The Wanderer

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teflor the ranger
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The Wanderer

Postby teflor the ranger » Fri Sep 24, 2004 9:05 am

The Wanderer

Dedicated to the fortunes of a good friend, Duna Hawkfeather. This is the story of a ranger and a wandering soul.

Part I: Introduction

With the end of the darkest of ages upon the Realms, the people expected that peace would displace the long nightmare of warfare, death, and destruction. The various states and races had drawn comfortably their boundaries and built their civilizations in what seemed like a harmony of balances. Trade and communication as well as a sense of advancement in all the Realms gave each state, each race the feeling of interconnectivity, of a kind of passive friendship. The great alliances had begun to fade as the great armies ceased to wander the lands, dissolving into guilds and defense forces of great cities and states. Even the greatest arts of destructive and defensive magic crumbled from their lofty towers, giving way to modern interests as the merchants of every race drew their interests from the supplies and weapons of war, to lavender silk and exotic desert spices.

The people of the lands became complacent behind their fortified walls, pleased at their own false sense of security. None seem to care much for the plight of those outside of their grand cities of wonder and lights. Dwelling within their guarded cities, the great civilizations of the Realms knew nothing of the great evil that grew amidst them in their brave, new world. Secret networks formed under the command of religious fundamentalists, guild masters, profiteers, and crime bosses. These elements began small, locally, quietly laboring to expand their influence and power, keeping mostly to themselves and limiting their activities amongst each other. It was as these elements gained in power, that they began to consolidate under the leadership of madmen.

The activities of these rogue elements increased dramatically in scope and size as their organizations began to reflect the personalities of their dark masters, most of which were bent on their own power. It was not long before there were created the type of men who would take pleasure in using the tools of violence and terror upon the innocent and the helpless.

This was the new age, when the people in all the realms had begun to forget about the freedom and justice that so many had once died for. Through corruption and complacency, the fighting spirit of the great races had waned as the great leaders sat on their hands, the great defenders stand at rest looking inwards from the walls of the cities, and the great people of the realms willing to sacrifice their conscience to gain the illusion of peace. Where have all the proud warriors gone? Where are the noble men whom have sacrificed everything for all that we hold truly dear?

There may have been one. We called him “the Wanderer.”
Last edited by teflor the ranger on Sat Sep 25, 2004 6:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Sat Sep 25, 2004 6:52 am

Part II: A Short Tall Tale

The drunken adventurer you were listening to pauses for a moment as he ponders on the murky liquid in his mug.

“Do you want to hear about the Wanderer?” he asks, droning on before you get the chance to answer. He goes on to tell you some sort of anecdotal story of insignificant occurrence with the Wanderer and his own travels. He trails off as he forgets either the plot or the point of his story, putting his arms around your shoulders. “You know, I like you. You should know his story.” Downing the remains of his refreshment, a serving maid is quick to slide another one his way.

“To tell you about a ranger…” he pauses, musing at his own words. “To tell you how he came to the bow, or two the sword, or to venturing deep into the wilderness not in search of fame or fortune…”

The man pauses again, clearly pleased with how he was telling the story. The tavern was practically empty now, and even the serving maids gathered nearby to hear the tale.

“And that would be much less than to tell you how, or why he travels alone.”

The ale in the mug he held gave the partly drunken adventurer a slight smile as he downed another gulp. He holds you close to him as he begins his tale…

Teflor was born in a human village, somewhere far to the north, where winter covered the majority of their seasons. Deep into his eighth winter, he had escaped the village, wandering into the wilderness alone and unprepared. Where he had collapsed, he was rescued by an old northern ranger, perhaps the last of his kind, who brought him to another small settlement tucked just into the mountains and into the care and arms of a kind innkeeper.

“I’ve heard him tell this story only once, an’ I can’t quite remember exactly how he tells it,” the drunken adventurer breaks from his story for a moment, “but I do remember how he tells one part of it.”

Lliandra, her name was Lliandra.

Lliandra was also an orphan, not too much older than Teflor. She took him in and raised him as her own, where he learned to cook, clean, and keep the tavern patrons under an alcoholic haze. He spent most of his youth at his inn, partly because the inn had become so busy, and partly because he didn’t at all relate to the other children. As he grew older, he became mesmerized by Lliandra’s tales of her father’s adventures, which eventually lead him to learn the ways of the wilderness, to pick up the ways of the sword and the bow, spending more and more time out in the wilds. Although she did not realize it, Lliandra had become all things to Teflor. Even the time he spent away from her was due to the great reverence with which she spoke of her father.

She was everything to him, companion, friend, family, and on their last night together, lover.

The drunken adventurer halts there in his story, pointing just under his left eye. “Ya’ know, I’ve only seen on him a single scar. Rriiiiiggghhtt here.” The drunk belches once, settling his stomach just a little before throwing back the rest of his drink. “I’ve never been able ta’ heal that scar, of all the wounds on ‘im I’ve seen. But then again, I’m shite as ah’ cleric.”

The night they became lovers, he took up her father’s blades, an orc horde had descended upon the settlement, seeking to push the humans out of their claimed territory. The ranger did everything he could to fight off the horde, but at the end of the night, the villagers were dead and Lliandra had taken her own life with one of her father’s two blades, knowingly taking revenge from the ranger. He lay at her side and buried her in the morning.

The drunken cleric sniffled as tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping into his mug of ale. “Ah’ hates that part o’ de story, makes me mad and I don’t like that feelin’ much.” Some time passes as he collects himself, and he actually starts to sober up some before he dries his eyes and continues through an occasional sniffle. “So the guy wanders the realms for the next ten years. Just living alone wherever the winds took ‘im, destroying the evil he came across, and helping those who asked for ‘is aid... Until this one day..."
Last edited by teflor the ranger on Sat Dec 18, 2004 10:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Mon Sep 27, 2004 3:22 am

Part III: Sariell

He blamed himself really. There usually wasn’t anyone else to blame for anything, and nature was just that, natural. He cursed under his breath as his forefinger and thumb revealed to him the looseness of his bowstring. The ranger estimated that he would have been at least a fawn’s length off at a hundred paces. The bowstring twisted one last time before an arrow knocked upon it in preparation to fly.

Normally, this amount of looseness would have been acceptable. The accuracy was sufficient to retain good hits as well as to extend the life of the string and the bow itself. But the morning forest mist brought upon it something almost entirely evil. The thickly metallic smell of human blood. Teflor crouched low as he passed as silently through the parched forest as possible. Slightly dampened leaves gave a false sense of security underfoot, softened by the rare rain that had just passed through earlier that evening. The occasional snapping twig betrayed the ranger’s movements, as they remained dry underneath.

Teflor was thankful for other things. Although he was unfamiliar with the area, he had already passed through it once before. His concealment was perfect, his timing tuned to the winds and the stillness of the air. He could even sneak up on the wildlife here and touch them on the nose, keeping them from detecting his scent later. Every sense he had available to him snapped into action as he realized that someone was near.

You can feel a heartbeat from further than you can hear a man breathe.

A game trail cut a thin pathway through the forest ahead of him, lined by tall dry grasses in the midst of these woods. Two! There were two men coming down that trail. Teflor crouched low, unconsciously rocking slightly back and forth, rustling along with the forest around him, his cloak reveling in the breeze. Sure enough, two men soon came into view, hurrying down the trail, obviously leaving the conflict that brought the smell of death to the ranger’s nose. His eyes strained to catch a glimpse of the two. As curious as the ranger was, he wouldn’t dare to move. The fact that they had come so close to him in such a hurry without the ranger noticing did not bode well for his health.

He did catch a glimpse of them, dressed roughly for battle, a hodgepodge of equipment loosely put together, but well integrated for movement and silence. His eyebrows furrowed reflexively as the ranger considered them. But there was something else he had noticed that he couldn’t quite make out. His fingers pulled quietly on his bowstring as he began to draw back. Teflor raised his head just enough to take a good look. The two rogues making their way down the trail weren’t running as men. Between them they roughly carried a little girl.

Teflor stood to his feet, thrusting the bow at the rear man, drawing the bowstring back past his ear. Within his fingers, fifteen year’s practice let fly a single arrow, carven with extreme care, tipped with an old elven arrowhead, and fletched with the feathers of a wild white dove. His target fell over backwards at a runner’s pace, head slamming into the dirt, the taste of dove feathers in his mouth.

The ranger cursed himself as he realized that he had made a critical mistake. The rogue dropped the child as Teflor reached for another arrow from his quiver. The rogue had seen the arrow shot from in front of him, flipping a throwing knife towards a suspicious looking mound at the base of a tree. He cursed just as an arrow pierced his heart. He missed. The rogue’s body spun in the direction he had tried to dodge in, arms failing into the ground, kicking up a mess of damp leaves and dead grass, passing quietly into darkness. Teflor bounded over to the child, hurried in all his actions. He drew a sword and ended the misery of the other rogue. Plucking both of his arrows from the corpses and the child from the floor, he sprinted off into the woods.

Even the ranger could understand there were events in motion that he was not supposed to play a part in. The ranger ran for an hour with the child in his arms before he noticed the warmth of the wet tears that ran down into the crook of his elbow. The child was awake, but bound, gagged, and blindfolded. She did not struggle, however, as she was content just to be in gentle arms.
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Oct 27, 2004 2:12 am

Part IV: At the Beginning

Breathing heavily, Teflor struggled to remain on his feet, stumbling as he crept into a dense thicket that had been his home for the season. Tucked deep within the woods, the secluded thicket provided the seclusion and cover the ranger innately sought out. His body trembled slightly as individual muscles threatened to send him tumbling into a pile. Swallowing dryly, his throat seemed to crack as dried membranes gripped onto each other trying to soak up moisture. The child he bore in his arms ceased to stir very much as he shakily undid her bonds, placing her upon a bed of fur pelts where he had slept himself.

Teflor sunk to his knees in front of his little alter, pondering what he must have looked like lying there asleep as he closed his eyes and settled to the ground beneath him. Reaching for a skin, he found one nearly as parched as he was, squeezing just enough to let him feel the moisture returning to his tongue. Lying in rest, the ranger could not sleep, for it had been a very long time since there was another heartbeat so close to his.

Eventually, light began to filter through the dried nest of leafless brush and the girl began to stir from her rest. Rubbing at her eyes, she stared at the collapsed form of the ranger below her. Deciding that it would be best to wait until her captor had woken up, she sat there and felt strangely safe. She rubbed at where the rope had bound her so tightly.

He had felt her stirring, watched out of the corner of his eye as she sat up, and listened as she explored the thicket. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen another living soul in ages, as he had actually traveled with an aging priest just the earlier season. Just… never a child. The ranger froze in place, thinking, waiting, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, Teflor realized that he wasn’t breathing. The girl had noticed too. He sat up and looked at the little girl. Both of them shied away from the other, looking at each other from across the thicket. Silence pervaded their introductions. They sat staring at each other wordlessly for some time. Teflor spoke first.

“Hello.”

The girl chose silence in the face of her captor. Or maybe it was confusion. He almost had a kind face. Things started with a skin of water, then a fire when the winds chilled the lands. Hunger settled over them and she learned what it was like to be on the hunt. She started to smile as she learned how to cook, giggling despite her resolve to remain silent as the ranger told her the humble stories of childhood antics.

They sat silently around a small fire as the darkness came over them once again. The ranger was quietly carving a small wooden bow for the child to match the set of carven miniature arrows as he looked across the flames. Teflor didn’t understand how he had missed it before. Perched within her hair was a tiny red feather.

The ranger pressed his weight upon the bow, bending the arch as he pulled a string over the ends. "Hillsfar."
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Sun Nov 14, 2004 12:38 pm

Part V: Opening Act

A light and dry fog settled over the lands before the day broke once more. Two figures stood darkly in the final vestiges of the evening, draped in wisps of shadow. Bowstrings fully drawn, the figures raised their bows high before them, as if to shoot the rising light, pinning the sun as it just peaked over the realms. Both figures held in wait, as darkness slowly turned to light, unmoving and ever gentle in their actions. At once the twang of two bowstrings could be heard, as two arrows took to their flights, rising high before they arced back down towards the dirt from which they launched.

Of course, one flew much further than the other, but the short figure seemed much more eager, having knocked another arrow before the taller one had reached back for his. He watched as she drew back again, noticing the skin on her fingers, a child’s skin raw from the draw of a bowstring yet spreading further and drawing harder. The rising sun finally drew high enough that neither the girl or the ranger could make it a target. A last arrow rose and was lost to the light as both bows turned to the ground.

“Not bad, daughter of Hillsfar.”

She said nothing, but the flash of recognition that came across her face told the ranger everything he needed to know. She looked up at him fearfully with bright blue eyes, trying to see the through to the ranger’s true nature.

“I will take you home.”

==================================================

A lone man stalked the forest, following the footsteps down a path through the woods gone wrong. He moved quickly, silently, cloaked in stillness and cloth embroidered with a letter, Z. Flowing as water through the deepest gullies, he came quickly upon two shapes sprawled out near a forest path. The past two days he had spent without rest or sleep, now to find one of two things he was tracking, as he turned over his younger brother’s rotting corpse, to see the efficiency of nature upon his brother’s face.

He turned away, sickened by the sight, a feeling, an emotion, which gave way to the anger that boiled in his veins. He did not understand. The Red Plumes were still scouring the forests and the daughter of Lord Maalthiir remained missing. Yet she was not in the hands of the Black network. He cursed aloud over the body of his brother and closest friend when he found no trace of his killer, where he noticed something unusual. The hafted feather of a bird that he had never seen in all of Moonsea.

Lorithar of the Black Network and Zhentil Keep grabbed a handful of dirt which he spread over his brother’s body as he swore a revenge darker than the innermost dungeons of his beloved city.
Last edited by teflor the ranger on Wed Feb 16, 2005 8:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Sat Dec 18, 2004 9:51 pm

Part VI: A Child Returns

The ranger had offered the little girl his hand, which she took as they wandered together down a lonesome forest trail. The breezes ceased as the land stood still as drought had forced the wildlife to find more fertile grounds, and the tormented ghosts of the lost laden to the grounds as two souls walked in forgiving graciousness. The lands sifted around them as the grained landscape of a drying land parted to the shifting tides of fortune.

Wilderness gave way before them, as they strolled down broad roads crossing farm fields, warmed by the afternoon sun. Travelers and merchants of all sorts had worn the stones on the roads smooth by passing boots and wagon wheel, although you could never have told by how deserted the road was now. The broad road and fields gave way to streets and businesses as they approached the city gates.

Eyes questioned them, repeatedly, secretively, stolen glances furtively wandering over them. Their mouths remained silent, however, as the people of Hillsfar knew far better than to question anything. Particularly to wonder as to why a ranger had come to town. Even the red plumes paid them similar deference as they made their way to the gates of the city.

But it’s not particularly easy to recognize the daughter of a Lord rarely seen. The guards at the gates of the city, however, had been posted notice and recognized her immediately. Teflor released her as at least a dozen red plumes filed out of the guardhouse in an ordered fumbling of weapons and helmets, knocking over waiting travelers and inspection stands. She looked frightened to the ranger, as the girl turned to him, holding onto a strand of her bright blonde hair in worry. The ranger surrendered willingly as he was dragged away. The gate was once again quiet as all deflected their attentions, not wanting to be noticed too carefully.

Nearly a full day passed before one of the guards roused him within his cage. Teflor rose to his feet unable to understand what had made him come to accept whatever fate, just to lead this child to the gates. Bits of straw fell from his cloak, as he pulled his hood back over his glossy black hair, exposing himself as a man before whatever was to become of him. Footsteps fell in gentle procession as they approached the ranger down a quiet hallway. The clank of mobile armor followed in close escort, as the figure of a Lord appeared before the ranger.

“My daughter asks for you, stranger. I am Maalthiir, Lord of Hillsfar.”

The ranger looked the lanky man straight in the eyes as he offered his response.

“Teflor… I am a wanderer.”

“Well then, Teflor, the Wanderer. Welcome to my city.”
Last edited by teflor the ranger on Wed Feb 16, 2005 8:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Feb 09, 2005 6:34 am

Part VII: A Welcoming

The Lord of Hillsfar and an oddly misplaced northern ranger made their way through dimly lit corridors built into the thick city walls. The masonry, while not particularly exemplary, did possess the curious feature of consistency, lending credit to the possibility that these walls were not constructed by labor alone. The guards that followed them watched nervously, hands tightly gripping the handles of their weapons. They were not as trusting as Maalthiir of this stranger dropped so suddenly in their midst without so much as a word of caution.

The corridor changed as they walked, from stark and utilitarian to colorful and finely crafted, the corridor opened into grand halls, with wide red carpets, flaming silk draping mage light fixtures that ran along the walls, swooping upwards into high arches in the ceiling. The halls increased in their grandeur, as portraits and great paintings began to fill the walls in abundance, mahogany velvet upholstered furniture became regular and evenly spaced.

As the party advanced to the Lord’s main hall, people began to appear, each dressed in the finest silks and decorative clothing, bowing low and stepping aside as they passed. A few spoke in low tones, acknowledged by Maalthiir, while few others took notice of Teflor, responding to the ghostly deadwood camouflage wrapped around his large figure, stepping back and stumbling out of the way. As the troupe approached the main hall, the walls and ceiling similarly gave way, expanding into a cavernous display of the might and reach of the hands of the Lord Maalthiir, a strong and permanent outpost of civilization in the Moonsea. The hall itself was built to rival the full grandeur of Waterdeep, the city of splendors, in just one room.

And it was just as well guarded. For what seemed to be minutes, the Lord made his way across his main hall, at the end of which sat his ceremonial throne. But there was something amiss. All of the furnishings, the decorations, even the hall itself… Everything seemed new.

Maalthiir’s guard turned to stand watch before his throne, as the Lord of Hillsfar ushered the ranger into his private offices. Teflor entered the Lord’s private chambers, while no where as decedent as his hall, it could hardly be considered as sparsely furnished. The Lord’s office, instead of speaking of the might of the Red Plumes, spoke softly of the taste of a well traveled, highly educated, and capable man would have acquired in his years. The flaming red so prominent outside was toned down into mere accents for the furniture, furnished instead in a royal blue and gold, silken upholstery, tapestry adorning the walls of polished dark granite.

“How long since you’ve passed into city walls, Wanderer?”

“Perhaps the passing of forty seasons.”

Maalthiir’s eyes glazed as he looked over the ranger in wonderment.

“For a moment, I was worried that you did not speak at all.”

“I assure you, sir, my reading and writing are far better.”
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Feb 16, 2005 8:39 am

Part VIII: Refusal

“Are you an educated man?”

Lord Maalthiir looked the ranger over, dragon scales apparent underneath a cover of burlap, softly glowing elvish weapons resting against his hip.

“In ways.”

Maalthiir gestured towards a chair as he seated himself behind his desk. Teflor took to his seat.

“You saved my daughter’s life, wanderer. Thank you.”

“How did you know that I had saved her life, Lord Maalthiir?”

“You ask not ransom, or even safe passage. I have seen eyes like yours before. Well, almost like yours.”

Teflor turned his gauze to the Maalthiir’s, seeking to discern the Lord’s intentions, reading as well as a brick. The Lord was patient and knew to wait for opportunity.

“Why did they take your daughter?”

Maalthiir took a drawn breath, pausing as if in reflection, a master storyteller weaving his tale first with silence to draw the ears.

“The men who kidnapped my daughter are those from a part of the black network. The unsavory rogues of Zhentil Keep.”

Teflor recalled the two he encountered on the game trails. The dark letter Z embroidered inside their cloaks.

“Their guild of cutthroats and thieves have antagonized my people since the rains ceased.”

Maalthiir paused for a moment, studying the look on the ranger’s face. Perhaps there was something for him to gain from this stranger. Perhaps there was some way he could use this wildcard dropped in their midst. As the ranger’s lips parted to speak, he continued his story.

“Water has become a resource of premium in this region. The great river that divides our lands has all but dried up, resembling more of a fishing stream than anything else and demands on its flow have made it nearly useless.”

Teflor’s hand rested instinctively upon the leather skin at his side, sloshing a little with his involuntary movement.

“As soon as the drought became apparent, we purchased the rights to several natural springs inside Zhentil Keep’s sphere of influence. We had no such resources here. With the price paid our people had the blessing of the sellers, and we moved our forces to garrison there to protect our interests.”

The ranger listened intently. Politics was not something in which he was often involved.

“For the while, my people were secure. The springs flowed life through my city, making sure that not one child went without water.”

Now the story turned as Maalthiir’s expression began to change.

“But the Zhentilars became jealous. They demanded more and more in return for the water that my people needed in order to merely stay alive. Eventually, they demanded that we leave what they considered their lands.”

Teflor caught himself scratching his nose. Folding his hands in his lap, he knew where the Lord’s story was going to go.

“The water rights we purchased, that we have paid for in years of sweat and blood, are not only essential for the survival of my people, but something the Zhentilars would take back by force, caring nothing for our need or what we have paid, ignoring that they once honored our rights. They seek to take from us by force what they believe to be theirs, although they have given or done nothing for it! All because it is on the wrong side of a river that no longer exists.”

Maalthiir sighed, as he appeared to try to calm himself down.

“But they are cowards, and have not dared to try to challenge us by direct force. Instead, they conspire with rogues that take pleasure in torturing children, burning down hard sown crops, and terrorizing my people. They fostered a guild of assassins, thieves, and mercenaries, gave them weapons, training, support, and organized them under the auspices of the black network, lending them the tools for their depraved work.”

Even the skeptical ranger was angered. He witnessed first hand what the black network was willing to do to force the red plumes to abandon the springs.

“They have even become so bold as to attack my own entourage, traveling under a flag of peace to kidnap my own daughter, and force me to choose between her and my people.”

Lord Maalthiir slammed his fist against the sturdy oaken desk, now beyond any artificial acting, having long forgotten about putting on a show for the stranger before him. Teflor spoke.

“What are you going to do?”

The Lord of Hillsfar calmed himself, focusing on his original task.

“Defend my people with everything I have.”

Maalthiir sat again, looking into the ranger’s eyes with all the sincerity he could muster.

“Help me, wanderer.”

“What would you have me do when I cannot see the right from the wrong?”

“Help me fight the evil that has claimed these lands.”

“I will not fight a war for you. I cannot fight your war for you.”
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Postby teflor the ranger » Thu Feb 17, 2005 8:11 am

Part IX: Curious Request

Teflor closed the heavy oaken door behind him as he left Maalthiir in his chambers. He shook his head slightly, as he considered his ignorance to the events of civilization that coursed through the wilderness through which he wandered. Who were the Zhentarim, the Black Network? Furthermore, who were the red plumes? The citizens of Hillsfar did not seem to fear only outside influences.

His mind spun with these thoughts, and with them, an image, a sound, and the memory of a touch: a little girl gagged and bound for unknown purposes, giggling under a twilight tale of long ago, and a warm hand clutching at his fingers. Soldiers bearing the red plume walked by, clanking armor rhythmically as they passed on patrol, whispering amongst themselves as they passed the ranger.

There was only once that Teflor could remember ever having felt so protective of another, buried so deeply in his memories that it churned his psyche just to bring them to the surface. Passing through the grand hall, the ranger gripped tightly the hilt of his sword, scowling as he waded through his thoughts and memories.

The murky waters of his mind were suddenly drained, flushed from his mind by his senses, as footsteps approached him from behind. One of the court’s aides announced himself, presenting the ranger with a message.

“The young lady of Hillsfar requests your presence tonight. The evening is to be in your honor.”

Teflor fingered the pressed and textured invitation in his hands, golden foil inlay rubbing off on his fingertips as gave himself a long and deep sigh.

Perhaps he knew better, just not today.
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Postby teflor the ranger » Fri Feb 18, 2005 4:18 am

Part X: Disregard

A simple burlap sack sat in the middle of the room, possessing the look of the long seasons and travel in the bottom of a pack. Dust took flight to scatter in the air as he peeled back its folds, giving particulate substance to the evening sunlight that flooded these chambers, revealing a history he had forgotten. The sack’s contents reveled in the light, shining in a passive and ancient magic that spoke of powers dimmed over the ages. The ranger pulled the armor from the sack, revealing itself as a fine mesh of tiny, individually polished links of mithril joining broad plates of the same, shining arguably brighter than the light it was reflecting.

With it, a ceremonial long sword rested on his hips, draped by a broad velvet cloak. A dark woolen tunic covered his armor, only suggestive as to what lay beneath. The aging sack fell to the ground as Teflor dressed for the evening. “How many years since,” the ranger asked himself, pondering the seasons that had passed as days.

A rancorous celebration was thrown in the honor of a stranger, who strolled into the main hall washed and clean cut, wading through the crowds trying not to look too dazed. The favored of Lord Maalthiir greeted the ranger as if he were a long lost hero coming home. The sounds of music and laughter filled the rangers senses as he brushed up against the faceless many, the bright lights of the hall glaring over him during the evening hours, the excited heartbeats of partygoers all around blending into one another, disappearing as he drifted amongst the crowd.

Eventually, Teflor found his way to his seat of honor, next to the child that had not left his mind since he had come to this place. She smiled as he sat, and bent over in her chair to whisper in his ear.

“You look very nice mister.” Teflor leaned over and replied, “So do you.”

As the night wore on and the ranger’s heightened senses wore against him, he became increasingly aware of the girl’s gaze upon him. Teflor impassively sat upright in his chair, trying his best to look the part of a celebrated hero. He stood once at Maalthiir’s request as the Lord introduced the ranger to the audience, relaying to them the story from his daughter. To Teflor’s surprise, as the story ended, his daughter climbed up into the ranger’s lap, kissing him on the cheek.

Teflor smiled and waved to the crowd as his mind reeled in shock. Memories flashed through his mind of the last time he had felt lips press against his skin. So many things pushed back so far in his mind, so many years alone in the wild; wandering as the winds blow, time passing a hundred years as he tried to forget what overwhelmed him today. He sat still, paralyzed by the kiss, able only to acknowledge the crowd that had come to celebrate him.

As the lights dimmed, and the Lord of Hillsfar began to see his guests to the door, Teflor was able to once again notice, the tiny heart beating next to his, and the child that rested her head against his shoulder.

So in his mind he fought, a cowardly battle between joy and sorrows, unable to separate what years past had intertwined.
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Postby teflor the ranger » Mon Feb 28, 2005 9:26 am

Part XI: Retreat

Teflor’s mind raced with his heart as he closed the door behind him. What were the things that moved him so, pulling the strings on his thoughts, on his heart? As phantoms and ghosts from a distant past riled the ranger as an old spirit tried to comfort him. Teflor threw off his armor, stuffing his belongings into his pack, gathering everything he needed as he prepared to leave.

The ranger waited by the door until the hallway cleared and made his way to the courtyard before the castle’s gates. Teflor stepped quickly and quietly into the night air, making his escape from this feeling, this need.

“You never even asked for my name,” called out a small voice behind him as little footsteps pattered towards the ranger. “It’s Sariell,” the noble child of Hillsfar announced emphatically.

Teflor stopped as Sariell’s footsteps caught up to him. He was slow to turn and face the child, his life that had passed with so little occurrence suddenly coming to a halt. Clarity, he used to strike himself in the head.

“I am Teflor.”

Instantly, his breath seized as the ranger spun about, snapping a crossbow bolt out of the air with his hands. In the dark of night, his eyes strained to see the figures in the shadows, a ghostly scream in his thoughts turned his back on what dangers these threats had aimed at him. His foot made good contact with the stone surface of the courtyard, as his body dropped into a sprinting position, knees bending as he thrust his weight in Sariell’s direction. In his arms he scooped up the child as he made a break safety of the keep doors.

A thin and short bolt lanced his lower leg, the finely hewn tip piercing through clothing, skin, and flesh. Teflor forced his leg to carry his weight, slow as his muscles were to respond to his urgent demands. It held until another bolt buried itself into the ranger’s back with a dull and sickening thud. From the shadows of the night, several more bolts drilled into his running form, sending him crashing into the ground, landing with Sariell in his arms.

A guard left for dead by assassins crawled steadily forwards as his life bled out of his neck. With a dying breath an alarm bell clanged once, and a great cry rang out in the garrison as the guards rallied against unknown intruders.

Teflor gasped in pain as he carefully wrapped his body around the girl. A crossbow bolt pierced his arm, lodging within it just as he reached over her. The ranger tried not to scream out in pain, even though he was unable. A final bolt punctured his lung, deflating the cavity within his body, and all the lights turned to darkness.

==================================================

“Lorithar.” An assassin approached his captain, holding in his hand the tiny scrap of parchment carefully removed from a creature of flight.

“Is the girl dead? Are they all dead?”

“The message given was ‘scimitar’.”

As quickly as the word was read, the master assassin Lorithar of the black network slammed his fist into his table, sending dust and parchments scattering across the room in a rage of fury. A throwing knife cut into his lieutenant’s hand as it carried away the scrap of parchment on its tip, pinning it to the door behind him.

He flinched slightly, clenching his hand to cover his bleeding fingers, blood dripping from his fist.

“First you cannot capture her, then you cannot have her killed.”

Lorithar’s lieutenant glared at his master. “Her life is at an end.”

“The girl’s or yours.”
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Apr 06, 2005 4:18 am

Part XII: Entanglement

A gruff man appeared at the gates of Hillsfar, suddenly appearing in line to submit to the guard’s inspection to enter the city. One of the Red Plumes motioned to his watch sergeant, and several additional men filed out of the guardhouse in various states, seeking to merely bolster their visual presence.

“You. Step forward and remove your weapons.”

The man at the gate complied, making the most use of only one of his gloved hands. Others waiting to enter the city stepped back, looking up as the air around them became tense. The man unhooked his scabbard and threw his sword to the ground before him, acknowledging the tense soldiers around him.

“Relax,” he grumbled, seeking to disarm the guards.

“Remove your cloak, and submit to inspection.”

Two guards stepped forwards, sheathing weapons, securing their swords to their backs as the man removed his cloak, dropping it to the ground. The two guards patted the man down, searching for anything hidden under his clothing.

“He’s clean.”

The guards relaxed visibly, as they carried his sword away from him. One of the guards muttered to himself, brushing his mental fogginess out of his hair as he stumbled back towards the guardhouse.

“Sir, are you a soldier associated with any army?”

“No.”

“Roll up your sleeves, roll down your collar, remove your gloves. Submit yourself to inspection.”

The lieutenant of the Black Network followed the guard’s instructions; fortunately, the Black Network did not make it a habit to mark all of its officers. He pulled off his gloves, revealing his bandaged hand. He grinned as the guard took note.

“Idiot highwayman.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Anything you wish to report?”

“No.”

“Purpose of visit?”
“None.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Both.”
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Apr 06, 2005 6:57 am

Part XIII: Indeterminate

Though his wounds were healed, his eyes remained closed, breaths shallow and slight, legs and arms at rest where he lay. Lord Maalthiir had the ranger placed in his own bed, across from which he sat with his daughter, who had not left the ranger for a moment.

Blood loss and shock, coupled with the severe injuries had sent Teflor’s ordered bodily functions into a system of chaos. Some organs stopped working, others worked too hard, each confused, unsure of what to do, and finally – the nearly complete collapse. Exhaustion settled over him in its fullest and most comprehensive form, every cell barely pushing the fringes of life. The cleric told Lord Maalthiir that although the ranger was whole, there was little more that they could do. They told him it was up to him, if he had the will to live.

Maalthiir frowned as he stood from the couch, glancing quietly at his daughter before taking his leave of the room.

Sariell opened her eyes just after the door closed quietly on them, her father and the last footsteps of the night watch disappearing behind solid oak. Wordlessly, she crept from her couch and onto his bed, resting child arms upon his chest as she wormed her way under his arm. As her heart beat against his ribs, she listened carefully for the silent murmur of Teflor’s heart.

With that, and only that, did she close her eyes and fall asleep.

Teflor slowly opened his eyes, looking briefly around the room before closing them once again. Turning his head slightly, he put another arm around her shoulders, sighing slightly as he decided he needed a little sleep.
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Postby teflor the ranger » Sat Jun 18, 2005 5:41 am

Part XIV: Useful Ranger

“He could be of use, my Lord.”

Maalthiir looked up at his advisor, briefly removing his eyes from the scatter of planning material on the massive table of his war room. His advisor continued.

“But will become a liability if he remains here.”

“I take it you already trust him to be free of network’s dealings.”

“I am running out of things to suspect,” the advisor added, smiling inwards as he provoked Maalthiir, “the way he looks upon your daughter almost seems...”

The trailing word hung as if a coat on a hook, a strange visitor entering the Lord’s mind.

“… familiar.”

The Lord recognized the foul suggestion that tapped on the glass of his mind, but allowed the idea to become entertained by a flush of sudden emotion. Namely, jealousy.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing my Lord. I am speaking without particular purpose.”

Maalthiir could sense that his advisor had another motive, but his sudden and newfound insecurities quickly washed over his commanding mind. To be challenged by a man?

“Then what use would we make of him.” The way she hugs him. The affection between them. The way she looks into his eyes.

“If he is found here, your daughter may become a victim of any attacks on him.” Since HE was around, she hasn't left his side, spending every day and night, laughing, playing, talking...

“Get to your point,” Lord Maalthiir snapped at his subordinate, gripping just a little more tightly to his quill than he normally did.

SHE wanted to leave the city, to explore the deadwoods and crawl around in the mud dressed up like a beast. SHE doesn’t want to wear her long dress. Instead, SHE spends ALL of her time with that ranger. She didn’t want to spend her time with…

“Bait, my Lord.”

“Bait.”
teflor the ranger
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Postby teflor the ranger » Wed Aug 03, 2005 4:42 am

Part XV: A Horse, of Course

The stable boys watched in silence, mouths agape, grasping the wooden corners of the stable walls as the ranger and his royal charge walked out calmly into the holding pens. In the pen were also the strongest and most powerful mounts that could be found in the region – and possibly the most wild.

“Father says that with time, patience, and harsh but gentle hands, that these horses may one day be saddled and ride amongst man,” Sariell beamed, imparting the wisdom she had gleaned from remaining silent in her father’s presence.

She clutched tightly to Teflor’s leg as the largest and most aggressive horse approached the pair, turning once in place to confront them. The ranger took a step forwards to meet him head on. In the simple matter of a minute, this noble steed amongst horses approached to nuzzle and recognize his new commander.

Sariell looked up from the ranger’s leg, expecting the explanation she had become used to him giving.

“Sometimes, Sariell, you just have to ask.”

Teflor introduced the little girl to the great horse, leaning back as the powerful stallion bent low to nuzzle Sariell’s neck.

“What’s his name,” she whispered to the ranger, unfamiliar with her sudden shyness at the creature many times her own size. Teflor looked him in the eye, thinking for a moment, searching for the answer to Sariell’s question.

“Rainfall.”

By then one of the stable boys had come out of hiding, carrying with him the necessary saddle and bit. He was the tallest and bravest amongst the stable boys, but today he had drawn the shortest straw, facing the task of dressing a horse previously untouched but by Maalthiir’s magic: the only trap fast enough to capture him.

Thankful for not having been kicked in the face, the stable boy stepped back, joining the other stable boys who had gathered to watch. Sariell looked up at Rainfall and frowned.

“He’s big.”

“We have ponies you know,” quipped one of the stable boys as he watched Sariell attempt to climb up into the saddle.

Sariell leapt into the saddle, raised her chin and replied, “and you may ride them.”

Teflor smirked as Sariell gave the stable boys a smile. “You’re far too noble to ride alone, Sariell, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn how.”

Rainfall spun around in place three times, giving his rider a good feel for being so high above the ground before he stopped to face the ranger. “Bring me another horse, Rainfall.”
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Postby Pisalos » Sun Aug 07, 2005 5:35 am

Forgive my ignorince but we ok in posting to say good job?

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