And as he entered the heart of the Oaken Grove once more, the little weed’s stomach wrenched savagely.
“Calla!” Thorn-Ren cried out as he rushed to his little picnic.
Thorn-Ren’s heart broke as he looked upon the ransacked remains of all his preparations. The food, drinks and blanket he had put out had all been trampled, indicating there had been a recent struggle. The little weed studied the foot tracks, seeing the distinctive markings of plant people. And it was then that Thorn-Ren saw battered petals strewn upon the ground that could only come from a pink lotus blossom.
At the sight of the petals, Thorn-Ren fell to his knees. Taking them into his hands, the little weed fought tears, allowing himself to lose such a struggle. He had done what he thought was right and it had allowed harm to come to Calla. This was the consequence he had paid for his actions. Calla was now a prisoner to a hostile force who likely blamed her for Thorn-Ren’s actions.
And it was all his fault.
Deciding Destiny
Rowan
Deep nightfall had come to rest over the pantheryn city of Randoon. Save for patrolling guards, the bulk of the inhabitants were asleep. A relative quiet now permeated through the city, much like the gentle clouds that were amassing softly overhead. All was calm. All was peaceful.
And for Rowan, it was the perfect opportunity to clear her head and think.
Garbed in black, blades at her sides, Rowan snuck through the streets she had always called home. Yet now, something about Randoon felt constricting. Ever since she had received the news from her parents, everything had changed for the young pantheryn. Left with a daunting decision and weight upon her chest, Rowan had opted for an adventure into the unknown.
Waiting for a patrolling guard to pass, Rowan snuck to the west outer wall of Randoon. Looking over the side, she tied a rope and tossed it over the ledge. Making sure it was secure for later, Rowan then checked for passing eyes that might have caught sight of her. Satisfied that she had remained unseen, Rowan leaped over the ledge to the ground below. Hitting the ground with her feet, Rowan crouched and allowed her hands to brace her before she rolled to absorb the momentum. Now free of Randoon, Rowan sprinted into the night and away from her imposed destiny, even if it were for only an evening.
Rowan instantly gravitated to the dense forest west of Randoon, as it was a venerable playground of animals and magic creatures. Also, it kept her out of sight from stuffy patrols and judging eyes which suited her just fine. Once immersed within the trees, the young pantheryn smiled deeply for the true fun could finally begin. Taking a moment to relish the feeling, Rowan sprinted deeper into the forest, not caring for the destination but rather the journey.
Rowan pushed her body to its limits, traversing the forest with swift, agile ease. She enjoyed the sensation completely, feeling the air against her fur as she moved gracefully. Never slowing her pace, Rowan drew upon her limbs, leaping some 12 feet to land upon a large tree limb. Looking about and deciding which direction might offer the most trouble, Rowan grinned again as she jumped down upon the ground once more, sprinting faster than before into the heart and the darkest parts of the forest.
As she ran further and further, Rowan began to let her thoughts embrace her feelings. She had never really thought about what she wanted to do with her life, yet she had also never considered being a diplomat. It was a profession in her family, passed down with prestige for generations on end. Yet nothing about it appealed to her. Rowan had never been one to mix words. The very thought of that while sitting in on meetings and councils bored her beyond all measure.
Yet, there was more than just a decision to be had. Whatever Rowan decided held its consequences. And of course, there was no assurance that her parents would even allow her to decide her own course. Training with the sword had been decided on as a pleasant distraction and a means to protect herself, not an avenue to a different life.
So caught up was Rowan that she did not first see the commotion ahead of her run. Coming around a large tree, Rowan almost stumbled headlong into trouble. Instinctively, the pantheryn dove for cover, crawling upon the ground before stealthily climbing the tree. Now squatting upon a large branch, Rowan was offered a clear view of the commotion going on below her.
“Well bite my tail,” breathed Rowan as she looked on. “What do we have here?”
Below her, Rowan could see that she had almost ran through a small village of woodland creatures. She recognized them from her studies, for the creatures were dryads, small woodland nymphs and tree folk that made their homes in forests. She had never seen them up close before, but the pictures in books did not do them justice. She saw a cluster of them now of varying heights, the tallest coming just above her knees. Some labeled them nuisances, but Rowan had never seen proof of this claim.
The dryads ran about on their two feet, looking equal parts of brown or green flesh and wood. Their eyes were deep emerald with most of them holding pained expressions at the moment. The only major difference were their sizes, for each held heads of hair made of bark, leaves, moss or combinations of the three. Some wore simple clothing and not a weapon was to be seen among them.
It was then that Rowan focused on the cause of their frustration. There below kicking and cursing his way through their homes and crops was an agitated pantheryn wearing ragged clothes. The pantheryn’s white fur was dirty and unkempt and the sight of him made Rowan’s own fur ruffle. The pantheryn below stomped among the dryads trying to protect their little village. The very act looked to be pleasing the man as he continued his tirade.
“Blasted pests! Make this easy on yourselves and stand aside,” the pantheryn below spat as he kicked a dryad to the ground. He began to tear up some of their crop to place in his satchel as he searched about for more bounty.
One of the larger of the dryads rushed forward, keeping himself between the tormenter and the smaller of his kin. “Stop at once! There is no reason for this, for we have nothing of value for you. Seek your jollies elsewhere!”
The pantheryn laughed as he grabbed the dryad with one hand, lifting it easily. He held the swagger of one who enjoyed wine and spirits too much. “There is every reason, you little bag of splinters. I want food. I want drink. And I want the treasures you are hoarding. Everyone knows that’s all your kind is good for,” he coughed.
The dryad struggled in his grasp. “You are mistaken. We are peaceful creatures who only wish to live our lives,” he pleaded.
“Bah!” The pantheryn tossed the dryad against a tree as he searched about more. Kicking at a little door within a tree trunk, he knelt and fished a hand inside, searching blindly for items of worth.
Watching the man below made Rowan’s skin crawl. She fought the urge from her claws, for they wished to emerge on their own. The pantheryn below her was easily twice her size and she had no way of telling his full strength or ability. Yet she also knew that she could not go for help. She was already outside city walls at night and if she could return it would be too late to help these creatures.
Or you could join him.
The voice she heard gave Rowan quite a start as she almost stumbled from her perch. She looked about, but other than the dryads and the pantheryn below her, now one else was around. Something about the voice was soothing somehow, yet the sensation it offered sent a chill through her regardless. Her claws dug into the tree supporting her as the voice returned.
There are treasures below, treasures of worth that the creatures are unaware of, all there for the taking. And it is merely the start. You can make a name for yourself and acquire riches beyond your wildest dreams. It all starts with you. You need to do nothing more than act upon your desires.
Rowan tried to shake the spell that had her in its grips but was finding it difficult. The promise of freedom in that offer enticed her. All the times she had been told what to do and how she had to live swarmed in a barrage of imagery. She wanted nothing more than to be free of such things forever.
Below her the dr
yad that had been thrown recovered its wits and feet before rushing the pantheryn again. Jumping upon the pantheryn’s back, the dryad fought to remove the thief from the home he was pillaging through. The pantheryn hissed, bringing himself to his feet before throwing the dryad off his back. Putting his sword away, he lifted the dryad up by its arms before snarling at it.
“You speed my hand, woodland curse,” said the pantheryn. The blood sap of your kind is also a cherished prize to be sold. I will gladly start with you,” he added before he began to pull at the arms of the dryad.
At the strain, the dryad in peril howled in pain. The sound brought Rowan back to clarity as she shook the influence from her thoughts. She knew time was preciously short. Other dryads pleaded with the pantheryn as their friend’s arms began to splinter and give way.
With her decision set in stone, the young pantheryn shook her head. “I’m sorry, whoever you are but there is only one way for Rowan of Randoon. And that is my own,” she said before drawing her swords and jumping into the heart of the dryad village.
As Rowan landed, many of the dryads gasped and jumped back, unable to know what her intentions were. Fixing on the pantheryn before her, Rowan shot forward before sliding beneath the tortured dryad and past his tormentor. As she did, she extended one of her swords, slashing at the belt and pouch upon her foe. As they fell to the ground, the pantheryn was forced to release the dryad so that he could use his hands to keep his pants up. The surrounding dryads began to cheer as Rowan stood once more with a flourish to face the villain in the village.
Recovering, the bandit pantheryn turned to face his own tormentor, practically snarling with anger. “Who do you think you are to come at me with such audacity?” he demanded.
Rowan gave him a dramatic bow as she responded. “I am Rowan of Randoon of course, and I assure you that the audacity comes in a limitless supply. Now are you ready to stop picking on defenseless woodland folk or are you in need of a proper smiting first?”
Her opponent drew his sword. “You will regret the day you crossed me, child,” he growled before advancing.
Rowan shrugged with a grin. “A smiting it is then,” she replied before advancing herself.
The bandit came at Rowan with nothing offered in terms of mercy or restraint. His sword slash was meant to send Rowan to the Dream without hesitance. Rowan countered it easily with the sword in her left hand before twisting her wrist and disarming her foe. As she did the sword in her right hand went behind his legs as she continued her advance. Not wishing to be cut, the bandit brought his legs forward, falling on his back in the process. Rowan held her swords upon the bandit with a satisfied smirk.
“Well, all that hot air certainly didn’t inflate your skill in the slightest,” she chuckled.
“You will pay for that,” said her opponent as he sat up defiantly.
“You first,” countered Rowan.
As she spoke, Rowan pushed the tips of her blades into the bandit’s chest, prompting him to inch backwards. She continued this until his back bumped into the large tree presiding over the village. She then motioned to the dryads watching her. The little creatures gathered some rope and twine as they tied the bandit to the base of the tree. The bandit stared icily at Rowan as the little woodland creatures went about their work.
The bandit shook his head as a feral grin spread across his face. “You have no idea what you have done tonight, child,” he said.
Rowan put her swords away as she looked about the little village. “Well it appears that I brought the smite down upon a stuffy bully who can only best foes a third of his size,” she offered easily. “Not to worry though, I will have the guards come fetch you in the morning for your crimes. I feel it’s important to keep our forests clean of riff-raff.”
At this the bandit laughed harshly. “You are too naïve. For even with all your skill all you have done is annoyed me. Do you not know who I am?”
Rowan shrugged. “A fool who inspires me to violence?” She asked.
The smugness never left the bandit as he replied. “No. I am Timvor of Randoon and the Herrion royal blood line. I was once a diplomat and my pull among pantheryns is stronger than yours will ever be,” he said triumphantly.
Rowan thought for a moment before recognition hit her. “Timvor…ah, yes! My parents have spoken of you. Spoiled. Corrupt. Left Randoon in humiliation. It seems you have done well for yourself in your not-so-self-imposed exile,” she replied.
“I do what I want, kitten! You are but a child who does not understand the ways of the world. My path is my own, above your reprieve and there is nothing you can do about it,” he challenged.
Rowan scratched at the back of her ear as she tried to understand the depths of crazy she was reasoning with. “Well I won’t lie to you, Timvor. Your way stinks. And you are nine lives full of loony if you think I am going to let you escape justice,” she countered.
“I am not crazy,” he said as he motioned with his head to his satchel. Just look in my bag. You will see,” he added.
Rowan shook her head as she fetched the bag. Opening it, she procured a rolled-up parchment sealed with the Herrion crest. She wiggled it in her hand as she looked back at Timvor. “Is this what you are babbling on about?”
“Indeed,” said Timvor as he continued to grin. “That is a full pardon for any past or future crimes within the lands of Randoon. No one can question its authority, save for the king of Randoon or High King Landen. I have the power to do whatever I please, free of your so-called justice and there is nothing a brat like you can do about it. So, Rowan of Randoon, whatever do you think of that?”
Rowan clenched her fists as she made a step toward Timvor, yet she stopped. Giving herself time to think, the young pantheryn smiled again as she nodded at her prisoner. “You are right. There is little I can do about this pardon,” she said.
Timvor nodded. “Now release me, child,” he ordered.
Rowan laughed. “Oh, I definitely think not. Though I will take this satchel and pardon with me back to Randoon for safe keeping. It will be there waiting for you when you choose to claim it,” she said quite smugly.
Timvor’s eyes widened. “You cannot do that!”
Rowan threw up her hands. “Hey, you said it yourself. You are above any of my reprisals and even any justice you may have earned yourself in the walls of Randoon,” she said before motioning to the dryad around her. “But that little pardon doesn’t say anything about their justice,” she added. At these words, the dryad began to gather around Timvor. The looks they offered the rogue were far from pleasant as the little creatures took stock of the damage he had wrought on their homes.
Seeing their eyes upon them, Timvor shook his head feverishly. “No. You cannot do this. Rowan of Randoon, I surrender to you. Take me to Randoon, I beg you!”
Rowan shrugged again, helplessly. “Hey, if I did that, you wouldn’t learn anything at all. Besides, we both know how that would turn out with a sniveling weasel like yourself,” she said before turning to the dryad she had saved. “I trust you will do the right thing,” she offered to him.
The little woodland creature nodded to her. “I will. And thank you, pantheryn. You forever have a friend in us,” he said.
Rowan nodded to this as she turned to head back to Randoon.
The young pantheryn continued her walk amidst the pleas of Timvor, an unpleasant ear experience that was made more tolerable with distance. As she did so, she looked at the man’s satchel and the pardon he had possessed, shaking her head at such an offering. If this was the life that was waiting for her, she didn’t know how long she could stomach it.
As she walked, Rowan felt more diminished with each step closer to the walls of Randoon. Something about the night’s events had felt right to her, like it was what she was meant to do. And yet she could tell no one of her exploits. All that remained for her was to sneak back into Randoon, crawl into bed and enjoy the last remaining hours before tradition carried her off to a life she knew was not he
r own.
The Flight and Fall
Ellis Ander
As the doors of the dwarven kingdom of Lognar opened, Ellis Ander Crow waited patiently to exit. The avian had an arm around the shoulder of the young gnome Roderick and the child had deeply relished his visit. Ellis Ander could tell by the hold the boy had on him that Rodrick was reluctant to let him return to Varion. And while he was disinclined to part ways too, Ellis Ander knew that duty called, regardless of his own desire.
“Do you have to go already?” Roderick asked as he looked up to the avian in earnest.
Ellis Ander placed his hand upon the gnome’s head. “I do unfortunately, my young friend. Though I must say that it has been an incredible visit,” he said.
On the side opposite of Rodrick, one of Lognar’s greatest defenders, Eeymor the Stoutheart nodded his approval. “It is the way of things, young Rodrick. I am bound to the defenses of Lognar as is Ellis Ander to those of Varion,” he offered.
“I know,” replied Rodrick, his voice filled with disappointment. “But I don’t have to like it.”
At this, Ellis Ander chuckled. “The young man, speaks true,” he said before extending a hand to shake to Eeymor. “Eeymor, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you are caring for Rodrick yourself.”
Eeymor shook the avian’s hand proudly. “Trust me, Ellis Ander, it is my honor. Besides, it is nice to have someone to care for again, though we remain ever vigilant for his parents. There is always the chance that they still could be found. I have scouts searching as we speak. For now, I enjoy the company,” he said.
Ellis Ander nodded to Eeymor’s reply. “I’ve had my own scouts doing flights over the region as well. It’s my hope that one of our searches shall bear fruit,” he said, though both he and Eeymor were not optimistic about the chances. “For now, Rodrick is safe, and your hands shall remain full, Sir Eeymor.”
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