Library: A GM's Tale

A tale. Mithrir studied the grove ahead of him with his usual calmness. The green grass rippled slowly with the breeze and the sound of leaves chattering slowly faded into the distance. The trees seemed quiet and still, yet in the ways unknown to most they told the ranger all he needed to know. "They passed by here no more than two nights ago", he said casually. "We're gaining on them, and they know it. They're moving faster now." With a quick lunge he was on his mount and swiftly riding westward. His group followed him without question; they'd learned long ago to trust his instincts. He was no ordinary traveller and he had silently assumed the role of their leader without anyone questioning him. Over the past few months the party had been through many battles, and a deep trust had formed among them. The group raced through the trees with little more than a rustle of leaves left behind to show their passing. -------------------- "FASTER!" Oghrak yelled. His fellow orcs were slowing him down and he had no intention of meeting the brown haired man in battle again. It had been three weeks since their first encounter, and the small band of whelps they'd chosen as their prey had proven to be more than he had bargained for. If he had known anything of the fiery anger the 5 of them would strike back with, he'd have never slit the woman's throat and stolen her pouch and axe. What looked like an easy target ended up costing him nearly half of his hunting party and almost cost him his own life. Casually he looked down at his side and grimaced as the memory flashed fully in his mind. The man had come out of nowhere with unbelievable speed. Two of his strongest illak's had fallen before they could react, and Oghrak himself had barely parried what would surely have proven to be a fatal blow. It didn't take long for him to realize he'd made a grievous mistake and the retreat was quickly made. It was only after running for a few hundred meters that Oghrak peered back to see the carnage he'd begun. A large group of his men had fled with him, but almost as many were either dead or fighting still - unaware that they'd been abandoned in the heat of battle. The flurry of swords and orcish screams had quickened his pace and led him to the forest he now ran through at full speed. -------------------- "They're heading toward the Charand Crags. It'll be hard to follow if they enter one of the deep caves." Aranor stated. Mithrir knew he was right, and knew their time was running out. Their steeds were growing tired and he didn't think they'd be able to push on much longer at this pace. If they hadn't spent as much time giving Nilai a proper burial the chase might have been over already, but duty and love couldn't have be ignored. For the next two hours the group followed Mithrir through a series of rocky trails. They made their way down into the low crags, following a trail that only the ranger seemed to see. Despite the winding path, they never doubled back or crossed their own paths - always decending toward the depths of the earth. A hand suddenly shot up from the dark cloak and the party dismounted in unison. Ahead were the unmistakable forms of over a dozen orcs. Most of them were resting, while a few of the larger were arguing amongst themselves - apparently in dispute about which way to go. Aranor and Dardil knocked their bows and took aim at the closest orcs. Mithrir slipped around some rocks to get closer. In an instant Mithrir leapt from behind a rock, striking across the midsection of an orc with his blade. At the same instant the sound of arrows in flight whipped through the air and the next two dropped to the ground. The singing of steel echoed from the rocks as Broch and Pranra joined Mithrir in close combat. The sound of metal was joined by the yells of orcs and men as the groups collided in battle. Near the back of the skirmish a large orc slipped into a dark crack. He thought he would escape without notice, but ran hard into the dark when he noticed a cloaked figure enter behind him. Oghrak felt, for the first time in many years, fear for his life. -------------------- Two days had passed since the battle at Charand Crags, and the party had found no sign of their missing companion. They'd checked the battle remains three times before burning the remains to a smoldering pile of gray ash. With ample rations and supplies, their camp was becoming comfortable - yet worry had begun to set in amongst the men. It was on the morning of the third day when a somber figure walked into the camp. They all jumped and instinctively reached for their weapons, as the man had entered silently into the perimeter of the makeshift circle of the camp. He said nothing as he sat beside the small fire and reached for rations from a pack on the ground. As the weapons lowered and the questions began, a hand rose up in a gesture of silence. "My journey with you all is at its end. I'll not discuss what happened in the dark underground, but my heart has changed." His voice was soft as he spoke in a steady tone. "I don't feel the pull of my heart to go from this place. I feel the need to relearn some truths of the wilderness I've forgotten, and build the connection to the earth that I once knew." Silence. One by one the companions spoke with Mithrir, and one by one they turned and left the camp. Something had indeed changed in this man, and as Aranor at last turned to leave he took one last look at the man he'd come to know as his friend. The flowing brown hair.. and deep green sparkling eyes, with a slightly crazy look in them. Mithrir stared back at Aranor. The ranger raised Nilai's axe up into the air and sparks seemed to flash from its edges. A look of insanity seemed to settle into his eyes as his voice echoed from the rocks: "I am Mithrir! This ground is now my home! Woe to all orcs who pass by my blade!" "Mithrandir", Aranor whispered silently to himself, and he turned to leave.

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