As of 12/6/97


TURN 2: The Stone Circle



"The angels from the village were riding horses," Ysoltre said, his voice trembling a bit as the sound of hooves pounded closer and closer. "Perhaps they seek shelter from the hound." The bard reached for the dagger that the Dervatear warrior offered to him, and stood by his companion, trying to appear resolute. "If the horsemen are hostile, I cannot offer much assistance, but I shall stand by you, Hroknar."

A large figure erupted forth from the shadows, causing both Hroknar and Ysoltre to jump in momentary astonishment despite themselves. It was a horse, outfitted with saddle, bit and bridle, and saddle bags, but devoid of any rider. The equine, faced with the daunting aspect of a couple of weapon-wielding two-legs, pulled up just inside the megalithic circle. The horse neighed once as it pranced nervously, its own eyes warily gazing upon the Dervatear and bloody bard.

"A good thing we're friendly, otherwise you'd be perforated by now, an arrow or two between the shoulder blades and ripe for the picking," drifted forth a baritone voice from behind the duo.

Hroknar spun at the sound of the voice, raising his shield and readying his battle axe. Peering into the darkness, he tried to view the owner of the voice, and presumably, the horse. "Aye, you're probably right. But, you're equally lucky in that we don't have a third friend, lurking in the dark as are you, with a crossbow aimed at your liver."

Since he knew that there were likely more people out there, hidden from his superb darksight by his proximity to the campfire's illumination, and that no matter which direction he faced, he would likely have at least one potential foe at his back, he slowly lowered his weapon. Hroknar raised his voice, speaking now to include any and all people within hearing distance. "I assume you have at least one friend with you, and that you were not referring to your horse just now. Instead of skulking about, why don't you and your fellows come into the firelight? We have reason to believe that a night-dwelling beast roams the area, and that the stone circle offers protection from it."

Ysoltre shifted his position so that he stood back to back with Hroknar. He was not learned in the ways of war-craft, but any fool knew that an unguarded back was an easy target. "It seems this circle is a popular watering hole tonight, eh?" Ysoltre nervously scanned the darkness for those who hovered beyond the illuminated rocky formation, out of sight, awaiting their appearance.

"A right popular place, though if my liver is to fall prey to danger tonight I prefer strong drink to a crossbow bolt," the baritone voice said. Ysoltre could sense Hroknar shift his weight as a figure stepped between two of the massive, upright stones to enter the megalithic structure - a human male, taller than many and adorned in scale mail armor worn over softer leather and an open-faced helmet. Long sword and dagger hung in scabbards affixed over his left and right hips, respectively. He held a long bow at-ready, though the warrior loosened the tautness of the arrow as he proceeded into the light. "Well met, fellow travelers. Forgive the cautious approach, but it seemed the prudent course of action."

Seeing the human male enter the circle with a readied bow, Hroknar tensed momentarily, automatically, the practice of long years rushing to the fore. He sighed, forcing himself to relax, failing for the most part, but managing a smile nonetheless. "I have always preferred strong drink to a bolt in the liver myself. Welcome, traveler."

"Aye, Rogmund speaks truly, e'en as thine actions do forswear much about thy wit and wisdom," drifted forth another voice, this one very much female and from the opposite direction, almost - but not quite - the same location as where the horse had entered the circle.

Hroknar started visibly, despite himself. Intellectually recognizing that the feint with the horse likely meant there was more than one person in the darkness paled before the sudden realization that his unarmored back had been exposed not once, but twice in a matter of moments. They were good, these newcomers. The Dervatear raised one hand in what he hoped was an obviously peaceful gesture. "Enter and be welcome, both of you." Ysoltre shifted his weight, which drew Hroknar's attention from the armored human. The Dervatear risked a glance in the direction faced by the minstrel.

"A most generous and gracious offer." A form emerged from the gloom, trailing the dulcet tones and stepping fully into the illumination provided by Hroknar's campfire. There was an ethereal, almost unearthly quality to the dark-haired woman's beauty: her face fair and unblemished, with high, prominent cheekbones and wide eyes of violet hue - Mnoethen eyes, though she appeared as much human as elf. Her sleeveless, black tunic and doeskin leather breeches hugged the curves of her form, honed to supple perfection by something other than drudge work, for she carried herself straight and tall, and moved with the easy grace of a feline.

Ysoltre found himself swallowing hard. Even the Dervatear was silent. If somebody had stood and called out that the newcomer was one of the faerie nymphs of feastfire stories, neither would have disbelieved it. An armlet of bronze and silver adorned her right limb. A slender chain encircled her neck, dropping to her chest; from it was suspended an ornate medallion, the central feature of which was the mystic six-pointed star symbol of Theavia. A small belt pouch rested beside her left hip, affixed to a belt of intricate design and workmanship, as did a scabbarded dagger, which hung beside the pouch. The woman's backpack served to bunch up the hooded cloak she wore, an arrangement that made the cloak fall off of her shoulders and down her back, keeping her arms free, easily able to employ the stout, iron-shod quarterstaff she carried.

The half-elf woman smiled suddenly, radiantly. "Thou didst recover from thy surprise quickly, and were willing to stand fast together to meet any perceived threat, though we observed that the two of thee had met only minutes past. Such actions bespeak highly of thy judgment and demeanor." She continued her advance, seemingly unconcerned with the dagger that Ysoltre still had pointed resolutely in her direction as she led a spirited gray-dappled gelding into the stone circle.

Hroknar blinked, finally noticing that Ysoltre still had the dagger raised and pointing in the young woman's direction. The Dervatear leaned toward him and said, "I think that you can put that down for now, friend Ysoltre. We had our exposed backs to both of them, and we still draw breath. They have ranged weapons, while mine are out of reach. I think they be friendly folk."

To the dark-haired beauty Hroknar said, "Of course we responded quickly to possible danger. What sort of Initiate would I be if I forgot the most basic of all my training? For many years I have readied myself for..."

Hroknar cringed suddenly, then slapped himself on the forehead. Gesturing to the fire he said, "Would you care to share the warmth of my fire this night? I have journeyed many days without seeing a soul, and then tonight, I meet three. Yet on both occasions I forget decorum and fail to properly introduce myself or offer the most common courtesy."

The Dervatear, walking slowly to ensure both woman and warrior knew he meant them no harm, approached the fire, reached for his wineskin, and loosened the stopper. Raising the skin to his lips, he drank again, though not so deeply as before. Lowering the wineskin, he said, "In the name of the Forger, I, Hroknar of the Second Warren, greet you."

Hroknar handed the wineskin to Ysoltre. "Once again, friend Ysoltre, drink in greeting, though go easy this time. My drink was sufficient to show it is not poisoned."

Ysoltre dropped the dagger back onto the pile of Hroknar's possessions. The minstrel grasped the flask again, this time rather hesitantly, and drank from it, all the time scolding himself silently as to the need to sustain his manners and etiquette despite the situation. "Ysoltre Illmak'r, minstrel of Glashia," he managed to say after he had drank.

The bard took the woman's hand and, for a second, debated whether or not to kiss it, but decided a handshake was more in order, and gripped it gently, then passed on the wineskin. Ysoltre could not be certain but it seemed as though the woman's breath caught for a moment, and she seemed to start reflexively at his touch.

"Aulkarissaleigh N'Qol'Teriss," the Theavian announced with a curt nod of her head, violet eyes meeting the dark green orbs of her half-elven counterpart. She smiled, then let her gaze drift downward languidly, taking in Ysoltre's bloody and ragged blouse. Her facial expression grew serious. "Art thou injured?"

Ysoltre looked down at himself, realizing the sight he must present, more than a little disconcerted by the brunette's observation. "More so mentally than physically, Milady." It was then that Ysoltre remembered the woman's armored cohort. He nodded a quick welcome to the man, then offered one hand, palm upward, in the traditional friendly greeting.

"Rogmund Malatreides," the archer said, stepping forward to take the offered hand and giving it a quick squeeze before letting loose, "a soldier by training, currently a freesword, a wayfarer, and all-around ne'er-do-well, or so some contend, at least when angered or put out." A wistful smile played about his lips as the man's gaze drifted toward his female companion.

Karissa took a sip of the offered wine, then passed the skin on to Rogmund. "Actually, I said thou wert a contentious, obnoxious, drunken, slovenly lout with delusions of normalcy, and I could not fathom why anyone would put up with thee." Despite the words, there seemed to be no malice evident in her tone.

The archer laughed - a short, sharp burst of sound - as he took the offered wineskin. "As long as you know the problem lies with you, and not with me." He lifted the drink to his lips and savored the taste of the Dervetearan Rose. "Aahhh, an excellent vintage." His wistful smile grew full-blown after sampling the wine. He took two steps toward Hroknar and offered the container back to its rightful owner.

A smile adorned Hroknar's face, and had since the first words of interchange between the archer and woman. He received his wineskin warmly, then replaced it in his backpack. "You two seem to know each other well," the Dervatear said, straightening. His smile grew a bit wider. "Perhaps too well. How long have you been traveling together? Do you mind if I ask where you are heading? My destination lies somewhere to the east, while Ysoltre has said that he has no set goal in mind. If it pleases you, perhaps we could travel together for a time."

"Four would offer a better tactical advantage than two if we were to face some difficulty on the road," Rogmund replied, underscoring the comment by replacing his arrow in the quiver that adorned his back, a choice of actions that seemed to indicate he felt somewhat safe and secure in the company of those in the stone circle. "As to where I'm heading, I'm with her. We are traveling eastward through Hartshorne Pass though, so I guess we four are all traveling in the same general direction."

Hroknar shifted his position so that he might maintain a better vigil near the edge of the circle. 'No sense letting Ysoltre's hound attack us unawares,' drifted forth the thought, long years of training reasserting themselves. The Dervatear's eyes sought out the dark-haired woman. "Aulkarissaleigh. The name is more than a mouthful. Do you wish to be called that, or do you have a nickname that is easier for my lips to form?"

For some reason, the Dervatear's inquiry caused Rogmund to laugh. The woman sent an obviously forced, somewhat pained smile the archer's way, then addressed Hroknar. "Karissa often hath found favor with those who feel my full appellation weighs too heavily 'pon their tongues. 'Tis the more common form of reference, and one to which mine ears hath grown accustomed."

The Dervatear gave Karissa a nod and smile, yet felt that he might have unwittingly stepped into an area better left alone and so tried to explain himself more fully. "I'm afraid that I do not have much experience with foreign names such as yours. Ysoltre's name also is difficult, though not as much so. Rogmund is much easier. In fact, it even sounds somewhat Dervatearan in pronunciation. 'Rog' sounds like 'hrok,' which in Dervatear means 'cave,' and 'mund' sounds familiar to 'muni' which means 'moon.' Run together, it is a very noble-sounding name."

"Strong yet mysterious," Rogmund interjected, obviously pleased with Hroknar's statement. "See, Trollbait, it fits me."

"Mmmmmmmm," was the woman's only comment, though from her facial expression it was clear she knew of situations that might dispute the archer's opinion.

"My own name means 'rock-hewn', which possibly implies I was cut from stone," Hroknar offered, "that, or my mother was trying to tell me how difficult my birth was to her. She always did have a rather strange sense of humor."

Ysoltre looked on, trying to hide the fact that Karissa's attention to his physical state had caused him to blush. The condition of his once fine clothing bothered him, seeming to him to somehow diminish his status. 'Best change the subject,' he thought. Ysoltre gestured toward the woman's medallion. "Are you a cleric of Theavia?"

Karissa smiled. "Aye, and a practitioner of the Theavian arts as well. The devotions of the Grand Sorceress promote competence in all her Celestial mysteries, both holy and arcane."

The minstrel returned the woman's smile with one of his own. "A wielder of magic? It is an art form in which I have dabbled in my journeys, mostly the basic cantrips and what not. Mayhap you might teach me more?"

Before the brunette could answer, Ysoltre's eyes widened suddenly, as if he had just figured out the answer to some riddle. "You and he are the voices from the village!" Ysoltre gazed darted from the woman to the armored archer and back again. "But how? You aren't..." His voice fell away in mid-sentence, as if he was trying to discern how such a thing was possible.

"As thou didst hear our conversation, so too did we harken 'pon thy heart-felt pleas for knowledge, though sound did echo so fully that neither Rogmund nor I could discern thy true location without conducting a thorough search." Karissa grew silent, her visage one of thoughtfulness, as if she weighed speaking aloud what was on her mind. "As to the reason, part certainly can be attributed to the location of the hamlet, for the geography about the abandoned ruins hath much akin to a natural amphitheater, the benefits of which a minstrel and bard would certainly know. Yet an equal part surely must be mystical in origin, the remnants of some otherworldly force loosened within the village, a distortion of physical space, lest I am mistaken. Howe'er, 'twould take a summons of surpassing power to leave a portion of our world ripped asunder in so callous a fashion, at least for a time beyond the duration of the dweomer itself."

While keeping an eye outward, Hroknar responded to Karissa's statement by saying, "It would seem that you know something of this place. If that is so, then do you know of the beast of which Ysoltre speaks? He is of a mind that it is a supernatural creature, and has almost convinced me as well. Either way, we are planning on exploring the hamlet come morning to see if we could find him some suitable clothing or some gear. I doubt any food will be found though. It seems the place has been deserted long enough for any food left behind to have turned."

Hroknar pondered his statement for a moment. "I wonder why the hamlet is deserted? Could it be the creature, or was it something else that chased the citizens for their homes?"

"As for the reason why the hamlet is deserted, I cannot say," Karissa replied. "My opinions on this matter are limited to study of the Theavian arts, and rumors and accounts presented to Rogmund and myself by another."

Rogmund moved toward his horse. "Bowen the Warder spoke of the hamlet and the mystery surrounding it when he and we shared an encampment near the High Crag some two days past," the archer said as he removed a long leather strap from his saddle bags and began to secure its length to the front legs of the animal so that the equine could not bolt and flee unexpectedly, there being no other way to effectively tether the horse within the stone ruins.

"Aye," Karissa added, as she moved to her horse and removed her own length of leather. "The description that Bowen provided heralded a certain unease: a muscular hound standing five feet at the shoulder; short tufted fur of a dull, blackish hue; eerily glowing eyes; a canine head of almost human appearance, with a protruding nose rather than a muzzle and short, pointed ears held curving up, more akin to horns than anything else."

"I had never seen or heard of such a creature, but Trollbait's knowledge of such monsters far exceeds my own," Rogmund interjected as he checked to make sure his horse was secured. "She called it a Yeth Hound, and the capabilities of which she spoke seemed to support what Bowen himself had heard of the beast. He said some of the most vigilant guardsmen of Hartshorne Pass have been taken unawares by the hound, the only clue to their attacker being the unearthly howl that reverberated in the night and a few tracks, huge paw prints that disappeared ominously in the strangest places."

Karissa finished tethering her horse and stood, looking from Hroknar to Ysoltre. "Know this, Yeth Hounds possess the power of flight, and so make no noise when they stalk their prey, and their howl can chill a man's blood a mile distant, filling one with unreasoning fear and sapping one of the will to fight for survival. E'en magical weapons hath limited effect 'gainst their preternatural hides."

When Hroknar heard this, he stepped back from the edge of the circle, and changed the direction his eyes were looking to outward and upward.

A look of sudden surprise drifted across Rogmund's features. "So, you're saying that, earlier, when I was making my way around the hill to approach from the backside of this stone circle, a Yeth Hound could have slipped right up beside me and I wouldn't have known until it was too late?"

"Aye."

The Theavian's statement seemed to shake the armored archer's omnipresent bemused expression. "And you didn't tell me this because..."

Karissa shrugged. "Thou hast no weapon that might harm such a beast, nor dost thou possess any knowledge of mystical abilities that could succor thee from attack. Thy only true defense was to focus on the matter at hand, discerning whether or not those within the Andusarian ruins were of goodly intent, and progress hither as quickly as possible."

"Aahhhh," Rogmund said, "meaning that if I'd have known more about the Yeth Hound then I'd have been looking over my shoulder, wasting time, and increasing the odds of my getting myself killed."

"Thou art most stubborn, and are wont to stand fast and seek to prove thyself 'gainst any but the most fearsome foes. Thy fervor hath e'en led thee to purposefully place thyself in harm's way 'pon more than one occasion."

The look on Rogmund's face seemed to convey agreement with Karissa's statement. "Part of my charm, a warrior's code and all that; one part honor, one part bravado, a third part stupidity."

Laughter erupted forth from Hroknar suddenly, almost doubling him over. With great effort, the Dervatear stepped further into the circle, apparently to make sure that he would not land outside it if he fell down from excessive mirth. His eyes looked to the others, who, by then, were all staring at him, perplexed. Finally getting the laughter under control, Hroknar said, "I..I'll explain...in a moment. Please, continue."

Karissa's gaze lingered on the still chuckling Dervatear, though she spoke aloud to Rogmund. "A dangerous combination, those three parts, if not for thine opponent then for thee. And if thine opponent is a Yeth Hound, 'twould likely be the latter case and not the former."

"You..you said this Bowen spoke of tracks, huge paw prints that appeared then disappeared? I saw tracks in one of the ruined buildings, and evidence of a struggle of some type between some huge canine beast and what looked to be either a human or demi-human," Ysoltre offered. "I thought the beast might be some type of lycanthrope, a werewolf, mayhap."

The bard's half-elven counterpart shrugged as her eyes shifted from Hroknar to the minstrel. "Thy opinion is not ill considered. Yeth Hounds are native to a gloomy, darksome plane of existence far different from our own. The barriers separating our physical realm from theirs must be breached by mystical means. A summoning of surpassing enchantment would seem to explain the bizarre spatial distortion present within the hamlet, and lend credence to Bowen's testimony concerning the nightstalker. 'Tis those facts that form the basis of mine own conviction, yet until we meet the beast, who is to say that either thee or I hath the right of it, or whether the answer is of a third sort that hath yet to be discerned?"

Silence reigned momentarily, broken only when Hroknar - who had finally been able to control his mirth - said, "Please forgive my earlier interruption." The Dervatear looked from Ysoltre to Karissa to Rogmund. "What you said reminded me of some of the things Trona-h'rar used to say. He often told me, 'Being a hero is about the shortest-lived profession in Glashia.' That was in one of his more humorous moods. He was a dour old soul, but often right. In his more serious moments, he sometimes would say, 'The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet, notwithstanding, go out to meet it.' For some reason, I was reminded of my mentor when you spoke of the warrior's code."

Hroknar turned toward Karissa. "I have never heard of a Yeth Hound. If that is what this beast is, are you certain that it is a nocturnal animal? I mean do you believe that it would be safe to look about the hamlet during the light of day?"

"Nocturnal? In a way. No sage am I, yet those tomes of learning which mine eyes hath perused list Yeth Hounds as creatures of darkness. Exposure to natural sunlight causes them to fade away, shunted from this dimension to roam the ethereal plane, presumably forever. Yet if a Yeth Hound was encountered in a subterranean den, secure from the sun's influence..."

Rogmund winced at Karissa's statement. "If a Yeth Hound is encountered in a subterranean den, it might be up and around even if it is midday. That's the tale, right?"

"Aye."

"Anything else we should know about these hounds?" the archer inquired, his jaw set, his posture one of resolve, as if he was already planning for potential conflict.

The woman's brow knitted in thought. "Most records bespeak of Yeth Hounds as traveling in packs, much like wolves; which is most curious, for Bowen bespoke only of tales and rumors of a single animal. Their tactics seem akin to most pack animals: they run a prey to exhaustion, then attack en masse. No known natural predator hunts a Yeth Hound, and many unnatural creatures hath been known to avoid them as well." Her eyes shifted to those of Rogmund. "'Tis a cautionary approach toward continued survival which mere mortals - especially headstrong archers - might do well to emulate."

A wistful smile creased Rogmund's face. "I have no compunctions about running from really fearsome foes, remember? The more you tell us about the beast, the more I desire to avoid ever meeting one." One hand rose to stroke his chin, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Any reason why there would be only one hound, instead of a whole pack?"

Karissa shrugged. "Good fortune on our part, mayhap. Several tomes bespoke that Yeth Hounds sometimes are given by Powers from the lower planes of existence to particularly valued servitors in our realm. Tales exist of instances where the servitors hath been destroyed, leaving the hounds to fend for themselves. Perchance this one might be the sole survivor of a pack exterminated, or nearly so, by some other brave souls."

"Shame they couldn't do their sums better," Rogmund remarked, his normal bemused expression returning. "Maybe we'll get lucky and our 'howling friend' will turn out to be something else, or maybe it'll be the runt of the litter."

"Perchance it might be content to gnaw on a few bones, preferably not those currently residing inside our bodies?"

Rogmund looked at Karissa and smiled. "Cute. I like that. I told you that hanging around me would lighten your mood swings."

Hroknar surveyed his three companions, then faced Karissa and Rogmund. "You didn't convey your plans for the morning, outside of the fact that you have been traveling in a generally eastward direction. Do you intend to stay here and investigate the village and the Yeth Hound, or do you plan to journey onward? Since Ysoltre needs clothing and gear, he and I planned to go and take a look around. Would you care to stay at least that long? Perhaps we can find out what this creature is together, and with that knowledge, defeat it so as to make this way safer for future travelers?"

The archer looked to Karissa. "The tale of this beast piqued your interest since Bowen first spoke of it. It's why you wanted to make for the Andusarian circle, and four is a better tactical advantage than two, especially when one is a Dervatear warrior who keeps his weapons and armor in obviously excellent condition."

Karissa's gaze moved from Rogmund to Hroknar to Ysoltre. "Aye, and Ysoltre did bespeak that the bloodstains on his blouse were not his own. If conflict is unavoidable, that too is a favorable reference." It appeared as though a smile might take hold of the woman's face, but only the slightest upward curve to her lips was evident. "I suppose 'twould be poor manners to refuse such a singular request from those who hath graciously offered to share their campfire, offering succor from night's embrace."

Rogmund's smile was readily evident. He looked from Hroknar to Ysoltre and back again. "That's her beguiling way of saying, 'Yes, we'll be happy to journey to the hamlet with you, lending a hand, guarding your backs, doing whatever is necessary, within the bounds of decorum, at least.' Trollbait's a Theavian, you know. They rarely say anything that doesn't have twelve layers of meaning hidden in every phrase." He shrugged. "You get used to it, even begin to like it and think of it as charming, after a while."

Hroknar smiled, seeming to enjoy the light banter the two threw each other's way. "Aye, it would seem to be. If she was not obviously of Mnoethen blood, I would have sworn she hailed from the Dervatear race by her voice. Except Dervatear tend to get to the point, then ramble on about it; Karissa seems to take her time getting there, then nails it down toward the end." Hroknar bowed suddenly, a slight smile of his own evident. "No offense, Milady. I merely mean that you remind me of my dear mutta, and any remembrance of home is welcome."

"At any rate, I would not deign to debate thee on the subject, for 'twould take hours for two such as us, which would provide Rogmund with yet more barbs to hurl to great effect," Karissa replied, her face a mask of seeming innocence.

The Dervatear warrior appeared to beam at her comment as he took up his former position, brandishing his battle axe. "You said earlier that for a Yeth Hound to enter our plane of existence, it has need of a mystical force either to bring it or send it here. Is it possible that a wielder of magic summoned the creature, then either lost control or perhaps still is in control of the beast? He or she might have wanted to clear the area of the local populace for some reason known only to the spellcaster."

Karissa's look of innocence collapsed. "'Tis possible. Such a dweomercrafter likely either would be most powerful on his or her own accord, or would be supported by some alliance with Powers of a most darkling nature. 'Tis also possible that a spellcaster might accomplish such a summoning with the aid of some artifact or similar mystical device, perchance one given as an aid for services rendered, perchance as one happened 'pon by fortuitous accident."

Hroknar nodded his understanding. "You also said that it would take an enchanted weapon, or perhaps one forged of silver, to harm such a beast." The Dervatear twisted to face his erstwhile compatriots more fully. "I do not carry such a weapon, and do not believe that Ysoltre's mighty cleaver is one either. By your own words, Rogmund is likewise devoid of such a weapon."

Silence reigned for several moments as Dervatear, warrior, and bard looked at one another. Hroknar shrugged, part of his point driven home. "That would leave you, Karissa. Have you a weapon capable of harming the creature, or do you believe your skill in the magical arts is advanced enough to harm it, or even hold it at bay?"

"Mine own spells might give a Yeth Hound pause, but I possess insufficient skill to afflict any significant harm 'pon such a fearsome beast, and e'en magical weapons or ones crafted of the purest silver would convey limited damage," Karissa answered, her voice calm and unwavering despite her words. Once again, silence reigned. Of the four, only the woman looked relatively placid and at ease.

"I don't think that was the verification Hroknar was looking for," Rogmund offered as he looked from Karissa to the Dervatear.

"Seems to me, such a beast is better left alone," Ysoltre remarked, mentally judging the wisdom of hunting the hunter. He paused for a moment, then continued, "However, Glashia would probably be a safer place without Yeth's hound running 'round." Sudden laughter erupted from the bard at his own dark humor, as misplaced as it was, and then his face grew serious again. He looked at Rogmund and Karissa. "Is it your intent to slay this beast? Is that what brought you here? If you would like another able body to join the hunt, I will volunteer mine. I have nothing left to loose."

Hroknar cleared his throat. "If we are not able to kill it outright with the weapons we carry, then perhaps Karissa could drive it away from us, out of any den or cave it might be living in. Perhaps we can drive it into the light of day, which Karissa said would send it into the Ethereal forever."

Ysoltre nodded his agreement. "Trapping it in daylight would seem to be the best strategy." The bard's brow furrowed suddenly. Dark green eyes scanned the faces of Rogmund and Karissa. "Why do you believe this stone circle will provide safety from the hound?"

"Long hath it been known that the Andusarian megaliths are barriers 'gainst many types of enchantments and extraplanar creatures, e'en some of the more mundane types that are consumed by surpassing evil, such as the cursed Undead," Karissa answered. She pointed to several rocky monoliths. "The runes and pictographs carved into the stones bespeak of ancient rites and prayers of supplication. They name Celestial Powers revered far and wide, e'en some whose names seemingly hath been lost to antiquity, if indeed those names represent elder beings who are worshipped no longer by the folk of today."

"I wonder what significance these stone circles hold, if any?" Ysoltre asked, his eyes wide as he looked upon first one monolith, then another.

Karissa spread her arms and twirled around slowly. "In ancient times, such constructions probably were used to keep some summoned force in check, a protection 'gainst losing control of some dimension-rending magic or transplanted creature from misty realms better suited to fevered nightmares. Their enchantment remains despite the millennia, woven into the very nature of the stonework, and provides protection from beyond as well as within, giving us, and many travelers over the centuries, a relatively safe haven."

Ysoltre - his face a mixture of awe and confusion - turned to the Dervatear. "You said you have seen other structures such as this one, that you have traveled from one to the other?"

Looking at the bard, Hroknar nodded and said, "Aye, tis true. This is the fourth such circle of stones that I have found. I have rested in three of those. The first two were still standing as is this one. The third was wrecked as if by giant hands. But, I was still able to find the reference in that one which brought me here. It seems that all of these places have a map of sorts etched into the stone which tells where the next two closest ruins are located. I have been following them eastward for some time now, ever since I entered the Innocus Mountains, and was going to continue in that fashion before I met you three."

Hroknar's gaze drifted toward the west, eyes staring off into the distance, as if he could peer back into his homeland. Very quietly, he mumbled, "I shall return one day, my people, and then you shall be free." He then takes up his vigil once again.

Over-hearing Hroknar's muffled closing comment, Ysoltre sent a curious glance toward his half-elven counterpart and the archer. "If I may ask, Hroknar of the Second Warren, who or what sent you on your quest?"

Hroknar turned and faced the other three. A wistful smiled drifted across his face, then was gone. "If your question is as I think it is, then the answer is simple...Tseld did, of course. He sends forth all Akmatar Initiates. But if you are asking what the object of my quest is, I cannot answer you, since I do not yet know. I was only told that I would know it when I saw it." He paused to chuckle quietly. "Sounds odd, does it not? Looking for something, yet not knowing what it is. I assume that Tseld will show it to me in a vision or something of that nature."

Then, stepping forth, Hroknar announced, "I too will volunteer my arm and my axe for ridding the world of this beast, though I don't know how effective they will be when we face the creature. But, they will be there, if that is our plan."

Rogmund cleared his throat. "Well spoken, my friends, on both of your parts. Once Trollbait gets her mind set on a thing, she doesn't let it go. I could see her course the moment Bowen spoke of the hound, and so chose to accompany her. Now you choose to accompany us." The archer smiled profusely. "Nice to know I'm not the only..ummmmm, champion of the warrior code...drawing breath."

Ysoltre shuddered as a cold breeze blew through the stone structure. He pulled his tattered blouse tighter to his body and moved closer to the campfire. "Then it is decided?" he asked the rest of the quartet, "On the morrow we will investigate the hamlet again?" The minstrel looked around. The course of action seemed to be agreed upon. "Now I think we should get some rest. I am afraid sleep has been as irregular as food for me in the past few days. Shall we set up a watch schedule?"

Karissa turned and moved to her saddle bags, reaching inside to pull forth a blanket. "For most here, 'tis early enow yet. But for thee, 'tis equally clear that thy body seeks to recover from some grievous hurt. E'en were that not the case, still would the warmth of fire and blanket be suitable for this 'eve," she said, offering the folded fabric to Ysoltre.

"Teer nash, Lady Karissa," said the youthful half-elf minstrel. A smile grew unbidden on his face as he accepted the blanket. "A thoughtful gesture, one most appreciated."

Rogmund moved to his horse and began to remove its saddle. "We will have to provide time enough for the horses to graze a bit come morning, since we don't have anything to feed them by hand and this Yeth Hound possibly might be lurking about in the darkness."

The archer paused, looking at his companions, both old and new. "As for the watch schedule, what do you all think is best?"

"I believe thou wouldst encounter difficulty in not letting Hroknar take the first watch," Karissa offered. "E'en were that not the case, 'tis clear that the possibility of a Yeth Hound's appearance hath prompted our Dervatear compatriot to a state of vigilance that would preclude his resting easily. 'Twill work all the way 'round, in fact, for we two still must tend our horses and our portion of the campsite."

Rogmund looked to the sky. "It still stays dark fairly long this time of year. Trollbait only needs half as much sleep as a normal person, one of her many endearing traits." He paused to smile at the woman, then shifted his gaze to Hroknar and Ysoltre. "Anyway, if I turn in early and relieve Hroknar at second watch, he and I should be able to get seven to eight hours of rest apiece because each of us will only be up a couple of hours while everyone else is asleep. Trollbait can pull a double shift that takes us to dawn and still get all the rest she requires. That will let Ysoltre sleep the night away, and he looks like he could use it."

"Nonsense," argued the bard, "I will not ask Karissa to carry my load." Ysoltre looked to the cleric and added," When you get tired, I will relieve you and take the last watch."

Violet eyes searched the face of the minstrel, then gazed upon those of Rogmund and Hroknar. "As thou sayest," Karissa remarked, a slight nod evident as her attention shifted back to Ysoltre. "I shall acquiesce to thy wishes."

Rogmund looked confused momentarily, apparently in thoughtful disagreement with Karissa agreeing to Ysoltre's terms. Then a sudden wistful smiled played about his lips as his eyes widened, even as Hroknar grunted something unintelligible, which drew the attention of those about him.

"I learned something while serving in my land's military, and that is, when food is offered, eat; when the chance arises, sleep. You never know when your next opportunity will come," the Dervatear said. "Ysoltre, you have obviously had a hard time for at least the past few days, possibly even longer. Take a rest if it is offered. You shall have plenty of chances to take your post on future nights, at different camps than this."

Then Hroknar turned to Rogmund and said, "It matters not which watch I take. I am comfortable now, or with the later watches." One hand rose to tap his brow. "Remember, I have the 'sight'. But, you do not, so I was thinking that it may be best if you were to take the first watch to take advantage of any lingering light left over from the day. But, as I said, it does not matter to me. Either way is acceptable."

The archer smiled, sending a look the way of Karissa, then Ysoltre. "A most gracious offer, friend Hroknar of the Second Warren. However, the light from the campfire fills the stone circle, which will render your darksight ineffective. Therefore, it is simply a matter of choice. I believe Trollbait considered that, and your vigilant stance since the time we first entered, and concluded that the first watch might suit you best."

"And Hroknar hath rested awhile whilst we three others were engaged in activity elsewhere," Karissa offered.

"Also right," Rogmund replied, "an example of Hroknar putting that military training to practical use. I think a good schedule would be Hroknar first, followed by me, then Trollbait, then Ysoltre, who as a member of this party certainly has the right to have his wishes respected."

Rogmund moved closer to the Dervatear warrior, although he faced Karissa and the bard. "Now, Hroknar and I can hash out the particulars of any warning system and exact timing of each watch while Trollbait tends to her and my camp needs." The archer pointed to Ysoltre. "As for you, my friend, you had best turn in. You look a mess, so chances are that you'll be glad for every minute of sleep you were able to get when you rise next." With that, the tall human turned wholly to Hroknar and appeared to enter into a quiet conversation with the Dervatear Axemaster.

Karissa smiled at Ysoltre, who still stood, blanket in hand. The brunette pointed to the folded garment held by the minstrel. "To bed. The morn' shall arrive quickly enow. As Rogmund did bespeak, thou shalt be glad then for partaking of the restful balm of slumber now."

As Ysoltre spread out the blanket and Karissa began to remove the saddle from her horse, Rogmund bent low to speak to Hroknar, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Ysoltre does need the extra sleep, we all can see that. It's his own pride standing in the way, he being stubborn about 'pulling his own weight.' Trollbait's already got it handled, though, unless I miss my guess, though it took me a moment to catch up to her thoughts. She's a Theavian, and I did warn you both about Theavians. She'll follow Ysoltre's request...exactly as he worded it. When Trollbait grows tired, she'll awaken the minstrel for his turn on watch, as she said. Of course, once Trollbait's had her four hours of sleep, she won't be tired."

Whispering in kind, Hroknar replied to the archer, "I thank you. He has had a very rough time, if his appearance is any indication. Also, I think that he has a grievous wound to his heart or spirit. He needs time to heal from that as well. Whatever has happened, it may cause him to take unnecessary risks. And if he risks himself, that may increase danger to the rest of us. That is something that I would like to avoid."

The archer smiled. "Ysoltre will get the sleep he needs, both to his benefit and ours, since he is a member of our little group and there's no telling what we might find in the hamlet come morning."

Smiling in kind, Hroknar responded, "You are right. Though, the one thing I hope to find are some extra clothes. Hunting a carnivorous beast while one of the party is wearing blood-stained clothes is not really the best thing for one's health, now is it?"



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