she was coming up with as far as her blind date was concerned, Leachelle tried to establish the picture as she had seen it.

"Mishiel and Echart set me up on a blind date with Buchanin. Buchanin and I didn't quite hit it off, but there shouldn't be animosity between us. Not on my part. Mishiel and Echart are...paramours, or that is how they acted all night. What have they been telling you?" Both men paused long enough to show eyes without sympathy, as though they were wondering what lies she had told them thus far.

"I'm sorry, Miss Gueardan, we have found we get a better picture of events if we ask the questions and don't answer them. We would not want to color the responses you give us with information that might... change how you might craft your narrative," Sir Odemphi stated.

The knight moved over to her breakfast table and pulled out a chair. Instead of sitting, the man set a foot on the seat and rested an elbow on the raised knee. "If those two soldiers were indeed involved why were they not down in the cellar with Miss Orngutter, Miss Haughton, Mister Tugg, and the two whom you claim not to know?" Emotional pain struck hard, as Leachelle briefly contemplated that question. The cold calculation it had taken Mishiel to spend those few weeks acting as her friend defied her sense of right and wrong. Who would go that far to get revenge on behalf of someone else?

"Mishiel claimed that she wanted to talk to me alone, implying the boys would join us after we were done speaking."

Eyes shifting to where the marble walls joined the wood paneled ceiling, the truth finder seemed like he was trying to picture the events with the white and silver trim.

"What was the purpose for all of you to be going into the cellar anyway?" Leachelle winced knowing how her answer would paint her. The High Magister is going to hear about this, she realized. The urge to lie reared up in her, she just did not have a possible cover story that would not leak like a sieve.

"I, uh- I was convinced to give a magical demonstration with my relic; which I know I am not supposed to do."

"What was it that Miss Orngutter wished to speak to you about?" the knight fired off, not commenting on how her face had twisted before her admission.
This isn't going to make me look much better, she thought. Again the urge to concoct a lie reared up in her heart. I'm going to look no better than Taleen and Mishiel before this is through. Knowing her grimace had given her worries away, she still answered.

"Mishiel wanted to offer Buchanin and myself the use of the little back room for- uh, amorous activities, instead of for me to entertain them with magic. I speculate this was verisimilitude to keep me following her to the back spaces of the cellar." Neither investigator commented on her theory, but Sir Odemphi did look to the Kings truth seeker as though passing the baton of questioning to the man.

"What happened next?"

I was disarmed then beaten! she railed in her head. Making me relive that is cruel! Leachelle did not give voice to her reticence, did not act on the fear and horror rearing up at the memories surfacing. Deep down she knew the negative presentation of herself was coloring her reaction to being questioned. She was having a defensive reaction from telling on herself.

"The light coming from the little back room flickered then went out. I was pulling out my wand to use if for a light source when Mishiel... Miss Orngutter, requested that I do that exact thing. When I did produce light, that was when she ripped the wand out of my hands and tossed it on top of the eastern most wine rack. We were plunged back into darkness again." I will not use her name again, she doesn't deserve that kind of recognition from me, she vowed in her head feeling the hurt turning to something dark. During her recitation both men glanced at each other a few times, using significant glances to communicate silently.

As Leachelle paused to gather her resolve, it looked like Lord Kriegle was about to demand more from her before he realized she was just collecting herself. "Miss Orngutter retreated from me taunting me with the knowledge that she and Taleen were friends, and she had been pretending to be my friend these last few weeks." We worked together, we had fun talking and comparing fashion; talking about young men. She had me so fooled so easily! "Phinder Tugg's light bearer lit his lantern first, and I saw Mister Tugg's getting an energy lash ready from his arm bracer; they were closest to the stairs out of the cellar. Then Taleen Haughton appeared from the back of the cellar with her light source. Her lash cut, while his hit like a clenched fist."

Shrugging caused tight muscles to pull, yet that was how she let the investigators know that was the end of her tale. Nodding slowly, the knight considered for a few moments. His companion continued to watch Leachelle as if he wanted to find a misstated fact.

"Why would Taleen Haughten and Phinder Tugg have such animosity towards you? People who are familiar with a person usually have a reason to attack them," Sir Odemphi asked with a raised eyebrow. Sighing because she had to yet again relive an uncomfortable past, Leachelle started her answer.

"Taleen used to live here in the palace, she had collected a large number of followers among many of the other kids who live here-" she started before interrupted.

Clearing his throat, the Kings truth seeker bulled in on her story.

"Were you jealous of her popularity?"

"No. Not at all. The people who flocked around her were not the sort of people I could relate to. Unfortunately, they would not let me live in peace. For some reason Taleen and her friends liked to bully me, call me names, and torment me in the halls here-" Again she was cut off by the dogged lord.

"Are you trying to say that this assault is a case of bullying that went too far? A mean prank that got out of hand?" Now she hesitated. This was the point where her admission would land her in trouble.

Both men came to attention with Leachelle's grimace, like hunting dogs actually glimpsing their prey after following a scent on an overly long trail.

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I made the mistake of fighting back and humiliating Taleen one time. Just one time. And she concocted this scheme to get back at me." She grimaced again, realizing that she was getting angry.

"You fought back? In what way did you fight back?" the knight asked, removing his foot from the chair and coming upright. Here we go.

"This winter I headed a beginner relic crafting class as part of my own education. Taleen and Phinder were my students. The first day of class they disrupted my lesson plan, taunted me, and humiliated me in front of my other students...."

Trailing off, because this was the crux of her confession, she made yet another face. "The second day of class I, uh- I used my relic to haul her out of her seat and held her upside down, bound by magic. I, uh... I made her helpless and humiliated her, then gave her the option of telling on me and getting kicked out of the program or letting me teach her. I ended up teaching her, but I guess she wanted revenge for my revenge." Both men considered her for a prolonged moment, then they met each other's eyes for brief nonverbal communion.

"Why would you resort to violence when you could have consulted with the magister's overseeing your training?" That is what I should have done, she admitted to herself after Lord Kriegle's inquery.

Inclining her head at the truth seeker indicated she agreed with him.

"My evaluation was for how well I taught my class, how many of my students came out able to shape and fashion a magic node into a talisman level relic. I believed that running to my teachers with this problem would have reflected badly on me. My solution was a bad solution, I admit that, I was greedy for good marks on the assignment."

"You must agree that your confession here makes you complicit in the events of the other evening, Miss Gueardan. The judge assigned to this case will have to take that into account." Sir Odemphi stated, looking pointedly at her.

Moving over to the dark skinned knight, the king's truth seeker had his own words.

"His majesty was very distressed to hear you were attacked, Miss Gueardan. He will be even more distressed to hear how convoluted this mess has become. He will not like that you brought this on yourself. Is there anything you would like to add to your statement at this time?" At first Leachelle blinked at the two men. Why are they acting like I was the bigger villain in this mess? Is this a tactic on their part?

"Tell me, will the judge or King Uldarnan consider my part in this worthy of attempted murder?"

"Come on horse, give me the oat bag!" Gil demanded as the dun mare turned away, tossing her head up and down as if teasing him. "The oat bag is empty, why do you wanna keep wearing it, you oaf? You can't wear it all night." The horse swung her head to Gilserands left fast enough to evade his hands, again nodding like she thought this was a great game of keep away to play. "You won't be able to graze with that thing on, did you think about that?" As if the horse understood it stopped stepping away and wagging its head, looking at him with equine side eye. As if convinced to cooperate the bay faced him directly and let Gil slip the feed bag off her head.

Chuckling at the interplay that had just occurred, Gilserand scratched the horses muzzle. All around, the soldiers of the expedition were setting up the evening camp, their main effort was angling man tall sharpened stakes to face the jungle. He was stuck with feeding the cavalry horses, as usual. All fifty cavalry mounts had already devastated the five bales of hay he had laid out, now the horses were taking turns munching a bucket of oats with the ten feed bags the expedition had brought. The last horse with the tenth feed bag stood still and allowed him to divest it of the head gear; it must have heard his spiel about grazing. His next task was to toss a bucket of oats in the bags to give to the next ten horses on the picket line. Of course the feed wagons were parked near the middle of the camp, no where near any of the animals working with the army; a fair hike in a camp with close to seven hundred people.

Draping some of the filled bags on his shoulders, Gilserand balanced the rest on the haft of his dueling spear; which he propped angled on one shoulder, the bags sliding down against his back. Carrying the spear crosswise would have distributed the weight better, but the three foot blade would have threatened his fellow guards as they worked. He had to walk somewhat stooped, ten full feed bags had close to a hundred pounds of weight altogether.

"There goes Gilserand with a whole batch of horse scrotums on his back, as usual," Astrude called out from the left. Scouts and other infantry setting up tents nearby laughed, looking up from their work to view the spectacle of his labored hunched walk; eager to see how this accusation of bestiality would play out.

Half turning in his stooped gait, Gil fired back.

"That's why I'm winning all the popularity contests with the animals and you're not." Even the lovely scout guffawed at the quick and unexpected rejoinder, the levity sparking chuckles among everyone nearby. Only Major Liethor frowned. The cavalry officer was stalking along the lines of workers like an overseer denied the use of a whip; her hawkish glare watched Gilserand almost all the way to the growing encampments margins. To the north east of the picket line a pair of cavalry privates were carting over a portable trough and some buckets of water. Their tool would only service a pair of tethered horses at a time; their job would take much longer than Gilserand's.

Pricking their ears forward, the animals came to attention and did not fight him slipping the food bags over their heads.

"Funny how you guys don't give me grief at this part," he said patting a pair of necks. I guess I'll help those guys now that I have a few minutes to wait. Normally this was a point where Gil would take a few moments to himself while letting the horses eat their allotment of oats, but the watering detail usually arrived after all the feeding chores had been attended to. A wagon paused nearby so that a trio of soldiers could unload a barrel of water between mounts; they were stationing the water for the guys with the portable trough. Each of those guards filled a pair of buckets which they then ran over to spill into the trough, even as the horses were lapping it up. Several pairs of extra buckets were stacked near the end most barrel and Gil aimed himself for those.

After five weeks of observation, Gilserand had learned that each barrel only supplied water for ten horses; five barrels a night just for Gil's equine charges.

"Corporal, could you help me move this trough instead of grabbing buckets?" one of the horse jocks asked. Obliging the young man he took one end of the contrived trough. A metal drum had been cut in half, then fused end to end; after that the fabricator had welded bar stock handles at each end, then X frame legs with plate feet had been added on both ends and middle so the trough would stand tall enough for the horses. Even though the pair of horses had almost drained the container of water, the trough was very heavy. With the weight distributed between the two of them, they still had to lift with two hands to move it five feet east.

Casting an eye back at his charges, Gilserand noticed they were almost finished with their feed. The horses were eating their oats almost as fast as others were guzzling water. After his second to last haul of oats, Gil helped move the trough again and run a pair of buckets once. After serving the last ten horses their oats, Gilserand was conscripted by an officer of the Alren Rangers to glean fire wood. The lady officer reviewed her mixed unit detail on how to tell dry seasoned wood from green or wet specimen, then let them fan out and begin shagging out branches and dead trees into large piles. Every thirty or so minutes a work horse or oxen drawn travois would show up, and then the detail would load those stacks of gleaned wood for removal.

Moving west a dozen yards after their third load, the troop scattered out to begin shagging another pile into existence. Gil plucked a nice branch from some grass when he noticed a downed tree behind a screen of bushes.

"Got a three man job here," he called out as he moved towards his find. After determining which part of the thick end of the fallen trunk he would lift from, Gilserand looked around waiting for his help to arrive, keeping an eye out for the enemy. Nearby, a wound on the trunk of a maple drew his eye. The bark was freshly scraped away in a symbol he recognized. Fear adrenaline spiked in his system immediately, only by focusing on unlimbering his dueling spear was Gil able to keep from shaking. "Eyes out!" he shouted, scanning the brush for hidden Sauri.

The jagged outline of a trident head had been inscribed on the tree's bark, the wound on the maple fresh and stark; four tines faced down, the second prong on the left a bit longer than the other hooked spikes. The same symbol he had seen months ago on the loincloth of the big Sauri he had faced just outside of Alren. Backing away with his weapon facing outward, Gilserand soon found himself the point of a chevron of condensed soldiery.

"What is it corporal," a woman's voice asked from behind him, the Alren Ranger in charge of this motley detail.

"Ma'am, I found a Sauri symbol freshly carved on that big maple tree behind those saplings" For a second there was silence all about.

"Really?" The lieutenant's voice was charged with supreme skepticism. "You know Sauri symbols?"

For a few moments Gilserand wanted to bristle at the junior officer's sarcasm. All the other soldiers began to become restless, relaxing and beginning to grumble because they thought Gil was a high strung alarmist making up stories.

"I've seen this symbol before, on the loincloth of a Sauri that was almost as big as an Orag. The same night they raided those farms in west Alren. An inverted four tine trident head with the middle left tine longer than the others; each tine having a single barb."

"Really?" This time there was no hint of ridicule in the woman's voice. He used the dueling spear to point at the tree as his answer this time.

Sensing that the officer had tipped towards a believing opinion, the grumbling stopped and tension radiated into the uncaring wilderness.

"Dammit," the woman muttered, her voice low. "Okay, box formation shields to the front, spears second, archers third, slow advance when I give the word!"

Her commands were sharp and unambiguous. The fact that this group was pulled from several different units made the formation shift a bumbling cluster for a few moments. All Gilserand had to do was lift his spear point and take a step back, but three different people stepped into him. Yet, the confusion did not last long and the lieutenant had her square formation manifest out of collision and chaos. "Slow advance, go!"

While formation changes were different for sword troopers, archers, and spear, the one thing they all had in common was the cadence of the march. In less than ten yards the scrap mark on the tree became visible, though the details were still occluded from distance and underbrush. Their formation was a good one for an open field, but brush and uneven ground was about to force disunity into their defensive stance. "Corporal, cover me while I check your mark out." The officer's hand fell on his shoulder blade, pressing steel links into his gambeson with slight pressure. In turn Gilserand tapped the two soldiers before him on their shoulders, one sword and shield and one conventional stabbing spear and shield.

Those two took a step forward, then one step to either side creating an opening which Gil flowed through. Armed with a bow, the lieutenant's training kept her at his back instead of coming up along side; it was he who had to make way for her to step up when he reached the tree. If this actually was the season where deer rubbed their antlers, I could see someone doubting this was carved. Up close though, you can't help but see the knife marks where they used the tip to make this engraving.

"Ma'am, I know I'm not a tracker like you, but these cuts look really fresh to me. The Sauri are close."]]> 7/30/24

Ch7
Manifestation

Ch6
Plant

"Hey plant! Spy boy! Knock it off!" Corporal Knechten snarled from his horse several yards ahead of Gil. All Gilserand had done was hold his spear up and flick his wrist. The blade had cut through the match stick thick branch with a slight singing of steel, a shing that could not have carried more than ten feet. All along a long front, the cavalry rode through the trees slowly while infantry support followed just a few yards behind them. The whole unit was behind rangers and scouts who were actually spearheading the sweep through Oldbeard Forest. For over a week they had progressed through the hoary old forest searching for an enemy that left no sign, and tempers were fraying from the monotony and lack of success.

My old spear would have just pushed that little branch aside, Gil thought to himself, too tired to glare at the cavalry corporal's back. From the start of this fiasco, joining up with the Fourth Cavalry, Gilserand had been picked on and harassed. These stupid horse jocks actually think I'm a spy sent from the infantry, as if we are the enemy. Every night he had to deal with some sort of hazing. It started when he was told, after a double shift, that he would have to guard the horses at night. Of course Major Liethor had been "upset" on finding out he had gone an entire night without sleep, yet when her people continually failed to relieve him from night shift she failed to do anything about it.

The first night out in Oldbeard Forest, he found his duffel bag had been emptied of all his effects. Branches, rocks, dead leaves, and other scrapings from off the forest floor had replaced those belongings. He had been forced to backtrack a mile behind the camp the next morning, finding his items scattered over several hundred yards. Most recently, last night, he had actually been relieved of guard duty. Looking forward to getting a full eight hours of sleep he found his bed roll and blankets soaked in urine. So in the dark, he had been forced to leave the camp so he could wash his things in a tributary of the Rularic. This had taken several hours. Not only had Liethor refused to allow him to hang his bedding near a fire, she had also failed to seek out the culprits. The nights were still frigid this early in the spring.

Though his brain was fogged from being so tired, almost to the point where he was almost combat ineffective, he still looked up with everyone when a distant horn sounded. That was the signal that the advance screen had made contact with the enemy. Though seemingly distant and muted from mental fatigue and the sound deadening effect of hills and trees, Gilserand did feel adrenaline spike in his body. The eight horsemen were off, spurring their horses to close the distance. The only problem was all the trees and brush. Those poor horses could only move ahead slightly faster than Gil and the other infantry squad he marched with. Unlike the cavalry, the Bolloren sword fighters kept their line integrity, even at a trot.

Scrambling over the first hill in their path, instead of sounds of fighting, they heard one man shouting making the trees ring with his ire. Just a dozen yards behind the horses, Gilserand crested the hill and found a few hundred guard of the expedition trying to disperse while hundreds more were still collecting. The magister Ovellam Gueardan was shouting at the man with the horn, and the officer of his unit, dressing them both down for betraying their position to those they hunted.

"...Colonel, what was it that I told you to tell your soldiers? I TOLD YOU TO NOT SOUND THE HORN UNLESS YOU MET THE DARK BLASTED SAURI! You damned stupid ignorant Burning Spirit loving morons are keeping me from going home to my daughter! This is going into my reports, I don't care what happens to your blasted careers! I've had enough! GET THIS BODY CLEANED UP!"

Stalking off to the south east, the pudgy magister walked up the flank of another hill to his horse, using his artifact level staff as a walking stick. A familiar resin encased rose bud rode the top of that pole, though Gil had not seen it glow once during this expedition. When Ovellam moved he seemed to leave a splash of red coloring behind himself, and at first Gil thought the leader of this expedition had dropped his cloak. That red garment, that matched the color of the rest of his attire, was still upon the magister himself. Doing a double take, Gilserand finally realized that blood was splashed in a localized area, over rocks, bushes, and pooled on the ground; all from a fern concealed dead body wearing black and green. One of the horsemen who was closer to the scene than Gil leaned over his pommel and heaved a small fountain from his guts. Others were averting their gazes and cursing the Burning Spirits for the evils they wrought.

A hand gesture from Major Liethor halted the infantry support and Gil before they made it too far down the hillside. Sergeant Hommel of the Two Hundred Thirty Third Bolloren Swords, who led the infantry support Gilserand was currently marching with, grimaced nearby.

"Looks like one of you Alren lads met his end," the man said to Gil, giving his dueling spear a good long look. Too tired to care, he just grunted to show he had heard; Gilserand was falling into his own pit of lethargic misery, completely uninterested in what was happening a few score yards downhill. The fact that someone had died was just not triggering emotion or interest in him.

Not realizing the funk Gilserand was in, Hommel continued talking. "I hope you don't know that lad down there, that's always the worst I hear. Hey lad, what outfit are you with? I've never seen a spear like yours before. Are you part of an Alren unit?" Sighing from the energy he would have to be using, he turned bleary eyes onto the sergeant.

"No special unit. I don't belong to any outfit yet. I haven't even gone to a specialist school." His answer drew interest from the rest of the sword squad, Sergeant Hommel's soldiers began to condense around their noncom; all eyes on Gil.

"Ain't that a glaive," one man asked. A young woman answered for Gil.

"Nah, a glaive has one curved edge, this has a double straight edge."

"Not a specialist? You're more green than we are," someone else observed.

Starting to feel hemmed in and harried, Gilserand found himself looking around for an escape route.

"What do you call that pole arm you have, lad?" Sergeant Hommel asked, his voice taking on a gentle note as if he knew Gil was suffering.

The entire squad quieted down, focused on his answer. Their interest was friendly, and this made Gilserand want to cry.

"It's a dueling spear. A glaive is great at cutting, but sucks at thrusting. Dueling spears are better at both...." Gilserand was just starting to feel his subject, was just beginning to appreciate his audience for their humanity, but Major Liethor's grating female voice shattered the moment.

"Sergeant Hommel, detail one of your troopers to help Rivenheart bury this body. There was a clearing a mile or so back that will do fine. There are shovels and axes in the baggage train." Witches could learn how to speak using this major's voice as a template, it grated and creaked wildly making hackles rise.

Sympathy radiated from Sergeant Hommel's eyes as he pointed to his burliest soldier.

"Caiden, you help the corporal out. Trina, Gordol do you two know how to lash a travois together? Good, make a sturdy one for these lads to use." Caiden was just under six foot tall, just like Gil was, but his arms were as big around as Gilserand's thighs. The man walked up to Gil and offered a hand, his eyes shied away from the splayed out corpse below. All the other military personnel were drifting away from the kill sight, returning to the rigorous sweep they had been called from. The handshake was gentle, as though Private Caiden was taking pains not to crush Gilserand's digits.

Hatchets began to thunk into some straight saplings not far off, as the rest of the sword squad prepared to filter away.

"I've never seen a dead body before," the private said, his face already seeming set to mourn. Caiden, other than being muscular had shaggy blond hair. His tall narrow nose had a crook in it from having been improperly set after a break. Green eyes should have been placed on a more handsome man, yet they were what Caiden had to work with.

"Looks like this is our lucky day for bad firsts. I didn't know we had any soldiers missing until now." Sergeant Hommel, who had just started marching off after the cavalry overheard Gilserand. He turned back around with his eyes growing with alarm.

"No one has been reported missing, which means this poor sod was one of our scouts."

Cursing the Burning Spirits, the noncom charged off, his squad springing into a jog to keep up. Oh, I guess the officers didn't put that together in their heads. We may be marching blind without scouts right now. I don't want to do this. Caiden fell into step as Gil began to make his way down the incline towards the body, the muscular man uttered a prayer to the Lords of Light and Life as they drew near the corpse. Gilserand winced when he made out the carnage up close. The victim was a young manly looking woman, who had been stout of build. Her face and light blond hair were blood spattered but unmarked by the manner of her death, her eyes had been pale blue. She still screamed at the branches above, but her voice would never grace the living world again.

Her body was staked out so that she was spread eagle, then her clothes had been cut away. Her skin had been incised open and spread out to either side of her body from her neck down to her knees. The muscles from thigh to neck had been partially cut away from the bones and laid out almost artistically upon her skin, like bloody bird feathers spread in flight. Not only had this been torture, it was also supposed to be a warning to the six hundred guards blundering about in this wilderness. Even in his drained state, Gilserand was moved, but Caiden started to moan as if he and his sanity were parting ways.

Putting his hand on the private's arm halted the disconcerting noise, the human contact firming the man's grip with the here and now.

"This girl has friends in the guard, they're going to want to know. We take care of her like she's our family, okay?" Face downfallen, Private Caiden looked at Gil, tears wanting to form, but not quite. He nodded, focusing himself on Gil's empathy. Gilserand dropped his back pack and pulled his soggy bed roll and blankets from their straps. after unrolling those items he turned to the body. Gently he began to take the muscle tissue and place it where it belonged, eventually folding the skin back in place.

Together Caiden and he had blood up too their elbows before they finished reassembling the dead scout. The rags of her uniform were used to bind the wounds closed and provide a modicum of decency for the remains.

"I wish we could wash her up," Caiden commented as they lifted the body onto the blankets. They had just closed the distended mouth and shut the horror rounded eyes, and Gilserand knew the impulse his comrade was feeling. There was an off feeling from not being able to wash the gore from the dead girl's face and hair, like they were doing her a disservice. Even swaddling the cadaver with the blankets then bed roll also felt wrong, as if they were hiding their own bad deed.

Caiden's squad mates had done a good job lashing the travois together, the rope was tied so tight that the wood could not rub or move. Tying down the body was made easy with all the cross supports the sword guards had built onto the platform. They had even had rope tied to the pole ends so that they could sling that over their shoulders and begin pulling. Hauling by the poles themselves would have grated upon their hands or shoulders. "It's awful quiet out here," the sword guard said before they hauled their burden to the top of the hill they had crested on their dash when the horn had sounded.

That statement pulled Gilserand out of his head and made him look around.

"I don't like it. I don't like that it's just us two out here by ourselves. Keep your eyes open, and kick me if I start drifting off." Just the way this statement made his fellow's eyes widen and begin checking the background was both gratifying, and terrifying. The Burning Spirit cursed Sauri killed this girl because she was probing ahead without back up. Now our leaders have left Caiden and myself hauling her body without support too. Gilserand started cursing the haziness of his thoughts, wishing he could trust his red rimmed eyes as he probed the underbrush for enemies. The skidding of the travois seemed to be deafeningly loud as they headed north and a little west following the horse tracks of the cavalry.

To their right a distant whinny reached their ears. The relief that came to Caiden's eyes matched that which Gilserand himself felt. Without needing to discuss the move they both started trudging east, off line from where they knew the clearing was. Soon an oxen bawled a complaint, followed by cursing human voices. The baggage train was very near, closer than the initial horse cry had made it seem. Yet before they put eye to the humans and animals hauling the camp supplies of the expedition, they were challenged by someone behind them.

"Identify yourselves or become pincushions." This was not how the guard confronted one another, yet when they turned they found a man in Alren's dark green and black uniform.

An arrow was knocked in the man's bow, but the weapon was not drawn back or even pointed their way. In deference to Gils rank, Private Caiden allowed him to answer for them. They lowered the travois to the ground, taking the burden off their shoulders.

"Corporal Rivenheart and Private Caiden, we're on burial detail and need tools." A dozen soldiers rose from the brush, each of them with recurve bows held with arrows nocked to the string. Each face frowned with beetled brow, looking at the wrapped form on their conveyance.

"Who was it? What happened?" Gilserand finally made out the bird wing pin on the speaker's lapel, marking the man as a lieutenant.

Dammit, I wish I could think straight! he snarled at himself.

"Sir, we don't know who she is... was. She was a scout that was tortured to death then left for us to find." His admission made every man start to converge on them, that was when Gil realized these soldiers were also scouts. The lieutenant moved to the body and moved the blanket aside to view the deceased woman's face.

"Damned pit bound Sauri!" one of the scouts cursed.

"It's Dulga.... Private Fluegar," the lieutenant declared in a deadpan voice. "You closed her eyes?" Gilserand nodded to the officer.

Trying to be helpful, Caiden blurted out more information.

"We couldn't clean her, you know, but we did put her back together as best we could." Just this hint as to the dead woman's condition made several scout faces harden, not in anger at Gil and his companion, but for the situation. Moving around to face Gilserand and Caiden, the lieutenant looked down upon both of them with an unreadable face. The man had to be six and a half feet tall.

"Who is your officer? Who sent you out here by yourselves where you too were likely to get killed?" There was a lack of warmth in the junior officer's eyes, like the man was pondering ordering their deaths.

There was a part of Gilserand that hoped that order would be given, his week had been too long, too arduous.

"Major Liethor sent us on this task," he stated. A sneer marred the tall lieutenants oval face, the five o'clock shadow seeming to bristle.

"Stupid Horse Hag sent you out without backup? Figures, the woman thinks of her image, not her Burning Spirit damned troopers. Sergeant, send a detail to gather tools and inform the caravan master. We're detaching ourselves to cover Liethor's mistakes again." All the sergeant had to do was point out two men, those scouts took off at a fast lope towards the fading sounds of all the animals and their handlers.

Not finished there, the officer continued. "We appreciate you looking out for one of our own. We're going to help you and watch over you until we get Private Fluegar buried." A response seemed expected, and Gil's mind was so numbed by lack of sleep he did not realize what passed his lips.

"Sir, thank you. I'm sure Major Liethor would've used her influence with the Burning Spirits to punish us for getting killed by the Sauri." Caiden and another man snorted, trying to muffle a laugh at Gil's inappropriate timing. Even the lieutenant blinked, his lips inadvertently twitching into a momentary smile.

"Whose bedding and blankets are these? Fluegar didn't go out with her pack."

Caiden pointed at Gilserand, who only nodded at the question. "I'll make sure you get replacement gear, corporal." When there was nothing else to say, everything grew quiet; except the birds and squirrels in the distance. Caiden fidgeted nearby, picking dirt off his uniform. Gilserand noticed a chunk of shiny fallen bark on the forest floor, he fixed on the spot but was not really seeing anything. He was just brain fog born on legs, vaguely human shaped. When his mind did eventually muster awareness to notice the world outside his pain, Gil found the scouts not only stationary, they were also preternaturally still. They all stared off into different points of the compass, and they did move their heads as they scanned, but those head movements were slow on their statue still bodies.

Only one scout returned from the baggage train, carrying just half the tools necessary for the job ahead. That man ran up to the lieutenant.

"Sir, they brought another body in. Another pair of soldiers just came into the train carting a dead scout or ranger. I'm not sure but I think the army has stopped marching." Gilserand heard the officer pray for a moment, his voice really low.

"Lords of Light and Life, look after us, your foolish children. Our times are thrice challenged and hatreds run deep, your adversaries grips are strong upon us and our enemies, trying to darken our souls." After his prayer, the man broke into action. "I want you all to stay here, stay alert. Corporal Riverheart, would you please accompany me."

Reality seemed to lurch as Gilserand was addressed, though nothing actually changed. His fatigued brain was losing attenuation with the world around it.

"Yes sir. It's Rivenheart, sir." The lieutenant only grunted, but he did give Gil an odd look as they started off. After they had strolled a few score yards from the officer's unit, the lieutenant began to whisper.

"What's wrong with you, corporal?" Feeling the drain on his energy, Gil surfaced from his numbness to answer.

"Sir? Uh- yes sir. I've only been allowed a couple hours of sleep since leaving Alren. The cavalry is working me hard, and not relieving me from guard duty at night."

Just as quiet as his prayer had been, the officer swore under his breath. Sooner than Gilserand thought, they came upon the tail end of the baggage train. Horses, mules, and oxen of all types were strapped down with bundles, crates, and barrels and enough rope and canvas to suspend an entire city. Men and women in civilian work clothing gossiped among the stationary animals. As they moved down the line, the lieutenant craned his head this way and that looking for something or someone. Not knowing what was being searched for, Gil just floated along next to the officer turning when that man turned. Finally, after they rounded a knot of fifteen oxen snuffling the forest floor for edible plants, they found a clutch of officers and noncoms having what looked like a debate with a civilian almost as tall as the nameless lieutenant.

This group of people were very near the front end of the whole train of animals and their handlers. A short woman in the black and green of Alren held up her hand, hailing Gil's lieutenant.

"Oi, lieutenant over here!" Once they were near, Gilserand noticed another blanket shrouded body at everyone's feet. "Digger says you have another body on our back trail, is that true?" the woman asked when they joined the five people and their dead body. She reminded Gilserand of Yanna, but shorter, and her braided hair was just off of being truly straw colored. This woman's uniform was exactly like the scouts, but her rank pin classed her as a captain.

"Yes ma'am, this poor lad and another walked right by the train while carting Dulga Fluergar. They were sent to bury her without an escort, ma'am."

The tall lieutenant made his report while looking at the still figure at their feet, he wanted to know who it was, but was afraid to look.

"Dammit, what's going on up there," the lady captain complained looking where she thought the advance party was. The woman was about to make further comment, or issue orders, but a call came from the front of the train.

"Another pair coming in, Captain. Looks like they are carrying another body." Still checked out, Gilserand followed the lieutenant automatically when the small group fanned out and moved to the fore of the baggage train.

Glancing out through the trees and moss, Gilserand noticed a tall pair of people in uniform making their way from the south west. When he looked up though he saw the captain pointing to the south east, indicating a closer pair struggling with a still blanket wrapped figure. No! This is wrong!

"Over there," he said, pointing out the other burial detail hiking their way. Barely able to think at all, Gilserand found the forest suddenly blurred. It was not until the tears spilled out that he realized he was crying, unable to control the roil of emotions inside.

"Dammit, someone find Colonel Tretham or the Wild Rose. Let them know their army is marching blind!" A very agitated captain ordered.

Somehow there had been a transition in Leachelle's mind, where before she had been thinking of this dance as getting together with her friends. Now the butterflies in her belly were indications that this was really a date. A date with a guy she was yet to meet, but a date none the less. The fact that she had splurged and hired this coach was another indicator. If this had just been a gathering with friends she would have walked or ridden to the officer's club. The idea of smelling like a horse had been a clincher, that and a long walk would have drained her energy. She had to smell good, look good, and think clear.

Through the window, as her narrow two person coached joined the queue of conveyances dropping party goers off at the little club house, Leachelle recognized Mishiel. Her friend was standing with two tall young men, one blond and extremely tall, and the other dark of hair and broader of shoulder. The blond young man wore a gray and green uniform with a patch indicating he was with a cavalry unit. The slightly shorter man had green and black as his uniform's colors, and Leachelle could not identify the rectangular patch indicating unit affiliation. Her wagon's window was not made from the best glass, only familiarity with Bolloren's guards allowed her to identify blondy's shield shaped patch.

The trio was waiting for her outside of the long narrow rectangular building that was the officer's club. Two signs hung over the entrance. One plaque actually said Twenty Third Division Officer's Club, the other was the old sign from before the previous king's educational decree. It showed the various insignia worn by lieutenants all the way up to generals. As the three looked around not knowing the exact conveyance Leachelle was in, she wondered which of the guys was Mishiel's boyfriend and which one would be her date. Echart Dunn was Mishiel's beau, while she was being set up with Buchanin.

Her question was answered just after a couple stepped out of the lead carriage. Passing in front of the trio, the middle aged pair temporarily blocked Leachelle's view; after they passed the tall blond and Mishiel were kissing as though they had just invented the activity. That is Echart then, so then that guy is Buchanin. The hollow in her tummy turned into a pit. People called the sensation butterflies, but she thought chimpanzee's were rough housing in the space. Why does this glass have to have flaws, she complained when she failed to perceive the details she craved to know. All she could see through the rippled glass was that both young men were tall and muscular and one was blond and Buchanin was not. Her carriage lurched forward for a few feet, and the ethereal sound of a distant sitar reached her ears.

Lords of light and life, he has a good build at least, Leachelle thought feeling a burst of adrenaline thrill her nerves; Buchanin looked very physically fit, though his face was still occluded. Is he going to like me? Is he going to think I'm too thin? Is my hair okay? Mishiel turned around in Echart's grip so they both could peer into the carriages as they drew up, with his arms crossing her body they swayed to a beat that did not come from the muted music coming from the bar. Pulling at his collar, Buchanin fidgeted near the couple; obviously uncomfortable to be the third wheel in this game of waiting. I wish the glass in this window wasn't so rippled. Maybe I should get out and walk over? This idea should not have created such a push and pull with Leachelle's emotions, the possibility of romance wreaked havoc with her ideas of decorum.

The next conveyance to unload held a young couple, both Buchanin and Echart craned their heads to watch the slender figure of the woman as she passed; Mishiel missed the boys enjoying the view. Wait a minute, should Echart be doing that? Mishiel is beautiful, why should he want to look at other girls? For years Leachelle had wanted to be that girl, the one whom turned heads, yet watching Mishiel's boyfriend turning an appreciative eye away from her friend hit her as disjointed and wrong. Mishiel, was that girl with those looks that stirred men's attention, and Leachelle was more than a little envious of the girl. Yet it was Mishiel who had told her that she was hot, that she had desirable features and form, making Leachelle believe she had possibility.

In the narrow carriage she leaned over the back facing seat and slid the divider window open.

"Driver, I will get out here and walk. Thank you for driving me." The driver turned around and smiled through the small aperture, his thick white mustache could not hide the twinkle in the aging man's eyes.

"Yes miss, have a great night." Leachelle had to make a short hop to the pavement since she did not know how to operate the folding step. Despite being in heels she landed well. Even with her long hopeful strides she was almost past the conveyance just ahead of the carriage she had just quit before Mishiel spotted her. Buchanin came to attention, his eyes boring into Leachelle; assessing, probing.

Responding to Mishiels joyous waving, she felt her attention glue onto Buchanin as well. As she drew closer she started to make out his features; but the first thing she noticed was the growing grin on his face. A mark of approval that flustered Leachelle even as it pleased her. The inner battles should have ended there, but for some reason she felt even more pressure building; both physical and mental. Buchanin's brown hair was of a slightly longer style than Echart's, yet it was still short; possibly due to military necessity. His eyes were a paler gray than Leachelle's own, they sat in his oval face not being too big or too small. They were beautiful. He had a shortish nose with nostrils that were not too wide or too thin; again very nice and symmetrical.

His lips, thinned out from his smile, did not seem blemished. His chin was strong with a slight dimple. I hope he's smiling because he likes what he sees, not because he's polite. What am I going to say? How am I going to mess this up? Oh please Lords of Light and Life, don't let me mess this up. Before Leachelle reached the curb where the trio awaited her, Mishiel called out to her. Evening was not too far off.

"Hey beautiful, is that a Vethily dress? That has to be a Vethily." By the promise of the scriptures, Buchanin is really really cute! Tearing herself away from Buchanin's compulsive gaze, she answered Mishiel; spinning around to showcase her all purple outfit, the narrower hoops that were the newest fashion allowing the fabric to actually swirl a bit.

"Of course it's a Vethily, who else makes pleated coats like this." Please be impressed, please like what you see, she begged in her mind hoping Buchanin would listen to the silent plea.

Echart was not impressed, his eyes dismissed Leachelle so he could peer out along the carriage lined street. His hair was extremely short along the sides of his head, and one brow was continually higher than the other; a look of supreme confidence seemingly etched on his mien. He had light blue eyes and a long sharp nose, the nostrils looked as if someone had pinched them near closed during his formation. His lips were so very shapely. Overall he was a handsome young man, but there was something Leachelle found off about the guy. He seemed to have too much confidence; too much satisfaction with being himself.

As though by magnetism, Leachelle's eyes returned to Buchanin. That dazzling smile grew again once her attention was returned to him. Torn by convention and whim, she knew it was not polite to stare yet that was what she wanted to do; a primal need to explore with her eyes and enjoy the experience.

"Buchanin, let me introduce you to my new friend, Leachelle Gueardan. Leachelle, this is Buchanin Hansil." Uncertainty marred the tall young man's smile as he stepped up and accepted her hand. Surprisingly he bowed over her digits, letting his lips brush her gloved hand in an old courtly gesture. Somehow, the old fashioned display was very pleasing, organic and sincere.

His voice was masculine, deep enough to be enjoyable without being imposing.

"I am pleased to meet you, magister." Kissing her hand had sent Leachelle's hopes soaring, but when Buchanin addressed her by her title her spirits fell hard. Still she offered an old fashioned curtsy as he still held her hand in his warm strong digits. Why do I find his hands being bigger than mine pleasing? Why is he impressed with my job and not me?

"Lieutenant, the pleasure is mine." What she had really wanted to convey was her wish to hear her name on his lips, but how could she state that without looking weird and demanding? Am I staring? He does have a very nice face, and those eyes....

"Speaking of great clothes, is your dress a Tyche?" she asked of Mishiels ruby red gown while forcing herself to turn from Buchanin. To imply an affirmative Mishiel wiggled into a curtsy, her eyes taking on a lascivious cast. Blinking at the girl's unexpected display, Leachelle tried to analyze seeing this side of her friend, but Echart stole everyone's attention with his ill natured, impatient eye roll and huff.

Leachelle heard every spoiled boy raised in the palace in Echart's tone

"Can we go in now? I would like to have a drink before the sun goes down." But we haven't been introduced yet, she thought, stung. Am I that unimpressive? Is this how Buchanin sees me? Taking Mishiels hand, Echart did not wait for either introductions or consensus. Her friend winced an apologetic look before being tugged away. Stepping up to her side and offering his arm, Buchanin spoke in a low voice.

"Ignore him, he has always been the south side of a north bound horse. I for one am very happy to make your acquaintance, Leachelle." His pale grays had a lodestone's pull on her gaze.

Oh merciful Lords! He said my name! Just like that the chimpanzees frolicked like mad in her middle amid skin tingles. His arm was solid metal under her hand as she draped her arm with his, yet steel never had such delicious warmth. They were at the bar's doors before Leachelle realized she had not once watched her step. She also realized that her grin was almost manically wide. He had not stopped smiling into her gaze through the short little trip; gray eyes appreciating gray eyes. Is this what the bards mean by chemistry? she wondered, feeling slightly overwhelmed by what was happening. Is this feeling just in me? What is Buchanin feeling?

When they drew to a stop he started to disentangle his arm from hers, and her instinct was to hold on; suppressing that urge was not easy.

"May I take your coat?" he asked sketching the slightest of bows. Oh! All her life Leachelle had servants taking her coat for her, this time the activity felt special. After she turned about and opened her swept back arms, he guided her coat off her using gravity to assist his effort; gentle and effortless. There were very few people in the officer's club, two uniformed DOW women gathering abandoned drinks and a man behind the bar with a stack of men's and women's coats on the bar's surface.

The entrance was at the southern end of the clubhouse, which was a narrow rectangle stretching northward seventy or eighty feet. The bar was closed off near a pool table to Leachelles immediate right, the gaming space was very narrow about twenty five feet from western wall to eastern, and twelve feet wide. From there the counter ran almost the entire length of the building with scores of stools spaced for elbow room. Small two chair tables were placed along the western wall, also with plentiful room between tables, a dart board broke up that seating in what seemed the center of that wall; a strip of scuffed white paint in the middle of the carpet midway from the bar to the wall marked where contestants were to make their throws.

A string of carnations circumvented almost the entirety of the clubhouse, while multiple strands of small chromed disks bracketed the flowers above and below; those little disks swayed with the slightest impulse of a breeze. Why is the bar a coat check, and why are there more coats than people? Asking that question was when Leachelle realized the music she had been hearing was filtering in through an open back door. Her gaze discovered that the bar was open in the north a step away from the rear exit. Beyond the outside exit was another door set into the north wall, what the space beyond was she could not tell.

The flower and disk stringers were stretched across that aperture indicating that space beyond was off limits. Bottles lined low shelves behind the bar, hundreds of bottles with no label seeming to be repeated, a few kegs and barrels had nooks staked out for them in the shelving. On all the walls were name plaques. Behind the bar the names were those of fallen heroes who had belonged to the Twenty Third, the names along the north western wall immortalized the champions of dart or pool contests from years past.

"I'll have green apple schnapps," Echart demanded of the man currently taking Mishiel's coat. Buchanin was still shrugging out of his uniform coat, but looking at his blond friend bemused by the young man's discourtesy.

The coat checker held up a finger to Echart, both expression and gesture telling the young man in no uncertain terms that he would have to wait. This man, though older, looked bigger and more imposing than either Buchanin or Echart. He too had short hair and muscular build, but his light blue eyes had a hardness and lack of empathy only a killer could manifest. With care, the checker laid Buchanin and Leachelle's coats atop Mishiel's, making sure they would take no crease while stored.

"Leachelle my bell, would you like a drink?" Mishiel asked. Why is she offering and not either of the boys? she wondered.

"Not right yet. Definitely later, though. Do you think they have champagne at this party?" Mishiel looked surprised at first, but the idea of champagne made the girl's grin grow impish.

Clearing his throat as if requesting permission to impose, Buchanin answered her query.

"They definitely do have champagne. Two types. They have bottles straight from Lansee and a few bottles made here in Bolloren. I'm eager to find out what all the hype is about with this new Lanseean beverage." Delighted at this opportunity to talk to this young man again, Leachelle tilted her head in inquiry.

"How did you learn that information? You must admit that is a very specific knowledge base to have." I love how his smile is growing, his eyes seem to sparkle.

"I've heard that a lot of women like this new drink thing, so I asked around and verified that the Daughters of the Word were supplying it tonight." He shrugged his shoulders as if this was no big thing that he had done, yet he seemed to drink her reaction up.

"You did this for a blind date?" she asked, not quite able to hide the delight this idea stirred.

His grin grew to match hers.

"Well, if it's in my power, I'd like this to be memorable." Lords of Light and Life, I wish I knew what that meant. Does he like me, or is he just being nice, Leachelle asked herself while feeling her heart beat increase a few beats. Like ice water down the back, Echart chimed in; voice snide.

"Ooh it's wine with bubbles. I don't get the appeal. This schnapps will get you messed up quicker," he said as he took a swig.

Finally taking umbrage with her boyfriends attitude, Mishiel turned on him her face stern.

"With schnapps you tend to wake up without memory, tonight is supposed to be memorable, Echart." Her voice was tight with emotion, Leachelle could not see her friend's facial expression but the girl did tilt her head as she used his name like a digging instrument. Over Mishiel's shoulder, Leachelle witnessed the blond man's eyes shift from Mishiel to look directly at her for a moment; his face was stone as he nodded. What do I have to do with this tiff, she wondered, mystified by why Echart had looked at her.

Warm breath placed gentle heat behind her ear, down her neck, and spilled a bit down her clavicle; the air carried a hint of clove.

"If he keeps this up, we might have to get separated from them while dancing," Buchanin whispered from behind her head. Heat built in her face as her mind took off with images of him holding her. Wow, he took the time to chew on a clove for his breath. This guy is covering all his bases. Mercy of the Lords of Light, that breath made my entire neck tingle!

"I've heard of these things happening before, couples getting carried away, literally and figuratively, by the music," she said looking up into his eyes, hoping she had laid some bait. His reaction was immediate.

Instead of the slow growing smile he usually showed, his face seemed to burst with a grin. What does that mean? I know it is a happy face, but I can't tell what he's thinking. Does he like me, or am I just in the friend category? I don't know. I guess I'll have to accept happy. Yet... he did suggest that we go off alone while we dance.... Can he see that I'm blushing? With a head gesture towards the back door as he stepped from behind, Buchanin urged her to go with him to the outdoor dance floor. What floored her yet again was the way he offered her his hand after she nodded her assent. Mishiel caught the end of that exchange and she looked back and forth between Buchanin and Leachelle as the young magister put her hand into his.

A strange wistful expression passed over the lovely girl's face, before she graced Leachelle with a knowing grin. His hand is so big and unyielding, it feels as if he has to work to be gentle, she thought as she shot a half nervous half pleased grin back at her friend. Buchanin started leading her to the back door and the intriguing music beyond, but Mishiel took her other arm as Leachelle started to pass. Together the three of them brushed by Echart. The blond man/boy slammed his drink back and then began to fish in his coin purse, ignoring the three of them. Before she was pulled into the club's back yard, Leachelle glanced back. Echart was whispering to the coat checker/ bar tender, gold pentamarks in his hand. Is he buying another drink?

Though slightly larger than the club house, the back yard was not quite a rectangle. The back fence to the south was twice as wide as the northern section, which called the stages station questionable to Leachelle. The outdoor stage crowded against the back door with a small passage between the building and where the band was situated. The bar's siding and all the fence surfaces were strung with carnations and strands of those small metallic disks; those foil coins glittered with the colored lights reflecting off of them. Over the stage, almost like a canopy, was strand after strand of both carnations and disks.

Suspended a few inches below this impromptu covering were a trio of Gachtler glow rods adorned with sheer colored cloth strips. Instead of the steady white light the rods normally shed, the ribbons tied around them filtered color into the light; yellow, red, green, orange, and blue. Somehow the glow rods rotated over the five piece band below, slow steady revolutions that the small metal disks reflected on to the stage and out into the crowd in dots and circles of alternating hues. A dozen couples danced before the stage, laughter and grins odd under the colored spots playing over them. Twice that number of people in pairs or slightly larger groups conversed along the fence or wall, drinks in hand.

Two percussionists, a violin, a sitar, and a lady flutist bobbed to their own music on the stage; the flute and sitar were conducting a strange call and response composition where each musician repeated then built upon the prior musicians contribution. Meanwhile the drummers performed slow simple rhythms with the violin, creating a structure for the flute and sitar to adhere to. Leachelle's pulse began to alter to match the beat of the music, tingling surges accompanying her pulse. Somehow she was free of Mishiel's arm and leading Buchanin into the midst of all the others who were expressing themselves to the music. Mishiel trailed them, then joined in as they threw themselves into the music.

Compared to Mishiel, Buchanin's movements looked staccato and unrefined, while her friend's true loveliness shone forth in sensual grace. Leachelle knew she could not match Mishiel's steps or form, but unlike the other men dancing who ogled the girl, Buchanin had eyes for her and her alone. He doesn't seem to think I look ridiculous it seems, she thought after that worry passed through her head. Not that it would matter, he doesn't seem to have natural rhythm himself. But that smile.... I wished that smile belonged to me. Abruptly the song ended, as they had come in at the tail end of the performance. The band began to rearrange themselves so that the violinist took the central position on the small stage.

When the slightly plump musician began to play, Leachelle saw strands of energy begin to draw out of the violin's fret board. Those threads and streamers began to weave together as a sweet high note reached for the darkening skies above. The energy transitioned as a melody began to form and a stampede of horses galloped above the audience in ethereal clouds of dust. Oh, how clever! The violinist is a magister creating illusions for the audience to see. The images worked with the music, showing the midland plains and the wildlife most of the audience had only read about. Mishiel touched both of them on their arms as a way to excuse herself, she turned and moved to meet Echart who had just appeared framed in the back door.

Just then the music transitioned from a lone instrument sending haunting notes and natural images, to the whole band flying into high gear. The song was driven by a fast galloping tempo, the flute and sitar structured the rhythm with frantic abandon. Both drummers were working together to provide a beat fast enough for the wild almost shrill violin's thrilling melody. Leaf cutter ants the size of rottweilers now scrambled among the dancers burdened with fresh cut greens. Inside the new illusion, Buchanin was puzzled by this pulsing music at first, then he just started jumping in place while punching the air in time with the percussionists. He definitely is not a dancer, natural or trained, but that isn't stopping him. More for the fun it seemed than the seeming she had craved, Leachelle joined in, throwing her slender arms up as enthusiastically as her date.

Now the dancers found themselves in fast flowing water, red headed hooked beak salmon darting through the flow all around them. Chancing a glance away from Buchanin's joyous smile, Leachelle found Echart once again seeming to look directly at her over Mishiel's head. Mishiel seemed to be ticking off some points with her hand as she talked to her boyfriend. Before she looked away, Echart smiled then bent to kiss his girlfriend; the first happy look she had seen the boy make. The salmon made way for a pair of giant grizzly bears battling over the audience. Buchanin looked like he was trying to jump up and punch the bears bellies in his rendition of dance, she could not even get close to the hovering illusions, but a laugh bubbled out of her as she tried.

Swarms of swallows darted overhead at the song's end, seeming to take to heights beyond the viewer's sight. Taking her hand with an incredibly fast grab, Buchanin pivoted around to face her. Nearby the band rearranged itself again, this time the extremely lanky drummer was presented at the fore.

"I like watching you dance, you're incredibly graceful." His words made her blink, and at the same time she imagined kissing him; this made heat fill her face more than the compliment had. Wow, that seemed genuine. Does he like me, as in like like me? Leachelle wondered.

"There are better dancers out there," she demurred.

Using his hands and fingers, the drummer began to tap out a beat that was at once slinky, and also seemingly martial at the same time. The rest of the band began to join in, with a song that was slow and luxurious. Buchanin shrugged at her words.

"But I don't like watching them dance," he said just before the music swelled into full form. Now her face did go fully red and fiery, the only thing she could think to do was step into Buchanin and nestle her face near his neck so he could fold his arms around her. He swayed rather than stepped in this dance, which was just fine with Leachelle. Lords of Light and Life! The way he said that was perfect, exactly what I wanted and needed to hear.

As always, doubts lived within her. Leachelle had to look up. She had to see if these emotions were really within Buchanin and not just in her; or in her head. As if he had been waiting for her she found his lips descending in a surprise kiss. At first she stiffened in his unyielding arms but an inner voice helped her relax into the contact. Mine! This is my kiss! Her ape sized butterflies were doing barrel rolls and her breasts, belly, and arms tingled where they contacted Buchanin.... Yet.... Yet his lips did not move much in the exchange, and there was a bit much moisture in the process. Wetter than what Leachelle herself liked. Still, this was what she wanted, what she had hoped for since sighting Buchanin.

After several minutes, she realized that they had stopped dancing. They had just been making out in the middle of the dance floor.

"Whoo hoo, look at you guys go!" Mishiel said, leading Echart into the dance by his hand. The blond threw Buchanin a wink when Leachelle and he parted to greet them. "I knew you two would hit it off." Embarrassed, thrilled, and overwhelmed by everything happening, Leachelle just nestled up next to Buchanin; marveling at his warmth even as her shy smile hit Mishiel.

One by one the instruments faded out of the music until just the two drums remained. The power and tempo also began to fade, until only the one lanky guy was left lightly tapping his drum into a slow wistful end. Dots and crescents of light played over the musicians and audience when silence fell, the colored glow rods reflecting off all the reflective disks. Unlike the prior ending of their tunes, the band did not scramble to rearrange themselves. Instead they posed for accolades, which they received. Red lights swayed across Echart's face while Mishiel was brushed by green highlights, Buchanin had yellows seeming to cascade over his form, and she found blue lights beaming into her eyes.

Gliding to the fore, the flutist shook out her long blond tresses before addressing the crowd.

"Don't worry folks, we're just taking a break to catch our breath and have a drink. Consider this a great time to hit the bar yourselves." The flutist herself led an exodus back into the clubhouse, fully fifty percent of the people in the yard getting into line to get in. Mishiel watched all the activity a slight pout on her shapely lips.

"Well that's great, I wanted to dance." Buchanin and Leachelle both spoke at once, she tried to ameliorate Mishiel's misfortune, while he asked her a question.

"Would you like a drink now?" he asked.

"The band will be back," she stated.

This was enough for her to grin and enjoy Buchanin's gray orbs. She nodded but swept an arm to the long line of people queued up to go to the bar. Smiling, Buchanin held up a pentamark. From a cluster of people hanging out along the southern fence, a girl dressed in a DOW server's uniform emerged and approached them. This young woman was short, square faced, and crowned with golden curls; dark blue eyes smiled recognition at Leachelle. Leachelle dropped an immediate curtsy to the short plump blond.

"Lady Shashaw, how nice to see you outside of the palace."

"Magister Gueardan the Second, we missed you in class after you were Gathered. I had heard that you were a volunteer with the Daughters of the Word now?" the young noble woman inquired.

Both the guys stood straighter, even tugging on their uniforms to make sure they were presentable, Mishiel gaped for a few seconds before she shrank away seemingly intimidated.

"I thought I would see why my mother spoke so highly of the DOW, she had been a member for years. Tonight we are not volunteers though, but tomorrow we will return to reviving the old community center on Dunhelm Street." Leachelle had indicated Mishiel while speaking of their volunteer work, which caused Lady Shashaw to beam a smile and incline her head to the young woman.

"Well tonight I am a volunteer, so I must find out what I can do for you beautiful young couples?" The little woman's grin spread as she said this, a sparkle in her eye. Lady Shashaw seemed pleased to be serving people rather than being served.

Clearing his throat shyly, Buchanin held up his coins.

"Uh, your ladyship, could we get three glasses of champagne and an apple schnapps?" Grinning impishly, lady Shashaw dipped a curtsy to the guard.

"Of course. Four drinks and change for your coins. Young man, could I convince you to donate your change to the Daughters of the Word? That money provides a lot of services dedicated to young soldiers such as yourselves." Blinking with uncertainty, Buchanin looked at Leachelle with a silent plea, though she had no idea what he was asking of her at first.

Oh, right. Buchanin is only a lieutenant so he's probably on a budget, she realized.

"Please, Lady Shashaw, bring my date his change. He must continue lavishing me in a manner I could become accustomed to, so I shall make a donation for the lot of us." This time the noble woman inclined her head to Leachelle then waited for her to pull out her coin purse. Echart made a light grunting noise when the magister in training handed over four gold pentamarks. Even Lady Shashaw made an impressed face at the largess shown. After taking the soldier's coins the lady volunteer dipped another curtsy before wading through the slowly moving queue of people.

Leachelle found her friends staring at her after the lady left, they seemed daunted by what had just occurred. "We had the same classes and many of the same tutors together, Lady Shashaw was a year ahead of me," she explained. Echart frowned at this information, turning his head away as he considered Leachelle's connections. Buchanin and Mishiel both pursed their lips and nodded, impressed despite themselves. "What did you think of those illusions the violinist made, that was quite the show?" Back on more certain ground, Buchanin nodded.

"I felt like I was underwater with the salmon swarm. I was surprised that we didn't come out wet," he said, laughing at his impression of the event.

Sharing her smile to affirm she had felt the same way, Mishiel waved her hand at the sky.

"I expected to hear the thudding and growlong while the bears were fighting. So realistic." When Echart swung his face back around, his expression was pointed as if the answer he would hear was very important.

"Can you make illusions like that?" he asked Leachelle.

"Not that good. Illusion isn't one of the manifestations I excel at. The high magister is a great illusionist, he can actually cloak someone in a seeming and have the illusion follow that person's every gesture-" While she had been prepared to speak on good illusion work, she was cut off.

Placing a hand on Echart's chest, Mishiel made the tall blonde look at her.

"Leachelle always has her relic on her, maybe we can get her to show you what she can do later." The way the tall boy squinted at those words made it seem he was reading another meaning from the message than what he was actually hearing. Light help me, but Echart is a bit too much. I don't see anything at all in him to make him worthy of Mishiel. She deserves a lot batter, Leachelle thought. "Maybe we can slip away during the next set and she can put on a private show for us." She found herself frowning. Why would Mishiel do this to me? Why would she volunteer me to do such a thing?

"No I shouldn't. I'm only a trainee right now, I'm not really supposed to have my relic on me outside of classes or work," Leachelle tried to extricate herself from the unmade promise, even though she bent the rules at home.

Laughing, Mishiel turned to her with a challenge.

"You don't hesitate to show cockroaches and spiders your wand, but not for your friends?" Laughing lightly, Leachelle tried to wave the idea away, but Buchanin stepped from her side to add his look to the pressure. A gentle smile, raised eyebrows, expectation... all those minute details on his face made her will collapse. Lords of Light and Life, please don't let me get caught.

"We'll get in a lot of trouble if they catch us. We have to get away from all these people if I'm going to do this." Triumph in her smile, Mishiel turned while catching Echart's hands, she seemed to wink to the blond as she leaned back and let his arms keep her from falling. The way the young guard officer smiled back almost made Leachelle reassess her opinion of the man. Almost.

With casual strength Buchanin drew her to him with a one arm hug, his desirous warmth made her cuddle up against him. I could get used to this... whatever this is. I think he likes me... maybe? I wish he would tell me if he likes me. What if he thinks of me as a passing fancy? What if I'm misreading his signals? But he kissed me...? After watching his girlfriend swing back and forth in his tethering hands for a few moments, Echart looked up.

"If you know who to bribe, we can have a private party in the wine cellar. I just happen to know the right people, but we have to time everything right," he said. "We'll have to wait for the band to start playing again and bring most of the people out of the clubhouse."]]>

Ch6
Plant

Ch5
Volunteer

"As a Daughter of the Word you will be upholding a centuries old tradition that began when our free ancestors not only dreamed of freeing their families and friends from Faelora and Gachtler chains, they actually began to enact those plans. They challenged the might and power of the two elder races and their empires to break those chains, which was not an easy task. Our soldiers, our guards do a lot of work still, though the wars for freedom have been long ended," Lady Entolia intoned, leading the small clutch of younger women deeper into the old building. Decades older than her charges, the noble woman's over exaggerated gliding steps and slow unnecessary gestures made her seem to be grasping for a stateliness nature did not want her to have.

The noblewoman had stopped to encompass the five girls and Leachelle with a sweeping arm gesture, the move supposedly her idea of graceful. "Most of us are the children of fathers or mothers who serve in Bolloren's military, so we know the... stresses of military life. Those of you who do not know these stresses, you must realize that the men and women who serve, do so with little thought from the people they protect. That is where we Daughters come in." Lady Entolia folded her hands at her waist as she turned about, trying mightily not to let her head bob from the invisible line her erect posture implied.

Two of the girls in the little group held lanterns up so everyone could navigate the detritus and cobwebs festooning the old community center. The stairway up to Leachelle's right had graffiti scrawled under the tread of one step, this sexual suggestion seemed to imply a physically impossible deed. Leading them further into the building, the older lady continued her induction speech. "It is our duty, as Daughters of the Word, to show our soldiers that they are appreciated. That the work they do does have relevance to those outside their number. We bring them solace and joy, so they can continue to serve without reservation."

At the end of the hallway the main public room of the community center opened up before the ladies. The evidence of new construction work lay all about. From the repairs done to the overhead dome, the walls, and most of the stage, to the new tile that was halfway laid into place. pallets of lumber, and flooring, and other unknown construction materials were spaced about the hall in no apparent order. At least not a logical order that Leachelle could discern as she viewed the chaos of sawdust piles, tossed blocks of wood, and scattered tools. Taking ten gliding steps into the hall's interior, Lady Entolia spun to face them, her dress swaying like a peach colored bell. She brought her hands up as a dancer would have, then swept them down and away from herself to broadly indicate the room they were in.

With great exaggeration, she held her head proudly posed as the lady took in her young charges. "I am happy to say, that our last few donation drives has brought this about. Not only has the Daughters of the Word brought in enough money to buy this old hall, we have almost completed renovations on her. Soon this place will become the center of light, life, and laughter it once was, and we, we shall be the ones who transforms this dull facade before us, into a captivating venue that our soldiers will be proud to dance in." A buxom young blond girl, whose expression had been constantly bored interjected.

Plump lips pouting as she twirled a few golden curls with a finger, the young lady was trying hard to show she was unimpressed with the rest of the world.

"I thought we were supposed to set up decorations and dance with the boys? Are you thinking that we are going to swing hammers and paint this place?" Leachelle was immediately turned off by the over abundance of privilege the girl was showing, and the lack of respect to the woman giving them their orientation. Evidently Lady Entolia felt the same way. Crows feet tightened on the older lady, and her response came with a flatness to her voice.

"We are volunteers, not recipients. We do the work that show others that their work is worthwhile. When you put your life on the line, then we will let you dance with the fella's and have a good time."

Before the disdain from the older lady had a chance to grow into a continued diatribe, Lady Holtain Aggrue, a little bit of a girl with dark hair and large light blue eyes raised her hand. Without waiting to be chosen, however, Holtain issued her query.

"We're not going to work today are we? I didn't wear a dress that I can work in, this is the finest silk from Deshnandu." Am I the only one who paid attention? Leachelle asked herself, wondering about the self absorbed priorities her companions were showing. Even Lady Entolia lost a beat, trying to figure out why she was being bombarded with this drivel. One of the lantern bearers answered for Lady Entolia, a gorgeous girl with fox like features and a challenging smile. This stranger had as fine of a dress as Leachelle herself wore, but she was completely unfamiliar to the young magister.

Without challenging either the blond or silk encased Lady Holtain, this girl pointed out what Leachelle herself had been thinking.

"This is an orientation. We are being shown were we will work, and then figuring out when we will work." While this girl spread her look around, her gaze lingered upon the inattentive two. When the stranger looked at Leachelle, she offered the young woman a smile to show her appreciation for a fellow who knew how to listen. She had brown hair a bit darker than Leachelle's, and her large narrow eyes were extremely lovely; enviably so. Those vixen like eyes framed a delicate sloped nose; though thin, this girl's lips did have contour. A narrow chin and delicately sculpted eyebrows sat on an oval face. She is far prettier than Taleen could ever hope to be, and this girl does not seem to be overly conceited because of it.

To Leachelle's amazement, this stranger noticed the smile and nod she had offered. Those lovely glowing blue orbs locked onto her, before a tentative smile was returned. She was studied in turn for several heartbeats, and just as she found the stranger acceptable, Leachelle herself was determined to be refreshing; the smile firmed into something friendly and inviting.

"Just so," Lady Entolia declared, finding her aplomb once again. "The work in the dance hall will be completed in a week or two. What we Daughters of the Word will be required to do is clean up the rooms that will have to be painted. We have kitchens, conference rooms, coat rooms, and a dozen other nooks and crannies that will require a lot of sprucing up.

"Then when the repairs are done, this room and a few others that have been renovated will require our attentions and decorations. Our hope is that we can have our first DOW dance before summer begins." I think I have found someone here who is not a brat or a bimbo, Leachelle thought while raising her hand. Unlike her old classmate, she waited for Lady Entolia to indicate her before issuing her question.

"What you describe seems like a lot of work. Are we six the only women going to be working here?"

Lady Entolia inclined her head, either at Leachelle's inquiry, or at her respectful manner.

"Oh my no. There are many other Daughters who will be working in this building. You are just our newest volunteers. There will be many others who will be able to show you what to do, every job is lead by someone who is quite experienced. Don't you be worried about that. I imagine many volunteers would walk away if we expected such mighty results from so few women," the older lady stated with a laugh as sculpted and artificial as her mannerisms. Despite Lady Entolia's outrageous idiosyncrasies, Leachelle liked her. There was a sincerity in the older lady that was disguised within the broad gestures and thick artificial poise. She believed in the mission she was on.

For once, I think I made the right decision. It was getting so lonely at home. I'm the only one there. All I have to look forward to is father's bi weekly letter, and that is not enough. Volunteering after work is going to grant me time with other people, give me company to hopefully stimulate my mind and emotional state. Though two of the volunteers did not strike Leachelle as persons worth knowing, there were still two who had potential, and one who had offered a tangible warmth. On top of that, the older noble woman had implied there were a lot more people for Leachelle to meet, and the events the Daughters of the Word held would include many young men her age. So many girls who volunteered for DOW did so seeking a boyfriend; she was here just to make a friend or two; and a little dancing would not be too bad.

With another gesture that did not quite capture grace, Lady Entolia began to point out points of interest in the ballroom. Leading them deeper into the spacious area, taking a path that avoided dust piles, tools, or construction detritus, the girls began to string out behind her. Blond and Buxom cut Leachelle off, forcing her to bring up the tail of the line. The girl with the large narrow eyes held her lantern high, allowing all the other girls to pass. Falling in line next to Leachelle, the young woman offered another smile.

After they entered a hallway at the back of the dance floor, on their way to the stairs leading down to the kitchens, the lovely young lady whispered.

"Let me guess, great clothes, great poise, perfect complexion. You must live in the palace?" Leachelle was trying to listen to Lady Entolia, but she did smile and sketch a curtsy to her new companion to show her guess was correct. This struck the girl as humorous, her smile blossomed making her lovely face even more radiant. "I am going to guess you are either here out of boredom, or because you have a family member who is serving?" This time Leachelle gave the woman a closer examination.

She was in a cream and gold dress that was just as nice as Leachelle's own, though the jewelry was subdued it was not cheap.

"Both," she confessed, which caused a well shaped brow to quirk up. "My father is with the army now which means I'm all alone in the apartment," she confessed to the unspoken question. Shifting the light to her left hand, the girl offered her right for a handshake.

"Hi, I'm Mishiel Orngutter." Leachelle shook the hand, her own smile growing to show delight.

"What, not Lady Mishiel or Magister Mishiel?" Mishiel covered her mouth to dampen her laugh, then shook her head no.

"My father is a medium level magister and my mother is a very successful merchant. We are rich, but we don't live in the palace."

At that moment the queue of ladies started down a flight of stairs wide enough for three people abreast to take.

"That may be for the best, the palace produces the most entitled brats in the entire nation. I'm Leachelle Gueardan by the way."

"Present company excluded I assume?" Mishiel whispered, humor bubbling forth.

"But of course, I must be the only exception produced in those halls," she joked, drawing herself up with a haughty expression while fluttering an imaginary fan.

Mishiel gave forth an inadvertent snort while trying to stifle her laughter, which made both of them lose control at the same time. The landing at the bottom of the steps also showed recent reconstruction work. Lady Entolia and the other girls paused to look back at them. In unison, almost like they had rehearsed the move, they both curtsied to Lady Entolia. "Forgive us, good lady, we did not mean to intrude," she apologized. The noble woman wore the frown of woman who has had to deal with too many rude little girls.

"While we do not discourage our ladies from socializing with one another, we still expect them to accept instruction from our more senior members. Can either of you tell me the origins of we Daughters of the Word?"

Mishiel's face fell a little, either intimidated by the noble woman, or confounded by her own lack of an answer. The girl's face registered a little surprise when Leachelle supplied the proper response.

"Five hundred and thirty six... no five hundred and thirty nine years ago, when our ancestors grew tired of living in tents and running from the elder races, the men of Bolloren vowed to free the Human slaves still being held in the northern lands. They made this vow on the scriptures, hoping the Lords of Light and Life would hear and approve of the plan. Year after year, our population grew because of the raids those soldiers conducted. But they grew weary, they grew discouraged from the daunting magnitude of their task.

"The women of Bolloren noticed their men faltering and grew disquieted. Talking among themselves they sought a way to restore the spirits of the soldiers who had already given so much to bring families back together. They decided to throw a feast, and have music played for them, 'and the daughters, full of love, danced for the tired heroes, and brought solace to their furrowed brows. Through dance and food were the men of Bolloren reminded of laughter and hope'. That was the foundation of the Daughters of the Word."

Through Leachelle's recitation the look of disapproval from Lady Entolia faded. At the end, she even inclined her head at Leachelle as a show of respect.
"Very good, now ladies pay attention, we will all be spending a lot of time in these rooms down here. This is the first pantry to the left...," the lady intoned continuing her tour. Mishiel gave Leachelle an approving nod.

"You may be the epitome of a brat, but at least you're educated," she whispered. "No matter what, I am going to try to have our volunteer times overlap. I hope you don't mind?" Leachelle felt surprised, her own thoughts had just began to ponder instigating such a possibility.

"You don't know how much I would welcome that, Mishiel. I believe you have the right level of entitlement and self absorption to make you an acceptable companion." This produced another spat of giggles that were hard to stifle.

Randera the Widow winced as she gently touched Gil's cheek below both his blackened eyes. The bandage over the bridge of his nose kept her from touching his wounds directly.

"Is it worth it, this champion thing?" she asked, concern turning a few of her laugh lines into temporary wrinkles. The beauty mark over her lip dipped as her face passed through several levels of worry. "Are you going to be coming home with bruises and broken bones every night?" Not liking to see her fret like this, Gilserand took her hand between both of his as he perched on one of their chairs.

Never before had he ever thought of The Widow as tiny, now she seemed to be half his size in height and breadth.

"I don't think the idea is to break me into pieces," he said trying for humor. Too soon, he realized from the deepening of her frown. "Having to duel three experienced spear fighters was a test. I don't think they will make me have to repeat that anytime soon." Her worries were not relieved.

"You hurt people Gil, doesn't that make you feel bad?" She had asked him this the other morning when he had stumbled home from his brief stay in the infirmary.

Only if they pay me, he thought to himself, unwilling to say that joke aloud again. Last night Randera had not appreciated his dark humor, and she did not seem to have had her mood improved a day later. Instead he raised her hand and kissed it.

"Of course I feel bad. I hated hurting them, especially my sergeant. I didn't realize how dedicated those men were to our training until I put them in the hospital. That's why I went to visit them on my day off. Do you realize we are the only platoon in Alren who had earned a leave?" Sensing his comment on the leave time was meant to distract her, she ignored those words altogether.

"If you feel bad why don't you quit the guard, find a job that won't make you hurt people, or worse yet, get you killed?"

Gilserand continued to smile benevolently, even though he had already covered this ground with the woman who had raised him.

"What other job out there will be paying me magister level wages? Give me a few years and you'll be able to brag that your son bosses high magister's around." The continued frown showed him that this was not on her list of priorities. It must just sound cool to me then, he realized.

"Money is not as important to me as you are, Gilserand. Please, think about finding another line of work."

Closing his eyes for a few seconds, Gilserand had to fight down a spike of ire that twisted his smile into something less than friendly. He was able to twist it back into something neutral after he opened his eyes.

"Do you remember how small I was as a boy?" he asked. The Widow's response was too quick, like a verbal panther pouncing.

"You're still a boy." Gil's lip twitched, but he forced himself to ignore that.

"I was picked on. A lot. I didn't like it, and I tried to stop it. When I saw those same bullies hurting other kids... it drove me crazy. Even though it got me beaten up, I would step in and interfere. When I got bigger and learned how to fight back, no one got bullied when I was at school. That is who I am! They are paying me to follow my nature, and that money is going to allow me to help you. That is all I ever wanted. I will be protecting an entire nation if they make me a general." This did not help.

Randera was wide eyed and uncertain, as if she were dealing with someone who refused reality. She was mostly silent through the making and eating of breakfast. Gil was thankful when he was able to break away and head for the barracks. He did not like the frustration that came from not reaching Randera the Widow and making her understand his motivations. She's being such a mom, he thought, elevating his mood with the joke as he walked the dark street south. Reflections of sun light illuminated the eastern sides of the tallest buildings, but down on the stone cobbles night still held sway. The coolness of the air presaged that the day would not be as hot as the previous five or six days had been.

Arbelest wielding guards on the barracks balconies watched Gil cross the pavement and stone yard to the military buildings, but it was the guard at the southern barracks door who actually challenged him. The dark was finally shying away from the morning light.

"Who goes there?" the guard called, holding his dueling spear crosswise, seeming to look through Gil.

"Corporal Rivenheart, Eighth Platoon," he intoned. Immediately those eyes snapped onto his face, widening slightly as if the guard had heard him claiming to be King Uldarnan. Instead of stepping aside and allowing Gilserand entry, the man turned, opened the door, then stepped aside while making himself as militarily erect as he could get.

What in the pit is this guy doing? he questioned himself, studying the man as he entered. Angling for the steps of the southern staircase, Gil noticed an office door near those steps open. This was almost a morning ritual since Gilserand had stopped staying in the barracks, a corporal from the fully trained Seventeenth Platoon stalked from that office intent on reaching the squad room of his unit. Gil was used to this man ignoring him as he followed his own quest, but this time the young man turned when he caught sight of Gilserand. The young corporal smiled and inclined his head as if they knew each other. He felt forced to nod back, while being completely mystified.

As usual the Eighth Squad's door was already open, the guys taking their time getting dressed as they conversed quietly. When he crossed the threshold and turned left for his trunk a silence fell. Turning around he found nine sets of eyes glued to him. Private Jaffe grinned and dipped his head, but the rest of the guys watched him as if he were the conductor of an orchestra who was now expected to start the music. Spreading his arms, he silently appealed to them to help him understand. What is up with everyone? Why are they acting this way? Instead of illuminating him, they slowly resumed their task of dressing, resumed conversations took a minute though.

After doffing his street clothes, he began to pull his gambeson out. Private Machen trotted over, an obsequious smile on his boyish face. This was proof that everyone's attention was not negative.

"Can I help you with that, corporal?" the private asked after delivering a salute. Soldiers did not salute a corporal unless they were being disciplined by one. Gilserand could not help but study the man as he nodded. All he saw was a fellow with too youthful features, eager to please; who also was not fully dressed and armored himself. After Machen pulled his gambeson down for him, Gil asked him from the side of his mouth.

"What's wrong with everyone? Why is everyone treating me different?"

The private was grasping the chain shirt getting it ready for Gil to worm his way into it, but he stopped and gave Gilserand a puzzled look. As though he did not understand Gilserand's confusion, Machen answered in a tone just above a whisper.

"Sir, you beat three highly trained spear fighters by yourself." Seeing that Gil was still confused he added, "You did it after only one day of extra instruction. Regular guys like the rest of us can't do anything like that, Corporal Rivenheart." He called me sir, like I am already an officer. We both could get busted for that. He put his arms then head into the chain shirt, like he was diving into a pool. When he emerged he found several men from the squad moving to join him in the corner.

I saw how to do it before I did it, he confessed to himself. Who would believe me if I said that out loud. I'd sound like a guy who had his wits stolen by the Burning Spirits. He winced just thinking about the high strangeness of the event, remembering all the other odd things he had lived through; wondering if they were tied together somehow. With expectation on their faces, the Eighth Squad gathered about.

"How did ya do it?"

"Is the Sarge gonna live?"

"Is it true that you're from a special forces unit?"

"Could you teach me how to fight like that?" They all started asking him questions at once, mostly drowning each other out.

Gilserand had faced hero worship from the little kids at school, but coming from these men the adulation just did not feel good; they too were protectors.

"Corporal Rivenheart." Sergeant Garr rumbled from the door. Immediately the squad retreated from Gilserand, returning to the morning ritual they should have been following. Gil trotted over to the noncom relieved that the attention had been lifted off him. The short stocky sergeant was tapping a white envelope against his leg, but his dour expression broke into a quick smile as he rubbed his chest. This was acknowledging the hit he had taken from Gilserand during the three-on-one fight two days ago. Good, he's not mad at me for that either. He had worried about how the sergeant was feeling, Goenz and Guerlach had been forgiving, but this was his first time meeting up with Garr after that bout.

Beckoning with a finger Gil was pulled outside of the squad room.

"I got a problem, Rivenheart. We are short in our command structure, who in there do you think can step up and help me run the Eighth?" Gilserand's stomach dropped a thousand miles. He was supposed to be helping with the squad. Crap, I'm being demoted because of that damn fight, he assumed. When his face fell, Sergeant Garr's smile grew like a sadist twisting a knife. "Who has the juice to step up, corporal?" The use of his rank pulled Gil out of his temporary funk, but other questions began to line up in his already crowded skull.

Only one name stood out, but he did not like who he was about to name.

"Sergeant, Private Tulauten has steady nerves and the assertiveness to be a noncom. All he has to do is learn that he can't bully people." The shorter man's forehead wrinkled as he considered the recommendation.

"Is that who Sergeant Goenz would choose?" That challenge made Gilserand blink, and think.

"Sarge, I can't speak for Sergeant Goenz-"

"He doesn't seem able to speak for himself now, Rivenheart." Something cold had crawled into Garr's eyes when he reminded the younger man of Goenz's throat injury, but that vanished when he saw the pain the reminder caused Gil.

Feeling wretched, Gilserand considered his task.

"Sergeant, I think Tulauten is the only choice. I think Sergeant Goenz would go through the effort to condition Tulauten to put his lesser impulses aside." A smile crept onto the noncoms face.

"'Lesser impulses....' That rates right up there with 'my teacher was hot', Rivenheart. I like how you turn a phrase. I'll take your recommendation under consideration, corporal," the muscular little man stated before holding the envelope up. "Congratulation, Rivenheart, you've been reassigned. You have passed our weapons training program twice over. Report to Captain Kinnert in the public building."

Gilserand studied the letter for several moments before he hesitantly reached for it. Yet again his world was being changed. Would he like what was coming next?

"What are they going to have me do?" he asked, looking into Garr's eyes.

"I have no clue, kid. I suspect that the next time we meet I'm going to have to salute you though." Alternating feelings plagued him during his walk to the eastern side of the keep halfway across Alren, curiosity and hope for his future vied with his dread of the unknown. The letter did not help him one way or the other; all it said was 'report to Captain Kinnert for reassignment'. No clues in there, he groused.

As a trainee, Gilserand was not yet familiar with the civic building. There were a lot of entrances on every facing of the huge building, but he was only familiar with one route to get to the captain's office. He went to the bureaucratic offices set up to accept and evaluate government job applications. Inside was a line of people that was backed almost all the way to the entrance. Muttering apologies, Gil forced himself through the press of people to the right of the queue. He made a bee line to the north eastern door that only government workers ever used. Finding door number four hundred sixty two was not a problem, Gilserand knocked.

"Enter," a muffled male voiced called back immediately. After closing the door behind himself, Gil turned, came to attention, and threw a salute.

The office was still cramped, dominated by the desk that must have been constructed inside the room; it was far to large to fit through that door. The only change to the interior was a ten foot long black case laying across Captain Kinnert's massive desk. With a lazy return salute, the officer gestured at the ugly chair already pulled up across from his seat. The older man seemed distracted by an open file on top of a tall stack of other folders. Yet when Gilserand found his seat, the officer proved ready.

"How did you like how everyone was treating you this morning?" Gil was asked.

"Sir?" he queried, not certain what he was supposed to have noticed.

Kinnert looked up from his file, his mashed nose seeming particularly flat and shiny under the glow rod.

"Didn't you notice the guard treating you differently?" How, by the Lords of Light and Life, did he know that? Gilserand's response was slow, as if his reactions had to mince through a hall full of traps.

"I did, sir. I didn't like it, sir. People were treating me like I was a hero." The captains face broke into a beaming smile before the older man returned to perusing the papers in that file.

"I think it's great. This is proof that rumors spread faster than syphilis in the guard. It only took a day and a half for the words we planted to start percolating through the West Barbican's ranks. You're achieving legendary status, and all we had to say was that you were special."

Reality lurched for Gilserand. The idea that officers in the guard were promoting lies about him did not seem like it should be real. It should not be at all.
"Sir? Why?" was all he could stammer out. What in the pits of torment is going on? This can't be real! Are all the officers in league with evil, are they disciples of the Burning Spirits? Captain Kinnert only raised his eyes for a second, a quick probe exploring the alarmed tone he had heard.

"Have you ever noticed the one thing legends have in common? They all have a mystique about them which makes their exploits larger than life. That mystique has to be built, I'm afraid." This is wrong! You don't make legends that way!

Frustration and anger vied over control of his voice.

"Sir, that's not right. Don't the people have a right to choose what they think is heroic? Shouldn't I do epic deeds before I'm lauded?" Captain Kinnert placed a finger on the file to mark his spot before he looked up. His happy smile shifted to a more serious expression, wrinkles between his brows showing a form of confusion working in the officer.

"You don't think you've done anything special, then? You did beat three men in a fierce fight?"

"Sir, no, sir. It was an accident. Something strange happened...." On the verge of confessing that he was traveling through time, or seeing the future just before it happened, a part of himself warned him from doing so. "It was a fluke, Sir. I got lucky," he ended lamely.

Being studied by the officer, who was twisting his mouth with his thoughts, made Gil want to squirm in his seat.

"Most of the people we hold up as heroic examples did little more than be lucky at the right time. A lone soldier holding a bridge or a pass against an army, or a guy who happened to strike down a pivotal villain against all odds, those are the deeds that live on in peoples minds. Look at King Lorinlil, a centuries old heroic figure to his people, before you were born he struck down that mutant freak Trillam the Trumage. He stopped the disintegration of the city states all by himself by that deed. All we're doing is planting ideas and nudging the story along with you. All armies do it, all nations shape the narratives."

Misery crumpled Gilserand's features.

"Sir, what if I don't live up to the hype? Why don't you wait for me to actually do something special first?" Returning his attention to the top page in the file, the captain sounded as if his own patience was waning.

"Our hands may have been on the lever, but what you accomplished was a deed beyond the capacity of most men. Now corporal, lets discuss your next assignment."

Hearing the finality in the officer's tone, Gilserand straightened in his chair.

"Yes, sir." Closing the file he had been reading, Captain Kinnert moved it to his left and opened the next file. His eyes began to transition back and forth as he read the form on the top.

"While you may be eager to start your officer school training, we think you might benefit from some experience in the field first. The Wild Rose of Bolloren is finalizing plans to lead a combined force of our people and his into the old forest." Fear thrilled through Gilserand's body and soul when he heard this, yet he also knew this was what his job was supposed to be about.

Turning the top most page in the file, the captain continued. "You are to report to the Fourth Cavalry in the north west barbican. You will be taking care of their animals during this expedition." The incongruity of these orders with the military's intent to elevate him above his station caused Gil to do an emotional double take.

"Sir, their animals, sir?" Kinnert smiled the smile of a man who really wanted to laugh.

"You wanted humble beginnings, we are giving you humble beginnings. You should report to Captain Liethor as soon as possible, your new job will require more from you than just scooping poop and slinging hay. Pay attention to your job because you'll start learning basic equestrian skills. All officers must have experience in riding, we're giving you a head start in that."

The officer found something in the form he had been scanning because he removed it from the file and set it before himself. Rummaging in the front drawer of his desk the familiar quill and ink bottle came out. Gil started to feel forgotten when Kinnert began taking notes on what he had found in the form. "Believe it or not, Corporal Rivenheart, we've been doing this for a long time. You think we are gaming the system, but you have to look at why we consider it necessary," the officer said suddenly placing the form back in the file. The next folder was opened and being scanned after another briefer pause. "We are dealing with the elder races who have shown Humanity a blatant disregard for what we feel and what we want.

"The Faelora have a history going back more than twenty thousand years, the Gachtler half that. Our civilization is just over five hundred years old. They consider us Humans to be nothing but clever animals imitating their successes. They think their magic and technology still makes them better than us. Do you know what prevents them from marching down here and placing the chains back on our wrists?" The sudden question threw Gil, but the officer separated another file from the pile he was working on.

"Sir, I don't know," he admitted. Captain Kinnert's eyes left the paper for a few seconds as he gave Gil a nod.

"It's our capacity to fight. Without the millennia of tricks and gadgets they have, we still match them on the field of battle. We show them that we have champions and heroes who can match their martial artists any time, any where. That gives them pause."

Gilserand felt himself blinking as his mind expanded to encompass the captain's point of view. Jotting down some more notes, the officer returned a form, moved a folder to a third pile, then opened the top of his still large stack of files. "You are young and idealistic, most young men are. You see us meddling and lying to the public when what we are actually doing is molding certain individuals who show they have a greatness in themselves. We're just trying to bring that greatness out. But it fails more often than not." This made Gilserand's brain feel crowded, like he had just received an information overload. He also began to feel a bit selfish for how he had been viewing his situation. I really didn't know how much was riding on me, or this interpretation of me that they are crafting.

Before he had a chance to express his new understanding, Captain Kinnert began dismissing him. "Did you forget your civilian clothes in your old barracks?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I left them in my locker," he admitted feeling a twinge of anxiety.

"That's okay, I did that the first time I was reassigned too. I'll have a couple of men return your clothes to your place of residence. Meantime, you should requisition a duffel bag when you get to the north west barbican, consider it a mobile trunk while you're out in the field. The baggage train will carry it for you, which will keep your back pack from becoming over filled," Captain Kinnert said as he made a one handed gesture of brushing Gilserand away. Rising to his feet he threw the officer his smartest salute.

Instead of acknowledging the courtesy, the officer blinked himself away from his work. "Oh yea, I almost forgot. Take this with you," he said indicating the long black case on his desk. Even as Gil was glancing at the mystery case, the older man's face lit up like a child getting a puppy. The pen was thrown down to create a growing dark mark on his notes, as the officer reached over and began to undo the three clasps holding the case closed. The officer pursed his mouth in appreciation as he flipped the lid open. Resting on form fitted red felt cushions was a dueling spear not quite like the spears Gilserand had been training on.

The shaft was black and had metal studs and cones in aligned rows running up the last foot of the butt end. Instead of a long tapering point, this spear had a more sword like shape to the business end, and a squat cross shaped quillions like those found on a boar spear. The metal of the sword point, cones, and pyramids looked odd, almost like woven threads of steel had been fused together like textiles. Kinnert scooted the case and spear closer to Gilserand, an unspoken encouragement for him to lift the weapon. The haft was not painted wood. There was a sandpaper like texture to the gripping area that promised increased purchase, but would still allow him to shift his grip when necessary.

Is this metal? he asked himself unsure of the spears pole which was warmer than steel usually was. While maneuvering the spear to an upright position, being careful not to hit the desk or filing cabinets, Gilserand marveled at the balance of this weapon. It was heavier than either the practice spears or real spears he had handled before, but there were weights in the haft that made this spear feel more lithe in his hands. The blades of the longsword like tip looked supremely sharp, trying to shave with these edges would most likely end in disaster.

"This feels like it wants to move, sir. A little bit of practice with it, and a guy would be really dangerous to his enemies. I'd love to spin this and test the balance, but I'd trash your office, sir."

Noticing how his quill was staining his sheet of notes, Captain Kinnert scooped the writing instrument up while giving the paper a truly annoyed glare.

"Yes, outside of my office get some practice... get a lot of practice. Oh, yea, corporal, there are a few things you should know first," he told Gil while giving his pile of work a glance. "This metal here, this alloy, it is a new trick our good old Bolloren magisters learned. You know how smiths have to get their various metals hot before they fuse them with hammers. We figured out how to blend a variety of different grades of steel into this alloy here, and they use their relics to do it without heat.

"This thing is stronger than any armor or weapon born with fire and hammer, not even Gachtler metal crafting. In a duel you'll notice their weapons coming away nicked and dinged up, yours... haven't seen it take a scratch yet. We are having a practice spear made for you, it will have the same weight and weight distribution as your real one. You should get going now, I'll have the spear's case sent to your home." With that, Gilserand was dismissed. He was soon to learn of the hazing traditions practiced between the infantry and cavalry units.

The room where the community center had it's dishes washed was fairly spacious. The east wall had the entrance in the north east wall, a table that was ten feet long and three feet wide sat just off the northern water basin. The southern basin and table were a mirror image of the other, the basins had a drain in the floor in the one foot wide space between them. A tall cabinet, standing open and almost empty was supposed to hold cleaning agents and scrubbing tools; now they held dust, webs, desiccated bug parts, a broken moldy crate, and the handle that had belonged to a scrub brush. That sat along the south eastern wall.

The south wall had chest high cabinets sitting under a tall row of cupboards. Those storage spaces were filled with the community center's ceramic dishes. Those had a tan glaze with two flowers that had the same simplistic leaves and stems; rust red pansies and chocolate brown daisies bobbed on stalks too thin to support any flower. A metal corner table sat in the south west corner. Cabinets and cupboards, also filled with gaudy dishes, were aligned against the entire south west wall and northwest wall, broken by another three by three foot metal table between those storage spaces. A bench like wooden table filled the Northern wall, almost twenty feet long.

The wood of that table was scored with thin cut lines showing it was a food preparation surface, which in all reality, did not belong in a washing room. Leachelle was busy trying to identify a decades old sticky spot on the southern table serving one of the empty basins. The pipes running to the floor would not be carrying any water until the building was hooked back up to Bolloren's aqueducts, and she was supposed to be cleaning the basins and their tables without soap and water. Her dusting wand and cloth would not be getting rid of the gooey mass at the back edge of the metal surface, where it flared up to help channel water to the floor drain.

"There is another crate under this cabinet," Mishiel called out. "Could you give me a hand?" Leachelle had already dropped her dusting brush and rag.

While the crate was not large, it was still heavy; and it rattled when they stood with it in their arms. They were both dressed in the pale blue servant's dresses and shirts that were also allotted by the Daughters of the Word.

"More dishes for sure. Mugs or saucers more than likely." So far this was the seventh crate they had fished from the cabinets and cupboards, they had been stacking these finds up near the western walls little middle table. Though Mishiel lifted up a small crowbar they had been furnished with, she gave Leachelle an expectant look; even wiggling her fine eyebrows suggestively. Leachelle had to look to the door to make sure they were alone before she pulled her relic level wand from the heavy fabric of her light blue work skirt.

Though Leachelle knew many ways to make the magic do their work for them, the Daughters of the Word felt that elbow grease built character. Neither one of them had proven strong enough to crack these crates open with the tool they had been given though, so Leachelle had been relying on her hidden mahogany wand. Mishiel could not see the dozens of threads of energy Leachelle pulled forth, all she could see were the hand gestures used to form a hollow straw. Leachelle then pinched the end of her mystic straw so the end was flat. Inserting that flat edge between the crates top and walls, Leachelle then inflated all the energy strands, blowing them up like balloons. Nails screeched as they were displaced by the rising lid.

A dozen light tan beer steins, with the gouache floral pattern, were nesting inside old straw.

"Hey, this is new," Mishiel stated with deadpan sarcasm.

Three crates had been full of tea cups with the same awful design, two crates of saucers, one crate of bowls, and one full of assorted silverware that had a lion head motif on the tangs. Indeed the steins were a new addition. All those cupboards would have to be unloaded, both the cabinets and the dishes themselves were coated in dust, rat droppings, and the carcasses of deceased bugs. The two tables around the basins aren't big enough to hold all the dishes stored in this room, we're going to have to do some creative stacking on the floor if we're to finish all the dusting and sweeping.

After making a face at the dinner ware's less than pleasing pattern, Mishiel glanced up.

"Do you think they will make us take the inventory of all these dishes? I hope not, my snot has turned gray from all the dust we've kicked up. It feels that all the dirt we remove is stacking up on my body, and I don't like it." Though Leachelle could sympathize, her friend had stated something that she had to comment on.

"If you're taking the time to pick your nose to examine your boogers, then you are not keeping up on your end of the work." Caught by surprise, Mishiel opened her eyes wide before she was forced to hide her laugh behind her hands.

At the end of their mirth the beautiful girl chose to wag a warning finger at Leachelle for going with the less than savory humor. Feeling pleased with herself, she addressed her friend's concerns. "Doing the inventory would be a lot better than being stuck washing all these dishes. However, I don't think that will be our fate. I don't even think we will finish dusting and sweeping in the two hours we have left on our shifts. There are a lot of dishes we still have to displace in order to clean the cupboards and cabinets." After a few seconds of consideration, Mishiel inclined her head to her to concede the reasoning in that answer.

"We should sweep up under the washing station tables, we can stack dishes under and on the tables. That will get them out of our hair for a time." Mishiel suggested, showing that her friend had also been pondering the same problems she herself had foreseen.

They both moved to retrieve the brooms they had been assigned. After a few days of volunteering for the Daughters of the Word, Leachelle had learned how to use mops and brooms; she had even scrubbed floors for the first time in her life. They both took opposite tables to work under, sweeping so that they would meet under the basins. "So what was this about your enemy being kicked out of the palace?" Mishiel asked after a few moments.

"Taleen isn't my enemy... well I'm not hers, but she seems to have chosen me to hate," she confessed.

"You yoinked her out of her chair by her hair, and you don't consider yourself her enemy?"

Embarrassed for being called out on that regrettable incident, she laughed a little self consciously.

"I guess I don't want to be her enemy, but she forces my hand. Anyway, she was not kicked out of the palace, she had to move out. Her father's artifact level relic burned out, became mundane. Since he wasn't able to bond with anything but a relic level relic, he was no longer ranked high enough to be a palace protector," Leachelle reported with a shrug, trying to imagine that happening to her father.

"That's harsh. What if she bonds with an artifact when she advances?" IF she advances, was her first thought, but this made her feel less than charitable.

Something scuttled from her broom strokes, a spider that chose to race towards Leachelle. Mewling in distaste she crushed the creepy crawly with her foot, shuddering at the deed.

"I don't know," she said after the chills left her spine. "His Majesty will either invite her back or have her stationed in one of the support communities around Bolloren." Mishiel's squeal shocked her, as the girl dropped her broom and raced away from a bug her broom had dislodged. That shrill sound continued in a sustained note of fear until she jumped up and sat on the cutting board table to the north. The cockroach, in full panic mode, charged one direction, then another, and then a third not knowing where safety could be found.

As Leachelle had been doing after their chaperon had left them alone, she whipped out her relic. In the act of returning to the same crease it had come from, she hit the insect with a ribbon of power; snapping the magic like a whip that made the cockroach splay and bounce; just as dead as the stomped spider. Sighing in obvious relief, Mishiel climbed down from her refuge and returned to her broom. She watched the dead bug all the way back as if she feared it were a monster that was only feigning death. Beautiful face marred by distaste, Mishiel gingerly scooted the little orange brown body into her pile of sweepings.

Once that chore was done, the girl was able to return to her normal speed of work.

"We've only been at this for a week and a half, and I'm already tired of it," Mishiel grumbled. That admission hurt Leachelle for some reason. While the work was not glamorous, she had been looking at her volunteered hours as an adventure. Her mother had been a member long ago. She had just assumed her new friend had looked at the DOW work the same way she had. "That's it, let's take a break, Leachelle my bell. All the other ladies do that, and we've been working for several hours straight," Mishiel demanded while leaning her broom against the north basin.

With all the work that was needed in this room, Leachelle was reluctant to stop. The way her friends face suddenly lit up with an idea swayed her towards choosing truancy. Beckoning her close, Mishiel shared her thought, her face taking on a surreptitious cast.

"Let's see what the other women talk about when they think they're alone." Her eyes naturally narrow, Mishiel's lids seemed to take on a shifty aspect as she grinned in anticipation of the confidences she would overhear. Secretly listening in on people was an old game for Leachelle, yet for some reason this suggestion did not sit well; this seemed to lack innocence.

Moving with a soft glide, Mishiel moved to the door before casting a conspiratorial grin her way. Trying hard to not let her reluctance show, Leachelle followed. No matter how hard she tried she could not smooth the crease between her eyes. Why do I feel like Tuchurok the Gobesh saint who withstood the temptations of seven Burning Spirits? Still grinning, her friend stuck her head out of the door, looking up and down the downstairs corridor. Holding her finger over her lips, Mishiel tip toed into the hall heading north towards the kitchens and prep areas.

East and west, six dumbwaiters filled the walls in banks of three. Two grown men could fit into each lift, if they had been in functioning order. Just north of the dumbwaiters were the swinging doors of the kitchens, along the east wall. The whisk whisk of brooms in motion met the two girl's ears, then the voices of two young women. They settled next to the doors, crouching as if that would help them avoid getting caught. At first Leachelle did not understand the topic of conversation, but as certain words were used, she discovered they were talking about sexual foreplay. One girl complained bitterly about how her boyfriend did not have imagination or skill enough to stimulate certain erogenous zones.

Leachelle was mortified, which made her start to pull away, but Mishiel's sneering grin shocked her. This isn't for us to hear! Why does Mishiel look so avaricious, like she's hungry to hear more? This is just wrong! After another minute of the one girl gushing about her lover's prowess, and the other lamenting the lack thereof, she had heard enough of all the graphic details. Standing up, she shook her head in denial at Mishiel's uncomprehending glance. Though she stepped softly, she still left her friend at those doors and the dirty talk within. She had finished sweeping under the basins and had a third of the southern cupboard unloaded by the time Mishiel returned from her eaves dropping.

The girl's return caused Leachelle to feel worse, which made her unable to maintain any eye contact. For a time Mishiel stood at the door observing her without word. The scrutiny felt like judgment, and she was being found wanting without a defense that did not ride on emotion. When the weight of silence grew too heavy, she finally stopped working long enough for a glance. She found hard eyes that slowly softened in a face void of expression. "What made you leave?" That question should not make me feel so defensive, Leachelle complained in her thoughts. Feeling like she was on her back foot seemed to slow her thinking, before she realized she was trying to find an excuse or a prevarication that would not touch her real thoughts at all.

Clearing her throat, she told the truth; yet her eyes shied away from her beautiful friend's face.

"That was their conversation, and it was about things that were very personal to them...." Shaking her head was all it took to make Leachelle trail off.

"You don't have a boyfriend do you?" The incredulity in Mishiel's voice was heavy, as if her friend had a hard time getting her mind around that idea. "You're a virgin?" That secondary question felt like a smack in the face. An old urge to hide under her covers swept over Leachelle for a few moments.

She had to draw herself up before she answered.

"Every where I go, Taleen and her friends have been there first. Every guy I meet, calls me 'skinny princess' to my face when they recognize my name. Imagine trying to date someone who starts off with a low opinion of you from rumors and innuendos fostered by people who hate you. I deserve someone who will rate me based off of me, not what others have said of me." For a few moments hidden things flickered through Mishiel's wide narrow intense eyes, all of a sudden a smile flared up.
"Me, me, me, it's all about me." The laugh buoyed Leachelle's spirits, made her feel things were back to the way they should be. "Taleen can't be everywhere- wait.... Are you going to the DOW dance at the twenty Third Division's officer's club? It's next midweek, starting at four o'clock and lasting til nine."

Laughter proved to be a valve that released all the pressure of the last ten minutes.

"The Daughter's of Night only allow the girls to join the dance if they helped set up the party. They would put us to work if we showed up. I don't want to stay up on a work week taking or returning coats at the door." Waving Leachelle's worries away with a negligent wave of her hand, Mishiel addressed her concerns.

"No, no, no. A gentleman is allowed to bring a date to DOW dances if they wish. My boyfriend has a friend who just moved here from Alren, we could set you up if you wish. He's a really nice guy, a lieutenant from the Ninth Halbadiers...."]]>

Ch5
Volunteer