A search for new life [New Life on Althanas Quest]

[Ganlon Martel]

OOCNew Life on Althanas -
There are some ruins in Concordia several leagues west of Underwood that are said to host a plethora of previously unidentified plant life. Rumours circulate that among these new species is one with untold potential for healing tonics and potions. This may just be an old farmer's tale, but several apothecaries and druids in Underwood are offering hearty rewards for sizable samples of the fabled plant.

Ganlon and Milo wish to claim the Gold reward should they make the score based on their writing.

The normal sounds of the forest gave way to banging long before Ganlon saw the forest change into Underwood. The crack of a hammer against stone and the shouts of working men echoed through the forest as he walked up the South Road.

Ganlon always felt a sense of home in these woods and he would tell others that his bones felt like they belonged here. Still his normal sense of Underwood was changed as he noticed that the trees started to begin to get thinner and sparser as he approached the town. This was out of character for the Lumber-jack town that he knew. The men he knew planted new trees for each that they cut down.

The answers to Ganlon’s questions were answered as he approached what was once a sleepy village. A wall had begun to take shape at the edges of the South Road and the shape of a gate could be seen ahead. Fortifications were being built around Underwood and men worked hard at this purpose.

Underwood still appeared his friend and home as the sunshine broke through the shade of the Evergreens that Ganlon loved so much. Shadows played off of buildings and he stopped for a second to watch as pieces of dirt, dust, and pine needles floated like fairies in the beams of the sun’s rays. He closed his eyes and smelled the forest. Evergreen, spearmint crushed under workmen’s foot, and bearberry blossoms made his nostrils flare.

His moment of peace was broken by a question, “Erg, hey you there state your business in Underwood.”

The man who addressed Ganlon stood much taller than Ganlon and was looking down at him over a Bulbous Nose. He was dressed in what looked like half home spun and half Underwood Watch attire. He held a spear that looked older than Ganlon and Ganlon took notice that a shield lay propped up against a tree ten feet away.

Ganlon realized three things quickly. First he had let this man walk up on him without noticing. Second, four of the usual Underwood Watch stood half aware and half dicing against part of the new wall that was going up. Third this man could really use his help.

Ganlon smiled his biggest smile at the human giant; the man had to be six foot, six inches tall.

“It has truly been a long time since I have seen a nose that big.” The Watchmen stopped their game of dice. All of them turned in unison.

“What did you just say?” Big nose stood to his full height. The spear was clutched in his hand so tightly that Ganlon could see the whites of his knuckles.

“I said that the last time I saw a nose like that was on Robert Barnwood. They used to say that he was a drinker, a heavy knocker down of the drink. Father said that he had never seen the man drink in his life and was always want to figure out why the village made such a fuss over the man.” Ganlon leaned in and place a hand on the spear handle. The eyes of Big Nose got wide and his eyebrows rose. Ganlon kept right on talking.

“Anyway, Father figured out that it wasn’t the drinking that made Robert’s nose red he had the dog bugs. These guys always say you drink to much don’t they?” Ganlon looked up at Big Nose and tried to look him right in the eye.

“Yes they do. And…” Ganlon cut him off quickly,

“It’s not your drinking you see its dog bugs that got up your nose. It’s easy to fix. Father had his nose fixed in two weeks. Apple cider vinegar and Elderberries mixed together and soaked in a rag. Place that up your nose and breathe it in every night. Two weeks you’ll be better too, Big Nose.” Ganlon realized what he had said at the end and swallowed hard but smiled his biggest smile.

“Dog bugs huh? You mean like when the hair falls off of them?” Big Nose put his spear butt down onto the ground.

Ganlon knew he had him now, “Yes, and wait I have the Elderberries right here.” Ganlon reached into his pouch. The Underwood Watchmen returned to their dice.

“You see I am a Village Healer and I come to Underwood in search of some Herbs.” Ganlon rooted through his pouch. Oh, Zall, where were those Elderberries?

“Then, Sir you should visit the Galt Apothecary. Hey, where can I get some of that vinegar do you think?” Big Nose held out his hand for the Elderberries.

“Any Tavern should have Cider and any Apothecary should be able to make apple cider vinegar. If you cannot find it before I leave Underwood. I will help you get some.” Ganlon finally found the Elderberries and placed them in Big Nose's hand.

“Good day to you Traveler,” Big nose stepped aside.

“Ganlon.”

“What?”

“My name is Ganlon,” Ganlon took a deep bow.

“And mine is Douglass,” Douglas Bignose bowed back.

Ganlon moved down the South Road and into the village square. The name of the Apothecary was not one that Ganlon had heard before. He was not always happy to deal with Apothecaries. They were trained and belonged to a guild. They always seemed haughty to Ganlon as if they knew more about the herbs that grew in his woods than he did.

Ganlon wished Milo had come with him. The elf had travelled with him towards Underwood and had decided not to make the trip from their camp into Underwood citing a case of people phobia. Ganlon liked people; truth was he just liked the quite of the woods more.

He completely understood why Milo had decided to stay behind. Ganlon imagined that Milo was cooking something really good right about now. Venison stew would be wonderful. Ganlon closed his eyes and could taste the broth. He imagined felt it go down his throat and warm his stomach as he stepped forward.

Right into a group of passing Underwood Watch, “The fortifications look good here and… URMPH.”

Ganlon stumbled into a man who looked to be in his sixties. Sliver and grey marked all of the hair on his body and his skin had the patterns etched in it that showed the paths that life had taken him. He felt his elbow go directly into the soft part of the man's stomach. Swords were immediately drawn and Ganlon found himself pinned against the stone wall behind him.

One of the Watchmen yelled, “Get him out of here.” Ganlon saw the man start to be pushed away; but the older man swatted the hands of his own men and cleared a space for himself.

“Now wait just a minute. You young men just wait. Let me just catch my breath.”

Teeth of metal pointed at Ganlon in spots that he wished they weren't pointing. The one spot was the one that made him a man. The Watchmen eyed Ganlon nervously. Benjamin Aldebrand, Mayor of Underwood, stood in the square and took a couple of deep breaths. Ganlon remembered him now. Oh, Zall, he had done it again.

“I see no weapons drawn by this young man. Do any of you?” None of the Watchmen moved.

“Young man, have you any intention of hurting me?” Benjamin Aldebrand stated. He was bent over, his hands on his knees and his breath labored. He pulled himself upward and his air of authority returned in an instant.

“No sir.” Ganlon said and that was all he could get out before he was pushed back into the wall. All of Ganlon's air left him as he was pushed against the wall.

“Then let us just go about our business as if nothing happened. Okay with you?” Benjamin Aldebrand looked at his Watchmen. He brushed his body with his hands, as if to wipe Ganlon off of him.

Ganlon nodded.

The hands and swords were released from his body. The group continued its walk down the street.

Ganlon turned and opened the first door that he could find to get off of the street. There was no bell signaling his entrance to the room but all three of the hoods turned to look at him. The Druids of Y’edda were distinctive in their brown robes. Now Ganlon really missed Milo. The Druids had always scared him with their abilities to heal, and deep hidden magic’s.

None of them moved again. No one spoke. Ganlon looked around the room. Herbs dried from every beam. Bottles of herbs and seeds were categorized and placed by healing and curative power. Ganlon had found what he was looking for with out have to go to the Apothecary.

“Hello everybody, I’m hoping you guys can help me,” Ganlon half expected the voice that answered to be a deep booming voice, something non human. The door behind him shut and forced Ganlon further into the room.

A normal man's voice said simply, “yes?”

“I am looking for Agrimony and I am willing to pay,” Ganlon shook his pouch of gold. He tried to smiled his best smile. It stuck nervously to his face and hurt as he did it.

Now the voice sounded more like what Ganlon expected, “Boy, what do you know of Agrimony?” The voice cut like a razor
and the sound seemed to scrap against his ear drums.

Ganlon’s reply came straight from his father’s words, “Agrimony is of the rose family, and like all its relatives is good to stop bleeding. Agrimony makes a mildly lemonly flavored herb tea. It is often known as Church steeples and Cockleburr . The whole plant is deep green and covered with soft hairs, and has a slightly aromatic scent; even the small root is sweet scented, especially in spring. It smells like apricot and I need it in case one of us gets cut again. Oh, and sheep and goats will eat this plant, but cattle, horses and swine leave it untouched.”

Each of the hoods turned to look at one and another. Finally the one seated in the back came forward. He came to the edge of the counter.

“Healer, I have a proposition for you,“ the voice was older more mature. The hood fell down from around the man’s face and Ganlon was relieved to see that it was in fact just a man.

The man was in his forties by the look of him. A single scar was on the left side of his face just above his eye.
His eyes were the color of a storm at sea and they reminded Ganlon of Genove’s eyes. His hair was brown and he stood proud and strong his shoulders forward beneath his robe. Ganlon felt he was someone important.

“Healer, I, we, have need of something in exchange for the Agrimony. If you find this, also we will pay you.”
Ganlon listened, free Agrimony and get paid sounded like a good deal to him. Milo’s, and his Father’s, voice seemed to compete in his head for a chance to speak. Finally it was his father's voice that echoed in his mind, this is too good to be true.

“This sounds too good to be true. First, what is it that you want? Second why can’t you go get it yourself and why do you need me?That last part was thirdly,” Ganlon tried his best to look strong and he pushed his shoulders back and his chest out.

“It is an herb. This is a stout bristly plant, with deep green, ovate leaves, and long-stalked axillary, crowded clusters of rather large flowers, which are of an intense azure blue and have a short tube to the ground. It is not something you would see usually healer but we know that someone such as yourself would know it right away. “

The Druid walked from behind the counter and placed Elderberries into Ganlon’s hand.

“An act of good faith for the ones you gave away outside," Ganlon felt an uncontrolled shiver go up his body.

“You still didn’t say why you couldn’t get it yourself,” Ganlon placed the Elderberries into his pouch. Who was he to not accept a gift?

“Oh, we are looking Healer. We are looking; but, we are willing to pay someone such as yourself for this herb. Two hundred gold pieces we will give you. We know only one thing to help you find it. It lies near a ruin in the center of a bog.” The Druid attempted a smile that came out more like a smirk.

Ganlon couldn’t believe his ears. Two hundred gold pieces that was more than he could have made on the farm in ten years, hell more than he made in fifteen years.

“I’ll do it.” Ganlon reached out for the Druids hand. The Druid just raised his hood.

“Good, Good. See you when you return, Mister?” The Druid waited.

“Martel, Ganlon Martel.”

“See you when you return Mister Martel.”

[blackdog1]

The arrow slowly turned on it's sharp steel point, to the naked eye it did not appear to wobble or bow. Not perfect, but good enough for Milo. He slipped it and it's twin into his quiver. Two arrows in an afternoon was nothing to brag about, but he enjoyed to craft and produced good arrows as long as he took his time and was patient.

Milo leaned back to quietly enjoy the last part of the day. He relished being alone in the forest, after all, he had spent most of his long years doing just that. Listening and watching the rhythms of the forest and it's creatures was more than a leisure pursuit, it was a way of life and a key to his survival.

Just as Milo moved the stew pot to the side of the fire pit and added some wood to bring the fire back to life, he heard the distant snapping of a twig and the rustle of some branches. Quickly and with the economy of effort only gained through training and practice, he strung his bow and notched an arrow.

Taking a few short steps to get out of the open, Milo waited for who ever was approaching and prepared to draw his bow. After a short moment he saw who it was, Ganlon, his travel companion.

Milo did not know if he should be aggravated because he lost his quiet evening alone, or worried because his friend had returned from Underwood much sooner than expected.

"How do you always manage to show up when it's time to eat?" Milo jokingly asked his friend.

"My father always said," Ganlon began, "an uninvited dinner guest is always welcome as long as he brings enough wine." and he finished by producing a large wine jug.

"What brings you back so soon," Milo asked, "I thought you would be getting your fill of people at the tavern right now."

"No, I had to come right back," he answered with a smile, " I got us a job."

As they enjoyed their wine,bread and stew, Ganlon filled Milo in on his adventures in Underwood that day. He went into great detail as he told about the druids and their bounty for a plant that Ganlon had never heard of.

Milo held his questions until Ganlon was done with his recap of the day. He wondered if Ganlon was more excited by the job or the plant.

"They gave you no more information than that?," Milo finally had to ask.

"That was all."

They devolved into fire side small talk as Milo dredged his memory for someplace that would fit the simple description. He kept coming back to, and dismissing, the same area until he had to admit to himself it was the place. He did not like the answer.

"I know of only one place that it could be," Milo said as the discussion once again circled to the new job, "many know it as the black moors. It is an area that is avoided by any one who knows better."

"Then you have heard of it," Ganlon's excitement showed in his voice, "I was hoping you would know what the druids were referring to, and be able to guide us there too."

"I'll tell you what I know first, then you can make your decision if you still want to go or not." With that said, Milo poured another cup of wine and settled down by the fire to relay all he could remember or knew about the black moors.

"From what I recall about my own travels, it is not a nice or hospitable place. The forest is dark with stunted and disfigured trees. There are no birds or animals to speak of,even the water is foul."

Milo took a sip of wine and focused on the dancing flames for a moment before continuing.

"As for the ruins, I do not know much, only where I think they might be located.
I came upon some stone cairns that marked some sort of boundary while wandering those parts of the forest. It's where I suspect the ruins are, but I don't know for certain.The only thing that I am absolutely sure of is the fact that this area is avoided by everyone, even the Rangers don't go there."

They spent a few minutes in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, or possibly the wine. Milo was not used to saying so much at once, and needed a short breather before he told Ganlon the worst part.

"The old rumors and stories tell about a time when some sort of black magic was practiced in the area. The evil side effects still linger, but no one really knows what they are or what's there."

Ganlon had the look of a kid who just heard a spook story, so Milo figured he had best leave the rest of his thoughts for tonight and change the subject.

"So, did you see any pretty girls in Underwood?," he asked brightly, "pass the wine would ya."

[Ganlon Martel]

The healer had just left the room. The door shut behind him with a slight bang. There was a moment of stillness. The air was quiet and warm with rays of sunlight that shone through the windows over the door. The rays played stark contrast to the dark and damp room that was filled with herbs and powders. Points of light struck glass sending it in wild and beautiful dances of color.

“Do you really think that, THAT will find what we are looking for?” None have them had moved and their hoods stayed in place. The voice had come from the only Druid who had not spoken yet.

“Martel, oh yes, I am quite certain he will find the herb. These local healers are quite resourceful really.” Clinton Bashar moved his hood back over his head. The scar on his face was more pronounced now as he spoke. He moved from his place in front of the counter to where he had been working five minutes before. The shard of Cillu glass from Nirrakal sat in a pedestal just out of normal view. It was the color of cream with hints of amber in it until Clinton touched it.

The view became that of the road entering Underwood. Douglass Bignose stood watching the road, pacing back and forth. There was no sound; however, the picture was clear, as if one was standing just inside of the gate.

“We have others looking for the same herb, Dorth, and Martel will not be the last to walk through our door.” Clinton sat down on the stool just before the shard. Dorth’s own personal agenda often showed clear through his speech. Clinton had to suppress a chuckle. Dorth’s own apprentice was out looking for the herb as the three of them talked.

“Still, Clinton, how many do we want out there looking for this thing?” The third and youngest of them, Charles, asked.

“It is a sort of admission of sorts that the children of the Sky Mother are not capable of retrieving this herb.” Charles put down his hood. A smile on his face, his eyes had the same Sea Green color as Clinton’s.

Clinton looked at a Charles. He focused on the younger Druid’s eyes. Was this a bid for power perhaps from the younger druid? Was this an attempt to knock Clinton off his seat by displaying that he was incapable of retrieving something that could be so vital with the possibility of Imperial attack? Clinton had worked far too hard, for far too long to gain his position in the ranks of the Sky Goddess’ children to allow this upstart to replace him so soon from being on the milk tit of apprenticeship.

Clinton lowered his hood. His smiled hard and sharp, both sets of teeth showing as he looked at the younger Druid, “Martel, is our best hope in going where we can no longer go.” He stood fixed. No motion from his body, he maintained direct eye contact with the younger druid until the younger man looked away.

“Is all of this obfuscation really necessary? Why didn’t we just tell him that we were looking for an herb with the potential to heal.” Charle's lowered gaze fixed him on a vial and he picked up. He moved it through his finger, playing with it nervously.

“Because at this point all we have is the story that we gained from the traveler, remember?” Dorth spurted out. He eyes were filled with scorn for the younger druid and he waved a dismissive hand at Charles. He stood from his stool and went to gather papers from a desk in the corner of the storefront. The large pile he gather took both of his arms to lift.

“No, Dorth, we have more than that. We have a location, and with that you know what is possible from that place. Imagine the death, pain, and suffering that could be unleashed if we let every one know what is there? No, this is best left to small parties of our control. Sent by us to gain small samples until it can be verified that the herb is capable of accomplishing what was said.” Clinton reached over and retrieved the vial from Charles. He held the younger Druids hands till they were still, holding the young mans gaze. When the younger man looked away he put the vial back on the shelf.

Dorth moved away from both of the other Druids. His hand deftly found the lock for the hidden door at the back of the shop.He dropped some of his papers and bending over to pick them up he said, “I am going to tell The Circle of Elerdhen what we wish them to know about this…Quest, of ours. By now I am sure some of the herb dealers are looking for the same thing we are. We mustn’t let this get too far out of our control.” Dorth slipped through the door.

“Martel will accomplish this. Mark my words,” Clinton looked back at the shard on the pedestal.


Ganlon and Milo finished what had now become a normal routine for them. They quickly rolled everything up from their campsite. Milo made a quick perimeter scan of the woods surrounding their campsite as Ganlon stamped out the fire. He covered the coals with dirt and buried them deep enough that no spark would light an errant fire.

Once Milo had returned the two of them started their walk towards their destination without a word. Ganlon could feel the excitement grow within him. If he found an herb in Concordia forest that no one had seen before it could very well bear the name Martel for all eternity.

The prospect of fame and fortune sparked the youthfulness that was part of Ganlon’s nature. He began to ramble as they walked.

“Arrowroot, potato like plant that can be found in wet areas, you can boil it and eat it like the potato. Father cooked it with pig. It has Arrow like leaves.” Ganlon made a mental check in his head, verifying that Arrowroot was the plant that he had just seen. That was a Beech tree over there.

“Beech, you can use the bark to color homespun if you steep the water before dying. But it really makes a good coffee. To bad it isn’t giving nuts right now.” Ganlon stopped.

He looked around at the woods of Concordia. A realization hit him at how truly bountiful the woods around him were. The Evergreens of Concordia surrounded him, their winter berries showed on their leaves.

“Evergreen berries. Dangerous, was the word most often used by Father. Ground and dried they could be placed into a tea and given to a woman who wished to be rid of a child. If mixed just correctly they could fake a death, causing a person’s heart and breathing to slow to the point of being unable to be detected. Most of the time they just killed people, but not when Father did it,” or when I do it Ganlon said to himself.

Milo turned and looked at him, “Ganlon are you talking?”

“Just kind of thinking out loud you know. I was going through some of the herbs that I know as we walk. That is an Evergreen you know.” Ganlon pointed at the tree.

“Ganlon, I am two hundred and two years old. I know what an Evergreen tree is,” Milo started to move back towards walking.

“Okay. But you see that over there in the open area. That is Sorghum. It is edible.” Milo saw the Sorghum, he knew what it was but let the youth speak on. Ganlon walked to the plant.

“You see. The top of it can be made into a flour and cooked into a bread. You can use the strands to make rope and if steeped into tea it can clear up a problem with passing your water. Father said before, when the forest was the other’s, you know the people before us, they used to use this as a crop.” Ganlon pulled off the top of the plant crushed it between his fingers and smelled it. He placed part of the plant into his pouch.

Milo was impressed and he let Ganlon know as much, “Perhaps young man you have more to teach me than I thought.”

Ganlon just smiled.

[blackdog1]

The first day of their new adventure was going well, Ganlon was talkative and in high spirits, which rubbed off onto Milo a bit.

"So, Ganlon," Milo said to keep up with the banter, "what do you know about black puff ball mushrooms?" he knew very well that Ganlon would have a perfectly reasonable and factual answer to the simple question.

"Everyone knows that they are poisonous of course," he answered brightly, " but you can also use them as a mild sedative, if you are careful."

"How about Ogre balls?" Milo asked with a slight smile, he did not think that Ganlon would know this little piece of random trivia.

Ganlon stopped walking and cocked his head," Is this a joke?" He was on the verge of getting upset, Ganlon did not like to be the butt of jokes.

"No my friend," Milo answered, "just trying to help fill your head. The Fairies use the black puff balls by letting them dry, they then throw them to disorient or knock people out by smashing them and releasing the powder inside. They call them Ogre balls."

"Really, " Ganlon asked, "how do you know that?"His interest was piqued, this was something about the mushrooms that he did not know.

"Let's just say that I was on the receiving end of them once," was all that Milo would say about the subject right now. The whole long story was less than believable without a good quantity of wine to wash it down.

More jokes were made and stories were told as the morning ran into the afternoon. Milo tried to keep them on a good course to the west after they left the roads and entered the vastness of Concordia itself. The sun was shining straight into their faces, making distance visibility more difficult as the afternoon went on. Luck was with them, before long they stopped at a good watering hole that they came upon by chance.

They grounded their packs and refreshed themselves with the cool, clear spring water. After a few minutes of rest Ganlon sprang to his feet, still full of energy and eager to be on his way.

"I'm ready when ever you are, " Ganlon said to move his friend into action,"there is still enough daylight to make another mile or two." He was already stowing his water, and readying his pack.

"I think it would be wiser to make camp here," Milo countered, "besides it could be a mistake to move too far too fast in light of what we are looking for. And I really don't like to go on with the sun in my face, we could miss something important."

Ganlon could not argue with that logic, even though he was excited about their mission, he began the routine of setting camp for the night. Good sleeping ground was found along with an ample supply of firewood.

Milo stood watch for most of the night, thanks to the gifts of his elven heritage. Mostly he sat still and rested in a state that would allow his body and mind to recharge while still being aware of his surroundings. Once, in the dark of night, he took the time to do a slow patrol around the area, listening to the sound of the harmless night creatures as they went about their nocturnal lives. All was well and normal in the forest that night.

An uneventful night passed into a clear and calm morning. The brief camp routine had them traveling again while the air still held the cool of the night.

Today there was little talk as the ventured further to the west. Milo carried his bow with an arrow notched from the moment they left camp, this seriousness was not lost on Ganlon who also shifted his attention today. Instead of focusing on the nearest plant and it's use, he looked at the forest as a whole, alert for movements and changes that could be important or dangerous.

After a few hours and as many miles of travel, Milo stopped and stood still and silent for a few moments.

"Did you notice that?" Milo asked quietly.

Ganlon nodded his head even though Milo was not looking at him,"Yes, I did. It's too quiet, and the trees have started to change too. Many of these plants do not look right, as if they are ill in some way. Is this the place you remember?"

"We are not there yet," Milo answered, "but I think we are getting close."

Milo shifted his course to the north and slowed his pace, like a hunter stalking his prey. The forest grew darker despite the shining sun, and the colors around them began to fade into shades of gray. The normal sights, sound and smells of the forest slowly diminished into a dull imitation of the Concordia they both knew. It was in no way comforting, but it told Milo that they were headed in the right direction.

A short time later, possibly mid-day, but they could not tell from the lack of true light, Milo stopped and pointed ahead. They could make out ahead of them an unnaturally shaped stone, it stood about four feet high and came to a point at the top. It was a familiar sight from the last and only time Milo ventured into this area. The same desire to flee from here that he remembered was once again creeping up on him.

"I do believe," Milo began, "that is a boundary marker to the Black Moors. I have never been closer than this. Would you like to take a look?"

When Milo turned to look over at his friend, he could not tell if it was fear or excitement that showed on his face.

Moving closer to the stone marker, they both stopped in their tracks at what they spied on the ground before it. It was the body of a young human, obviously dead and curiously wearing the robes of a Druid. From the looks of him, he had not been here more than a few days.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon had felt and seen the change in the woods and could see the change in Milo for a long while before they had found the dead druid. The trees had changed in ways that had piqued Ganlon’s interest. Their normal growth towards the rays of the sun had become twisted in directions that looked more like cries of pain than growth. Limbs twisted completely around like large pieces of licorice. Ends of limbs looked more like fingers than the bud ends of growth. The trees at the top of their screams of growth clung to each other creating a canopy that changed the warm light of the sun into the grey haze of twilight.

His mind attempted to find natural ways for this to occur and wondered if the change in the landscape could have caused it alone. He looked and saw that this area of the woods was one created by two ridges. Ganlon imagined that at some point long ago a huge piece of ice or a Thayne’s hand had dug out a furrow in the earth. The result had created an area that was catch basin for the normal run off of water. The Moor that was created was due to the grounds inability of normal run off to be released. There were sections of the water that was just below the surface of the earth and others where it was visible.

Moors or swamps had all kinds of different plants than the normal wood and Ganlon realized that his talent for plant recognition would be tested here. The large pointed stone that marked of the new section of wood had truly changed and Ganlon noticed that the grasses on one side had changed to sedges on the other.

“Sedges have edges, Rushes are round, Grasses are hollow, what have you found?” The rhyme that his father had repeated over and over in the field as they weeded sounded in his head. Ganlon had loved to weed. He loved looking at the different plants that grew from the earth. He had hated his father’s repeating of this rhyme; that is until now.

Sedges being on the other side of the stone meant that the soil itself had changed. The dirt was more filled with acid and less with base. This change meant that something or perhaps someone had changed the forest unnaturally, they had changed the very nature of the Concordia Forest. The most important of the Sedges that Ganlon remembered his father talking about was the one that was pounded into paper scrolls half way around the world in Alerar.

Ganlon had been busy looking at the sedges until he noticed the druid about the same time as Milo. Ganlon rushed forward to the young man. He immediately grabbed the man’s head and looked into his face. He tilted the man's head back and opened the man's mouth. Ganlon lowered his head to the face of the man. His cheek close to the man’s lips, his eyes looking at the man’s chest.

“Oh, Zall,” Ganlon let the man’s head slowly to the ground and placed his head onto the man’s chest no breathing. Ganlon stopped himself, he relaxed. He let his second sight take over. There was not enough of the light of life in this man. He could find none of the soul that let this one hundred eighty pound sack of water and calcium be a man.

“He is gone.” Ganlon pushed back from the man with an audible exhalation of breath. His muscles began to shake in an attempt to get rid of the adreline dump that he had gotten just prior to rushing to the man.

“Yes, Ganlon, I could have told you that from here.” Milo was still scouring the woods around them. He talked to Ganlon without glancing down at him. His body was a lithe spring of action waiting to release. His voice had given off mirth at his friend’s actions but his body showed nothing but work.

“He looks to be a Druid.” Ganlon began to take a better look at the man as a whole. The face was young maybe nineteen or twenty. He still had all of his possessions as far as Ganlon could tell and so Ganlon began his normal search for cause of death that his father had taught him.

Milo had lowered his bow and was now looking at the stone that was near the edge of the wood line. The runes that marked it were magical in nature, Milo was sure of it. It was a difficult language to place though. Definitely not Elven, probably human in nature, but much older that the common mages writing that Milo was used to seeing now a days. He ventured a quick glance at his young friend and in spite of the feeling he got from this place he couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, Ganlon, I could have told you that as well.” Milo said as Ganlon moved his hands across the Druid's scalp.

Ganlon didn’t even hear his friend. He had started his cause of death search at the top of the druid’s head and had stopped when he got to the man’s face. His curiosity had been awakened by the pin hole wounds that he had found all along the man’s scalp and neck but his face, most importantly his eyes, struck Ganlon as odd.

Dead people’s pupils were fixed. That is to say, they were blown open. There was no reason for your eyes to react to light when you were dead. Your brain no longer received or sent signals to your eyes so your pupils did not contract closed. The Druid’s pupils were pin point in his head.

“This is wrong. There is definitely something wrong here.” Ganlon continued down the body of the druid. Milo also now paid attention to what was happening. He wasn’t able to see the Druid’s eyes due to Ganlon blocking the man’s face but he knew by Ganlon’s tone that something was going on.

“Okay, his pupils are fixed but his heart has stopped. He has no breathing and there is not enough light for life in his body. What is this?” Ganlon had reached the man’s hands and was looking at his fingers. He looked at the man’s fingernails and reached his hand towards Milo.

“Dagger or knife do you have one on you?” Ganlon’s face held a look of determination a focus that Milo hand not normally seen in the youth. He looked at that moment to be his full Twenty-five years. Milo didn’t say a word as he handed Ganlon the dagger. Ganlon took the dagger and dug under the nails of the dead man with the dagger.

“Okay, this is plant material. As much as I hate to do this,” Ganlon licked the Dagger’s edge. Ganlon spit the taste from his mouth.

“Nope, that didn’t tell me any thing.” Ganlon sat back for a minute from the man. Think, Ganlon, think, fixed pupils what would cause fixed pupils on a dead man.

“Well, Ganlon maybe I can help. Can I have my Dagger back?” Milo stood with his hand out for the dagger. In his other hand was a piece of plant. Ganlon handed him the Dagger and Milo wiped it on his shirt before placing it into the sheath. Ganlon took the plant which he immediately recognized as Dark Vine or Ruilserk.

Dark Vine grew on the south side of trees. It was a creature of the Thanye’s true comedic nature. Part plant part, animal, it was smart enough to attack and feed, but not smart enough to communicate. A plant that drank the blood of the unwary, animal or person, the Dark Vine didn’t care what your were.

“He would have known that this was Dark Vine if he was a druid. What would have made him fight with a Dark Vine?” Ganlon was more interested than before. Then it struck him. He knew when dead people had fixed pupils. When they didn’t stay dead.

“We have worse things to worry about. I believe when it is dark we will have a Wraith on our hands.”

Milo suppressed a shiver. He knew now what had kept him from the Black Moor.

[blackdog1]

Milo stood guard while Ganlon throughly went over the Druids body, determined the cause of death and the nightmare that it revealed. His dislike for this place deepened with each new revelation of the past few moments. The fact that he may be in the company of the undead come night-fall was not a big surprise, he knew there was a reason the Black Moors were avoided and his skin was crawling, now it just had a name and a face.

The presence of the Druids body was enough of an indicator that they were in the right place, the tools and supplies that he carried only helped to support it. His pack contained the usual gear to survive in the forest, plus a few extra things of interest. He had a good quality oil lamp that most would not bother to carry, a half dozen large cloth sacks and a well made pair of metal shears.

Milo separated the shears from the rest of the found gear as he fastened the extra pack to the outside of his own.

"Ganlon," he said louder than necessary to get his friends attention, "what do you think of these?" as he manipulated the shears a few times in the air to demonstrate there function.

Ganlon's face lit up like a child who had just found his new favorite toy. Milo had a small laugh then tossed the shears over to the person who would actually use and appreciate them.

They spent some more time looking about the immediate area of the Druids body, trying to gain any information they could before proceeding into the Moors. The boundary marker held their interest and challenged both of their memories, neither could discern the meaning of the etched symbols, magic of some sort was all they could agree on.

Milo put forth a good argument for separating and finding the next boundary markers on either side of the one they now stood at. They were easily found less than a hundred paces to either side, giving the pair a visible line to mark whatever this magical boundary was.

These small and marginally meaningful tasks helped Milo forget about the ever present lurking fear that permeated the area. When they joined each other back at the Druids body Milo came to the realization of what he was really doing. Procrastinating.

No part of him wanted to go further into the Black Moor. He knew that they were here for a reason, so he resolved to be rational. Fear came from the unknown, if he entered the Moor, he would find out why he felt the fear.

That was easier said than done. As the afternoon shadows lengthened, he turned to Ganlon to make decision to stay or go further today.

"Well partner," Milo began awkwardly, "should we cross the boundary and do some investigating before it gets dark? I really don't want to be in there when it does."

He was not kidding at all when he said that, he planned on spending the night hours on the outside of the magic markers, with a large fire and his eyes open.

[Ganlon Martel]

Clinton Bashar sat in the quiet comfort of the Druid’s storefront. The others had left on what ever pursuits they found interesting that day. The Combat Pit at Dandsel was open and running that day. Clinton was sure that Dorth would be there enjoying the pain and death that rose from the combat that took place there. Dorth’s preoccupation with death worried Clinton from time to time. Dorth was a Druid a follower of Y’edda; however, he often saw the Druid allow the warriors to linger to close to the Antifirmament before returning the back full life. He must keep his eye on Dorth to be sure, especially now that they had sent people to the Black Moors. The darkness that lingered there was a temptation to all who sought power.

Clinton was drawn to touch the shard of Cillu glass from Nirraka that was in front of him. He focused his mind on the face of Ganlon Martel with that curiously infectiously, stupid smile that he always wore. Slowly the glass changed from the color of cream with hints of amber to a clear vision of Martel on the ground over a man. The man lay supine on the ground. The robe gave away the fact that the man was novitiate… what was the man’s name? Clinton thought at this point that it was truly irrelevant. The name of the novitiate would be etched in to the memory of the Thayne forever for his service. What better way to be remembered than a higher station when judged upon The Pyre.

Clinton looked away from the shard for a moment and pondered the novitiate. Should he tell Dorth that his apprentice was dead? Hope was a powerful thing and dashing Dorth’s plans for greatness through his apprentice would only serve to push his focus towards Clinton’s plans. So Clinton decided that the apprentice’s outcome would remain a secret.

Clinton returned his focus to Ganlon and the bastard-Elf Milo who stood on the entrance to the Black Moors. They were engaged in a conversation and Clinton was unsure of what it was about. The Black Moors were obscured from his view by the Cairns. The magic, that had been placed there years previous by Druid’s that Clinton only knew from histories, was beginning to weaken.

This was most apparent by the fact that in his life time no one had ever even talked of the Black Moors. It was according to the histories to remain hidden by the magic. A true, what was that huge word that Charles had used, Obfuscation. Magic placed a cloud on the mind of all who passed by the place. Their mind believed that the place didn’t exist, so it didn’t.

There were no actual histories to review. All things that Druids knew from herbs that were mixed to names of the Druids that came before were taught to the novitiate as part of their initiation in chant and or song. Clinton could sing all of the Master Druids’ names from memory just as he could remember which words must be used to allow the energy to bind a warrior’s wounds. Still there was the Song Master, the Druid who kept all of the histories in his head. Clinton resolved to speak with him later.

The story of the Black Moors was a song of sadness. One filled with the loss of a child and the love of a father. The Black Moors, he knew, were the song of Theron Mastice, a Master Druid of Y’edda. The bastard-elf and the healer were entering into the Moors. Clinton watched as they disappeared through the fog.

Wraiths were one thing that Ganlon’s father had not taught him about. He had learned about them completely on his own. The two years Ganlon had spent in grieving Genove’s death had led him to work only when the person or people who showed up were desperate. Ganlon had truly loved Genove, his one true love, and even now the pain that her death had placed in his chest felt close to the same pain he had felt when he was stabbed with a sword. No, it hurt worse, he thought. The shaking sickness had taken her. He saw her grave in his head, next to his mother’s and father’s.

He remembered the day of his first brush with the undead. This one was a grey memory. He couldn’t remember how they had come to be at his cabin. He could remember their faces though. Both were Trades-folk, weavers, he remembered as he touched his pants. Both were complete covered in dirt from head to foot. But it was the need in their eyes that had driven him to listen when they talked about needing his help.

A man and his brother, they were both the common blond haired folk that lived in the forest of Concordia. Strangely, he couldn’t remember either of their names. They were definitely brothers; the only truly defining mark was the grey in the hair of the older brother. They came about their third brother. They said they had made the three day walk remembering their father talk about Tristan Martel, Ganlon’s father.

When Ganlon told them of his father’s death and his unwillingness to help them with what ever they needed, the looks on their faces broke Ganlon’s heart. Their pain seemed to out weigh even Ganlon’s grief and he agreed to accompany them back to their homestead.

The story of the brother seemed at first to be a simple one. He went into the woods to hunt. He returned complaining strange lights in the woods and feeling extremely tired. The wife of the brother reported that he seemed a different person when he lay down for the night. In the morning when the homestead awoke the brother lay as dead, his breaths coming only in small wisps of air. The small amount of healing that the homestead had held no cure for the man.

Ganlon and the brothers made quick time to the homestead only to find that the third brother was gone. The woman and children had barricade themselves into the house for fear of what lay out side. The wife of the third brother stated when night fell after the brothers left the third brother suddenly was gone.

The second night after the brothers left the homestead a cow was found dead with no wounds and a whine could be heard coming from the woods. The third night, the eldest boy stayed outside to guard the live stock and he lay in repose now in the main room as Ganlon and the brothers arrived. Ganlon had examined him immediately and found his eyes to be the same as the Druid who lay on the ground now.

Ganlon tried for hours to go through what he thought to be cures for what made the boy sick. It was to no avail and exhausted Ganlon agreed to stay for the night. Ganlon lay in the room with the boy and close to three candles past mid-night Ganlon awoke to a scuffling noise. The memory of what happened haunted Ganlon still. The boy’s body had started to decompose rapidly. Ganlon watched as the flesh began to sink into the body of the boy. His eyes sunk into his head, his hair fell off and became dust. His skin became dried and then fell off to turn to dust. Next were his bones that once again dried before Ganlon’s eyes and became dust on the floor. Finally from the heart of the boy came a light, eerie and dim the light became a shadow of the boy’s form.

Ganlon’s fear was instant. He rose and pushed himself back and away from the wraith that appeared before him. He grabbed what ever he could to get himself closer to the wall and further from the spectator of the boy that was before him. What appeared in Ganlon’s hand first was the eldest brother’s walking stick. A piece of iron shod ash, it was solid and tall. Ganlon waved it at the spectator and to his surprise the Wraith withdrew.

The days following the first encounter were blurred by his trip to alert the Rangers of Concordia of the threat in their woods. Quickly after Ganlon found himself back at his cabin once again grieving his dead Genove; however, the memories of the Wraith stuck in his head.

“Milo, do you have any Iron, by any chance?” Ganlon ran through a check list of the item he possessed in his own head. The metal shears were made of metal. What metal Ganlon wasn’t sure what they were made of, steel and iron usually looked the same to him.

“And maybe we should be looking for some Ash trees.” Ganlon started looking for the ash trees and crossed the Cairns and into the Moors on the other side. Each step he took he turned his head looking at the trees for that one hidden ash he somehow knew wouldn’t be there.

Milo watched the strange mannerism of Ganlon appear again. They were normal to Milo now; but, they still illicited a chuckle as he stated, “Okay Partner, I guess we’re looking for Ash trees now.”

[blackdog1]

The afternoon shadows were growing long by the time they decided to walk beyond the cairns and into the Black Moors. Milo and Ganlon were both slow and reluctant to commit at first, each having their own doubts and fears about going forward into what they knew was dangerous, but not knowing what those dangers were.

Milo was used to Ganlon talking as they walked, usually it blended into the regular noises of the forest as he went on about the trees and shrubs that they past in their wanderings. It was more unnerving when Ganlon was quiet and contemplative, as he was before they committed to the Moors. Now he was going on about raw iron and ash trees.

As Milo noticed that the nervous intensity of the ramblings was increasing, he thought to pose an answer to calm them down, " We have not seen an ash tree in days," Milo tried to say as calmly as possible, " my bow is made of yew and the arrows of oak." The short answer was enough to stop Ganlon from going on for a few minutes.

They chose the path of least resistance as they moved toward the heart of the moors, it also happened to be the higher ground with the added advantages of better visibility and drier feet. Milo walked with Ganlon little more than an arms length to his right. Neither went at a fast pace as they waded through a sea of vegetation unlike that of the forest they walked just moments ago.

The trees quickly diminished into nothing more than scattered man high shrubs that allowed the grasses and all other manner of plants to fight for space on the open ground. None of the plants that they could see in the undulations and folds of the ground before them was overly large, but what they lacked in size they made up for in number. Ganlon occasionally paused to clip a piece of leaf or stem with is newly acquired shears.

Milo took little time to admire the plant life as he was constantly scanning the area ahead and around them. The feeling that he was being watched, coupled with an unrecognizable fear of the place they were now in, made every step an effort when his only true desire was to flee. Glancing over at Ganlon he could read a similar hesitance in his face and gesture, but knew that his inquisitive and stubborn nature would continue to drive him forward.

Just about the time that Milo thought they had gone far enough and they could leave this awful place, he spied something that sparked his own inquisitiveness, unnatural angles and intersecting forms. He hesitated and studied the forms in the near distance before he spoke to Ganlon, the multitude of thick and dark shadows making him doubt his eyes. Ganlon took notice of Milos intense interest and focused his gaze in the same area.

Milo waited a moment in the still silence before he spoke," Do you see what I think I see?" he asked Ganlon, hoping that he too could make out the forms of old buildings and walls well on the way to returning to the earth.

Ganlon took his time to respond, but when he did, it began with a finger pointed toward the ruins, " what's that red thing?," he asked sharply.

Milo's archers eyes focused on the points of red before Ganlon was even done speaking. It was not a single point of red, but a matching pair of red eyes. It was soon joined by another as the shadows quickly began to turn into the darkness of night around the ruins.

Without a hint of shame, Milo turned to Ganlon with his true fear evident on his face and spoke the only thing he could muster,"Run! ", was all he could manage to utter before he heeded his own advice.

Turning about, Milo took off in a sprint back the way they had came. The boundary cairns lay a good quarter mile or more away, but Milo planned to reach them before whatever awakened in the ruins did. The lingering hope in the back of his mind was that the inscriptions on the cairns would keep whatever resided in the Black Moors on the inside.

[Ganlon Martel]

Song Master Edgar Reitz was a rotund man to say the least. His form rested on a platform in the room above the central house of the Druid compound in Underwood. The platform strained with the weight of his body, parts bowing and curving to conform to the shape of the body that looked more like a cream puff with a head than a man. The brown robes of a Druid of Y’edda did little to lessen the image of the cream puff in Clinton Bashar’s mind.

“Song Master praises to the Sky Queen.” Clinton pulled back the hood on his robe and looked around the room. The left over food from at least three meals lay around the platform. He made a strong attempt to hide his contempt with man. His face didn’t find the quiet blankness that he sought and he could see that his face had registered with the Song Master.

“Yes, Praise to Y’edda.” The Song Master placed a sweet meat into his mouth and chewed. “What do you want Bashar?” The eyes of the Song Master looked down at the food on the floor. He absently brushed away the crumbs on his robes and picked up another sweet meat to place in mouth. He popped it in like a coin in to a slot.

“You obviously have heard that a traveler had come to us. The local Watch brought him to us for healing. He had wounds from Ruilserk, the Dark Vine, or Blood Vine.” Clinton looked around the room for a place to sit down. Every thing in the room seemed to be covered with food or the remnants of food. He scowled, his mouth turning up in a frown and his eyebrows furrowing.

The Song Master didn’t raise his face from his plate of sweet meat, “yes this is not new to me if you came to tell me this it is of no consequence. He has been sent to the Heart of Y’edda and his story has been placed in song in my head.”

Clinton swallowed hard. The fact that the man he and Charles had healed was being sent to Ruild without his knowledge was an unexpected problem. Part of him wanted to scream. He was fairly sure that he had sucked all of the knowledge that he could get out of the man that they called the traveler before Charles, Dorth, and he had released him to the Dwarf that was the leader of the Druids in Underwood.

Still if the knowledge of the herb were to reach Ruild before he could have a chance to develop it he would lose the chance to use it for his own gain. There would be Elders, Mages, and Druids swarming the Forest of Concordia before the herb could make him money and more importantly before it could catapult him out of Underwood. He wanted to sit on a real council; not on The Circle of Elerdhen.

“Song Master, I am interested in a song.” Clinton quickly changed the subject. “A song of where the Ruilserk came from or a place that has a lot of Ruilserk. I am interested in the plant for future healing.” Clinton knocked a plate off of a chair and sat down. Clinton was off his game and he felt the falsehood in his own words.
The Song Master took the bait however and shifted in on his platform. There was a glitter in his eye and a liveliness that awoke in him. He seemed to go into himself for a moment. Then he spoke, “there is the song of the Ruilserk of the Red Forest, or the Ruilserk of Theron Mastice.”

Clinton leaned forward., “Song Master, tell me of the Forests of Concordia and Theron Mastice.” Clinton leaned back on the chair. The voice of the Druid Song Master changed and a song came forth.

- The darkness and the light, the balance of life, birth and death, happiness and regret.
- A song of father and daughter, a choice of life, death and night, goodness and daylight
- One small girl, one proud man, a search for answers, a search through the land
- The Ruilserk doesn’t care, blood it’s only dream, death its only friend
- Theron Mastice, Mallory Mastice, Ruilserk’s bite.

- O, druid make your choice, follow the path to the light,
- O, druid make your choice, death is some times right
- O, druid make your choice, choose death and not life, wrong choice

- As in death she lays, the balance is betrayed, birth through death, deceit and lies
- Man no more he walks, a choice of death, his day for night, evil and white light
- All mankind, any man who walks, all become as him, all walk dead through the land
- Once a druid who cared, life’s own light his dream, death’s end for Mallory
- Theron Mastice, Mallory Mastice, death’s bite
-
- O, druid make your choice, follow the path to the light,
- O, druid make your choice, death is some times right
- O, druid make your choice, choose death and not life, wrong choice

- Y’edda is the light, she controls life, death she decides, happiness she guides
- Brother Druids sing a song, a choice of life, death and night, stones to bind the night
- Cornucopia, locked away, answers now are gone, gone from the land.
- Cairns don’t care, never dream again, the moors now are there
- Theron Mastice, Mallory Mastice, gone.

The Song Master sat back on the platform his original sad state returned. Clinton smiled, “Thank you Song Master.”

Ganlon’s breath came in spurts. He ran with the urgency that comes with fear of death. A pair of red eyes followed him with as if they were tied by kite string. They floated with a single purpose; Ganlon’s death. He felt the cold of death emanate in cold waves of the grave.

Milo ran. Milo ran. Milo ran like an elk. Milo ran like he was part of the woods. Ganlon ran like a pot. Ganlon knew that pots didn’t run and that was the point. Chain mail, Dehlar shield, and Steel helmet made him a walking armory. A running armory would be more correct. Ganlon took another step and felt the jar of the ground from his heel to his hip. He turned to look at the eyes.

The root that grabbed him seemed to have a mind of its own. Ganlon would never be sure if it had grabbed him or if he tripped. He did know that he fell flat on his face. Ganlon immediately rolled on his back and grabbed for the first thing in his pouch. He came up with the shears. The red eyes stopped for just a moment.
Ganlon sat up. The eyes circled. They went high and then low. They moved to the left and to the right. Ganlon stood and ran. He ran and ran. He ran until the breath in his chest felt like fire. Zall, how much did he want that herb. Please let the Cairns come soon.

[blackdog1]

Milo did not run like a scared child, he ran like a man being chased by death.

It was bizarre how the night seemed to grow out of the shadows here in the Black Moors. The sun had not yet set and night should still be some time off, but some how, some way, it crept up from the ground like an ooze for the undead to swim through. This came as a surprise to Milo, who judged the day by the position of the sun, and the night by the position of the stars. The sun was still up and the stars had not yet risen.

As he ran, Milos worried questions came as fast as his footfalls. Was Ganlon keeping up? Would he run into a piece of Dark Vine? Would the boundary cairns keep in the undead pursuers?

After what seemed like miles, the cairns finally came into sight, filling Milo with new energy and hope. He crossed the boundary like a race finish-line, slowing down after he was clear and walking back toward it as he tried to regain his regular breath.

All he could do now was wait for his friend and hope that he arrived before his enemies. He could see no sign of either, which he took as a good thing for now. Thinking back to when they first entered the Black Moors, Milo tried to make sense of what Ganlon was saying. It had something to do with ash wood and iron, but Milo had no idea what it was supposed to mean. With a little luck Ganlon would explain it to him soon.

Moments later, Milo heard a shout and a collection of crashing and commotion that could not be anything but Ganlon moving through the world. Ganlon was running straight for Milo, wide eyed, ashen faced and drenched in sweat. Milo saw that he was armed with his...shears?

Ganlon pasted the cairn and staggered to a panting stop as two wraiths silently sped up the the boundary and stopped instantly as they hit it.

Milo and Ganlon both felt relief flood over them when they saw the wraiths progress stopped by the boundary.

The wraiths weightless forms and glowing red eyes silently hover and waited.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon stood in a tripod. His hands were on his knees and his head hung down as he attempted to catch his breath. The last time he remembered running that fast a girl had been chasing him with poop on the end of a stick. He took a look over his shoulder at the pair of twin eyes that hovered on the other side of the cairns. A couple of obscene gestures with his hands and he started to feel a little better.

He still held the shears in his hand and he glanced at them and then at Milo, who stood watching him. He raised himself from the tripod position and brushed the dirt off of his chest that he had collected from his fall.

“Guess they were iron.” Ganlon raised the shears and shook them at the eyes on the other side of the cairns. The wraiths didn’t move from their positions; but, Ganlon shook his shears at the monsters anyway.

“You mumbled something about iron and ash before we started our walk to the other side of the Cairns, Partner. Do you think you could explain yourself a little better now?” Milo walked towards Ganlon. He smiled at his partner and removed a piece of Evergreen that stuck straight out of the top of his helmet.

“Iron and Ash wood, these seem to be two things that wraiths can’t abide. I don’t know if they necessarily kill the creatures but they definitely stray away from them.” Ganlon shook the shears again for good measure and then sat down on to a log with resounding thud. He let his shield fall from his arm and removed his boot. He shook a large rock from his boot and let out a large sigh.

“Okay, here’s the story,” Ganlon began and then quickly relayed the story of the brothers and the farm house. When he had finished he looked at Milo and waited for the Elf to speak.

“Don’t you think this might have been something you had might have told me prior to us going into the Moors?” Milo tone spoke to his annoyance at Ganlon. True the young man had been mumbling about ash and iron; however, Ganlon had a tendency to mumble about all kinds of things.

“I tried to tell you we needed to look for iron and ash but then I got distracted by the Moors themselves and before I knew it we were on top of the ruins. Hey, we found the ruins, didn’t we?” Ganlon stood, his voice filled with excitement. He stopped and sat back down when he remembered that he forgotten to return his boot to his foot.

“Yes, Ganlon, the one good thing about this exercise sessions we just had was that we found the ruins. That puts us closer to accomplishing what we came here for. ” Milo turned and noticed that he eyes had left. Their sudden disappearance did little to ease his mind about his surroundings. Milo once again resolved to spend the night outside the Cairns with a large fire burning.

“Their gone, that’s good. Wow, it got dark. There is definitely something not right with this place.”Ganlon took off his pack and placed it on the ground. He took out his bed roll and the necessary items to start up camp including the items for cooking dinner. Ganlon always remembered to pack his pot, plate, and fork.
Milo face was blank. His mouth was agape and he had his hands on his hips. “Well, I can see that you are really uneasy with the whole thing.” Milo gave in and started the work to dig a fire pit as Ganlon went to collect fire wood.

[blackdog1]

Milo liked and understood the world of the living, the world of the undead was a dark mystery that he feared. That being the case, he built two fires and planned on spending the night hunkered down between them.

Ganlon, on the other hand, either did not care or was too tired to care. After quickly agreeing on a plan for the following day and a bite to eat, he bedded down for the night, seemingly oblivious to the occasional stares from the red, dead eyes on the other side of the boundary.

Left alone with only the quite darkness and his thoughts, Milo was able to concentrate on the stillness of the Black Moors. Of all things here, he liked the silence the least. He was used to the sounds of the forest, even and especially at night, when most creatures that crept about wished to do so unseen. The lack of any sound from a living thing highlighted the unreasonable fear that would not leave Milo.

After hours of uninterrupted silence there came the flutter of wings. It stopped, moved closer, and stopped again. At the edge of the fire light, perched on a low branch, was a Will- o- Wisp, a common night bird that was often thought to be a bad omen by many people.

The bird flittered away once again, toward the boundary of the Moors and not far from the place where the young druid lay dead and still unburied. A few minutes passed in silence before the bird gave its call, once, twice and stopped after a third time. To Milo the new silence was even deeper than before the small bird made an appearance. He hated this place and the way it made him feel, the ever present but always unexplainable fear.

Ganlon suddenly stirred and sat up from his sleep. The abrupt and unexpected action took Milo by surprise and his breath caught in his chest, followed by the rush adrenaline and cold sweat.

Ganlon did not see or hear the Will-o-Wisp, the bird meant nothing to him, but he meant everything to the bird.

Ganlons mind saw what his eyes could never see again, the vision of his young bride. She stood a short distance from him in the forest, her dark hair fell to her shoulders, her sea-green eyes pierced him to the core of his being, making his heart ache for the love that was lost before its time was due. She called to him, for only him to hear, to come to her for one last time.

"Genove, Genove," Ganlon called the name of his lost love into the darkness over and over again as he threw off the tangle of his bedding and started to go to her. Frantic, stumbling and shoeless, Ganlon began to rush through the forest toward the Will-o-Wisp and the boundary.

As the scene unfolded before Milo's eyes, he sat motionless, wondering if this is what he had feared from this place. Would he have to watch his friend go mad and then follow him into his own madness, both meeting their ends in this miserable lifeless place?

No. Milo could not let that happen. He pushed down the fear and did the only simple thing he could think to do that would help his friend. Shedding most of his weapons, he ran to intercept Ganlon before he could reach the boundary. With no way to easily restrain his large friend, he stopped him the only way he knew how, he plowed into Ganlon broad-side, full speed and full force, driving them both to the ground with Milo ending up on top.

Milo heard and felt the air rush out of Ganlons chest as he hit the ground. They both were still for a moment after hitting the ground, Milo hoped that it was enough to break whatever hold was upon his young friend and keep him out of the Black Moors tonight.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon struggled past the fog of the magic. His mind pushed through the cotton feel like pushing through a wall high web. He looked and saw Milo on top of him but didn’t care. Genove, Genove was here. He could smell the Black Walnut scent of her hair. He could feel the warmth of her in his stomach and he could hear her voice saying his name with her familiar inflection. He pushed up on Milo to stand. The elf held him fast to the ground.

“Ganlon, Ganlon are you here with me?” Milo pushed down on Ganlon’s shoulder with his hands and locked his feet under Ganlon’s knees. From this position the Cleric might try and rise but even if he managed he would have to take Milo’s full body weight up to make it to standing.

“Milo, she is here, Genove is here. “ Ganlon tried to push Milo off and could not get his arms high enough to get a grip on the Elf’s arms. He tried again and the struggle got his mind working. In the next instant Ganlon realized what he had just said. He frowned at Milo and the Elf started to see that Ganlon was back with him. The frown changed to a scowl and then Ganlon’s mouth formed an, “oh” shape.

“She’s not here is she Milo? My Genove is not here.” Ganlon turned his head away from Milo. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. The single tear ran down the crease of his nose and fell to the ground. A deep sense of loss filled Ganlon and he was suddenly wracked with sadness. He couldn’t hold the tears back now and they fell with an unbridled sob that filled all of Ganlon’s body.

Ganlon felt the loss of Genove all over again. She was his love. He had lost her to the shaking sickness. She was sick and he was powerless to heal her. She was the one woman that he had wanted to spend the rest of his days with and this evil place had brought her back to him and taken her away again. He had smelt her Black Walnut hair, seen her red lips, and looked into her sea green eyes. The most powerful thing was her voice. It was the sweetness of Genove’s voice saying his name, calling to him to come to her that broke his heart and had driven him to run to the Cairns.

Milo watched the final change in Ganlon’s face. The sadness slowly melted away from his face. Something was changed in Ganlon. He aged in that moment of internal reflection and the youthfulness was gone. His face became steel and his eyes took on the hardness of a warrior.

“Let me up, Milo.” Ganlon said in a powerful hushed tone. Ganlon wasn’t pushing now, his whole body was relaxed. “Let me up, please.” Milo could hear the intensity in Ganlon’s voice. He rolled off of his friend and stood. Ganlon rose himself and brushed the dirt and brush from his clothes. He gave a quick glance towards the Moors.

Both of the adventurers saw it then. The Will-o-Wisp sat on a twisted piece of Ruilserk. The plant moved with an uncanny sway side to side and the Will-o-Wisp never moved. The plant stopped and the very tip on the end of the vine opened a sucker mouth and Ganlon felt as if the plant was looking at him. It stopped in place and the Will-o-Wisp sang a shrill note that rang through the dead quite forest. A breath later twenty red eyes lined the Cairns.

Ganlon involuntarily stepped backwards as the eyes hit the unseen barrier of the Cairns magic. He fell into a warrior’s posture and reached for his sword which was lying on the ground.

“Zall, Milo. The things are working together. Now we know why the druid had Ruilserk in his hand. He never would have messed with it … unless; it called to him the way it called to me.” Ganlon looked towards the druids body only to see that it was gone.

“Oh, Zall. Milo, the druid’s body is gone.” Ganlon could only hope that the magic would pull the wraith to the other side of the barrier.

[blackdog1]

They were both still and quiet for a few moments as the change in the situation settled in, the twenty or more wraiths inside the boundary no longer mattered, but the one outside did.

Lurking somewhere near them in the quiet and dark of the forest was a newborn wraith from the spirit of the young dead Druid. Lured much like Ganlon had been, he fell victim to the Will-o-wisp and the dark vine, forever doomed to roam the darkness in search of other souls to join him and share his imprisonment.

"Do you feel what I feel?" , Milo asked, breaking the silence. He was certain that Ganlon would now understand the creeping feeling of fear that he had been battling sense they had entered this dead wood. Ganlons response stated otherwise.

" Yes," Ganlon calmly responded, "I feel like we are two rats cast into a pit, waiting for the starving dog to be tossed in."

It was not what he thought Ganlon would say, but the healer was nothing if not unpredictable. Milo could see where that thought came from, the wraiths inside the boundary watched the sport of the two mortals about to lose their souls to one of their kind if they did not find a way to defeat him, and do it quickly.

No word were exchanged as they slowly and cautiously moved closer to the comfort of the fire light. Both kept their eyes wide open, searching for the silent stalker that they knew would be coming for them soon.

The wraiths of the Moors gave up the secret of one of their own as all of their red eyes shifted off of the living and focused on a single point in the dull and dark forest.

Milo and Ganlon spied the stealthy young wraith as it attempted to slowly sneak closer to them, using the unhealthy trees as cover as he moved.

Ganlon boldly turned toward the disembodied and corrupt soul and spoke clear and calm, "You shall not have us!"

Ganlon had already noticeably changed this night with the trial of the Will-o-Wisp, it came through in both his voice and bearing, both were firm and steady in the face of the evil undead.

Milo flinched as Ganlon began to softly glow , as when he had embraced his Goddess to heal, but the quality of the light about him had also changed. Instead of the soft, warm and inviting light of healing, this new light was cold, hard and threatening. He was now using the light as a weapon.

[Ganlon Martel]

The small changes came. The ones that always set in before a fight, the deep breathing, the sweating, and the rapid heart beat, they all came. This time it was different. The pain of sorrow and loss still lay in the pit of his stomach like some undigested meal; however, it was blanketed by rage.

Ganlon let the rage fuel him. He let it control him. He realized for the first time that the changes made him stronger faster, better, and he embraced the changes as a means to feed his rage.

The door in his mind opened. The voice of Aegle tore through his mind in a whispered fury, “ABOMINATION, DEATH MAKES LIFE A COMPLETE CIRCLE, and YOU MUST END THIS ONE.” Ganlon felt light flood through the door. The power of it was so intense that he felt himself become lost in it. Like a wave of water crashing through a pipe the light washed through the door and into his head, down his neck, and into every part of his body.

The Chalice in his pack on the ground began a glow of its own. It matched the light from Ganlon. Ganlon knelt and mindless grabbed the chalice.

The new eyes of the Wraith moved forward towards Ganlon and Milo. Then it stopped and looked questioningly into the light. The hunger drove the being, a hunger for the light of life that which would finally fulfill the change to wraith from living being. The need drove it forward, the mind of the druid still attached to the shadow of himself held it in place with a pull of self preservation.

Ganlon clutched the Chalice in his hand. Ganlon felt light come from living beings around him. A little from Milo, who had always been a willing participant, worms that crawled in the ground below, and even the twisted trees gave light to the chalice. The light flowed from the chalice into Ganlon.

The light squeezed through every crack in his clothing and pushed past every hair on his head. The light was a living being of its own and knocked dirt off of Ganlon’s clothes and pushed leaves from his head. Ganlon let the light of the Goddess propel him forward towards the Wraith. His hand stretched out before him his sword fell to the under growth.

The Wraith darted forward, stopped short, and floated back. Its hunger for the light of life drove the wraith onward and it attempted to pass Ganlon to get to Milo. As the Wraith swung in the air around a twisted tree Ganlon focused. His mind forced all of the light towards the tip of his finger and moved his hand in the same angles of the wraiths flight.

Milo saw the Wraith coming and stood his ground. His eyes scanned quickly towards where Ganlon’s shears lay on the ground and realized that there was just not enough time to reach them. Milo’s thoughts moved his lips in soundless words, “boy this better work.”

“A CLERIC OF AEGLE COMMANDS YOU BE GONE.” Ganlon spoke the words with a fervor born of pain.

Light erupted from Ganlon’s fingers in a bolt that shot white hot and blinding towards the wraith. The light met with the Wraith in a dazzling display of lighting bolt sparks and fire fly movements. Ozone smell filled the air and with a puff the Wraith was gone.

The streak of light was burned into Milo’s retina but through the glow he could see Ganlon fall to his knees. For once however the boy didn’t pass out. Yes, Ganlon was changed.

[blackdog1]

The natural night sounds of the forest did not exist this close to the Black Moors, in their place there was only the occasional pop and hiss of the fire and Ganlon's heavy breathing. The still silence of the forest after the searing bright light disappeared was just as unnerving as the events that had transpired in the last few minutes.

Slowly and cautiously, Milo turned fully around to take in as much of the area around them as possible. He knew that the impairment to his night vision was only temporary, but this was little help in discerning what lay farther out in the darkness. His hearing was of no use in detecting the movements of the undead Wraiths.

As Ganlon gained his feet and casually gathered up his dropped and scattered possessions, Milo spent a moment looking past him and into the Black Moors. He saw nothing there. The glowing red eyes of the gathered Wraiths had disappeared.

A chill ran down Milo's spine and he quickly turned to look behind him, expecting to meet his death from the cold hands of the long dead. Instead he found nothing but his own fear and with it his voice.

"Are you all right?," Milo nearly whispered into the night, half expecting some yet unseen specter to answer.

Ganlon was silent for a moment longer, squared his shoulders and nodded his head before giving voice to his answer, "Yeah, I'm good." He finally said flatly.

Milo did not let the relief that he felt in his chest come through in his reply,"Good."

They both looked over their shoulders repeatedly and scrutinized every shifting shadow as they made their way back to the comfort of the fire. There was an unspoken tension between the two travelers, something had just changed. Neither of them knew what it was, so they retreated in silence.

Milo silently observed his friend as they went about settling in for the rest of the night. Ganlon had reacted differently to the use of his Goddess's powers tonight, he wielded the light, an unfamiliar light, as he never had before too. On every other occasion that Milo remembered, Ganlon would be exhausted to the point passing out after the use of that much power. Not tonight. Tonight he went about quietly preparing a snack and a drink for himself before returning to his bed roll.

"So our plan for tomorrow remains the same?", Milo finally broke the silence by asking.

Ganlon looked up from his food as if he suddenly realized he was not alone. He looked at Milo and finished chewing and swallowing his food before answering. " Yeah, that would be best," was his simple reply, "There is no sense in changing it now."

There was definitely something different about his friend, Milo knew that for sure now. But he was not one to question others about their thoughts and feelings, Ganlon would reveal whatever Milo needed to know in good time. For tonight everything could rest.

"It's settled then," Milo said in a way than he hoped would keep them from having any further discussion tonight, " Tomorrow we go into the Black Moors to find your herbs, get out as fast as possible and cover as much ground away from here as we can before dark."

[Ganlon Martel]

The food tasted like dust. The wine tasted like muddy water. There was a spot of color burned into the back of his eyes that moved when his head moved. He could see that the air was cold as his breath left his mouth puffs of vapor trails. He felt none of it.

The part of him that was Ganlon was disjointed from the present. A wall of disbelief stood between him and the world outside. The rage was smaller; it was like a flame that burnt on a nub of a candle. He felt it burn in the center of his soul. He imagined the candle floated on a boat in the lake of sorrow that welled in him again for Genove.

There was a part of his mind that worked moving his body with out his conscious thought. One cut, two cuts, three cuts put the piece of meat into his mouth. Chew once, chew twice, chew it three times and then he swallowed.

Pour the water from the canteen onto the plate, wash it once, wash it twice, and then he wiped it with a rag. Drop the plate onto the backpack. He felt himself stand and walk into the woods just enough to be in the light but far enough away for privacy. Untie and then he passed water.

The lake of sorrow sloshed in his soul moving his head in a spin that caught him for a second and he had to grab at thin air. He stopped himself and for just a moment was back in the present. The fire burned and popped and Ganlon saw that there were two sets of red eyed Wraiths just inside the Cairns.

The rage burned and the lake of sorrow was set aflame. The wave emotion felt as if the lake of sorrow had turned to steam inside of his head. She was gone. He had spent years mourning her. He saw how it had affected him. He touched his shirt with his hands felt the roughness the homespun. He realized that he must grow. He could and must grow if he were to survive. The little boy who left the farm was lucky to be alive.

He reached the pack that lay on the ground and sat again. He drew his sword from its sheath. He knew that he had dropped it and it needed to be cleaned and sharpened. He reached into his pack to get his whet stone and touched the Chalice.

The rage subsided to the flame. The power of the light had left another feeling there. He imagined he could feel every muscle, sinew, tendon in his being that the light had touched. He had felt the divine and his mind struggled with the power of it. The vastness of it made his head spin again.

He was sure of one thing Aegle’s name held power if he it said correctly. He must remember to use it again if necessary. He could wield it as a weapon he believed. He was afraid of the power and the vastness of the light. He felt if he allowed to much in he would be swallowed by its brilliance and knew it must be used sparingly.

His sword fell off of his lap and jarred him back to reality. Milo sat looking at him. The elf and he had not spoken much. They often could sit for hours with out talking but this was different. He felt the difference.

“I am not sure that I could do what I did again.” Ganlon’s hand’s grabbed the whet stone and the sword from the ground. The nervous nature of the conversation gave him the energy to move the stone up and down on the sword.

The Elf nodded.

Ganlon found a nick in the length sword and started to work furiously on it to remove it. His eyes were drawn to the imperfection. His eyes stayed fixed on it as he began to talk.

“Genove was my love, a girl that I would have been perfectly happy to spend every day with doing the same thing over and over again. “ Up on the spot down on the spot, “She was everything. My sun, my moon, my stars, and this was what I thought life was supposed to be.“

Milo sat.

“A farmer, a healer, small town life with a dream girl, that is what I was taught life was supposed to be. Then she died. I told you all of this I think. “, the nick was gone replaced by the straight edge of the sword. Ganlon raised the sword in his hand and looked at it in the fire light. He turned it over and over. The stone had worn away the nick and the iron was shinny and new. A nick in me has been worn away. I could be shinny and new Ganlon thought.

“I think that part of me is finally gone. I cannot be that whinny little farm boy any more. There is something driving me. A divine power drives me now, a power that pushes me towards goodness. “, Ganlon stood and sheathed the sword. He looked towards the Cairns and the Wraiths beyond. A smile came to his face. The goofiness was gone replaced by a sense of maturity.

“There is just one problem with all of this deep talk. I don’t think that I can do that thing with the power over and over again. It’s just too overwhelming and that thing that was just here was a baby Wraith.” Ganlon chuckled and allowed himself to fall into a seated position.

He crossed his arms on his lap and laughed again.

“Do you think anybody ever said baby Wraith before?”

Milo smiled.

[blackdog1]

The drifting red eyes came and went through out the night. They were the only movements that Milo could spy in the pervasive, inky darkness this close to the Black Moors. Their course was always the same, limited by the magical barrier that still contained them.

Milo's foot falls went unnoticed by any living ears on the pulverized leaves that circled the travelers camp. Rest, slowly walk the perimeter, rest, then walk. It slowly ate up the uneventful hours that had to pass before dawn.

An interrupted snore and the rustle of Ganlons turning over brought Milo's thoughts back from the gloomy darkness surrounding the camp and returned them to its heart.

Twice tonight Ganlon was faced with losing a part of himself, and twice he had won. Milo looked into the lump of shadows near the low burning fire and wondered what the cost of tonight's battles would be.

Milo knew - even if his young friend did not yet learn the lesson - that every time a man fought for his life, soul or sanity, there was a cost. The possibility of losing part of your self, even when you win. What would the cost be for Ganlon? He was too good and honest to be turned into a cold and unfeeling person. No, he would probably carry the guilt for things done and not done. The constant and heavy burden for those with a pure heart and good intentions.

Dark forms and shadows emerged in the forest as the dark of the night and the light of dawn fought for possession or the Moors. Milo felt no need to hurry the morning camp routine, full daylight was still a long way off.

Slowly, methodically and with little discussion, the companions made themselves ready to once again cross the barrier and enter the Black Moors. Both were involved with their own thoughts and observations.

Milo noticed that there was no sign of the Monks body or that he had ever lived, died and been reborn a wraith on the ground that they now crossed.

Milo wanted nothing more than to finish their business and flee this place. The cold sweat of irrational fear cooling his spine more than the morning air ever could.

The broken and crushed vegetation made the path that they had taken the previous evening easy to find. With the memory of the hasty departure clear in his mind, Milo crossed the barrier. He exhaled a little too loudly as he was fully in the Moors.

With his jaws clenched tight and an axe in each hand, Milo inched his way along the path into the heart of the Black Moors. He would do his best to play the role of Ganlon's guide as long as the sun stayed high in the sky and the undead kept to the darkness.

[Ganlon Martel]

A single candle illuminated the herb shop front of the Druids of Y’edda. The Three druids sat around a piece of paper with numbers and scribbling on it. Formulas for different potions moved in waving lines across it. Charles dipped his quill in the ink pad and wrote again on the paper. Clinton and Dorth both frowned at the younger druid. Writing formulas down was not normal for a druid.

Clinton Bashar fingered the sweet meat he had palmed from the Song Master’s room. It wasn’t that he was hungry. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself and things fell into his pockets. He recognized it as a weakness and exploited it as strength.

“What the Song Master sung was that this Druid Master Theron Mastice had lost his daughter to the Ruilserk. He made a bargain with some one or something to keep his daughter alive through magic and…”

Dorth stood and placed his hand on Clinton’s and grabbed the sweet meat, “the Cairns were placed there to hold the Wraiths that were made inside because of this bargain?” Dorth popped the sweat meat into his mouth. Clinton’s face showed a moment of amusement. Who knew where that sweet meat had been?

“Yes Dorth that is exactly what I got from it. I also believe that the energy that is stolen from victims is transferred to the soil through the Ruilserk. Most of it must go to keeping the Cairns working and Theron Mastice contained. Some of it must have leaked out into the plants around it creating our healing herb. A magic of the Cairns is slowly ending.”

Charles looked up from his paper. He gingerly placed the quill on the crate he had fashioned as table, “what of the traveler? If he makes it back to…”

Clinton stood abruptly and moved to the Crystal in the room. He touched the surface of the crystal and it showed Milo and Ganlon with their possessions on their backs and weapons in hand,

“The Bastard-elf and the hometown healer are once again entering the Moors we will have our herb soon”.

Ganlon watched Milo enter the Moor first. The sun was as bright as could be expected in the gloom of the morning. Gloom of the morning. That was good description of the morning as a whole. Ganlon was sure he would awake to find himself new and shinny. He felt sore and dirty.

Milo held both of his axes his fists and he could see the whites of his knuckles under his skin. Yes, this was bound to get interesting. Ganlon drew his sword and placed his shield on his arm.

In a moment of clarity he realized that his sword was iron,
“I am an IDIOT.”

Milo froze in place. His eyes scanned every inch around him. After his motions of caution were completed he affixed Ganlon with a look that seemed to burn through his forehead to the back of his skull.

Ganlon spoke with a much more hushed tone. He held his sword with the hilt high enough to see through and flat of the blade towards Milo, “my sword is Iron.”

“You pick odd times to tell me things my friend.” Milo turned back towards the forest. He started his walk towards the ruins of the previous day.

The trees had a different pall in the light of the sun. Bark had fallen off in areas leaving white patches that when struck by the shafts of light looked as if bone had broken through skin. Ganlon scanned the ground around him as they moved forward. Sedges were brown and curled around in whirls of water.

Here and there Ganlon saw peat moss and growing Bilberry bushes. Normally Bilberry bushes would be edible but these were blackened and blighted. He would be afraid of food poisoning. The first sign of color that Ganlon saw turned out to be Red Sphagnum. Red Sphagnum was a red moss caused by acid build up in the soil. It looked at if droplets of blood had been spread through the sedges.

Milo stopped for a second and looked ahead. Ganlon caught movement from the corner of his eye. Both of the friends swung at the same time. Both hit true to their mark and two separate branches of Ruilserk fell to the ground.

Ganlon felt a scream in his head. The sound of the shrill of a Will-o-Wisp followed in the darkness. Ganlon heard crashes through the tree limbs and then something struck the ground. Milo bent and showed Ganlon a dead bird.

“That is wrong on many levels. Let’s get this done.” Milo began his movement forward.

Suddenly the path that they had followed the day before came to an end. Through the branches of twisted trees Ganlon could see the walls of a limestone building. The roof was gone and the skeleton of the support structure spread out like an open rib cage. The Ruilserk vines that wrapped themselves around the supports gave the impression of hair, their rhythmic movements resembling that hair blowing in the wind.

It was the flowers that caught Ganlon’s eyes. They were bright blue, they were in clusters of three and they were a stout bristly plant, with deep green, ovate leaves, and long-stalked axillaries.

“Milo I see them. I see what we came for. And I see what is protecting them. Aegle help us.”

[blackdog1]

The companions slowly moved toward the building which was the center of all they had come here for and also everything they dreaded about it as well. There was not much left to the structure itself, but the Ruilserk vine growing over it provided more than enough cover to house the wraiths they had been hoping to avoid. Red eyes watched their every movement as they progressed. This would not have been a big concern if the plants they were here to recover were not concentrated closely around the building.

For a brief moment Milo toyed with the idea of setting the building on fire to deny the wraiths their hiding place, but just a quickly dismissed it. They may lose the very plants they had come here for to such a fire. Or possibly start some other chain of events that would be beyond their control.

There was also the concern of the over-riding gloom. The simple occurrence of a thick cloud passing could create enough shadow for the wraiths to venture outside the ruins. Being this close they would have very little time to react to the waiting undead.

Milo did not take his eyes off of the openings of the building when he replied to Ganlon, "This is a damn sour pickle my friend."

They fell into the regular division of labor that made up their working partnership, Ganlon would focus on the plants and Milo would mind the other potential problems.

Ganlon pulled out his newly acquired shears and a small pile of sacks, then carefully set himself down to get a better understanding of the plant structure before cutting anything. Within minutes he was happily absorbed in the steady and meticulous dissection of and organization of plant parts. He somehow was able to ignore the undead eyes that watched him from only a few feet away.

Milos security work was routine but far from normal. Protecting his friend from the undead that he had little defense against and the deadly plants that could communicate with them as well as their bird partners was far from a regular situation for the duo.

The easiest was for Milo to not be distracted by the ever present but currently contained undead, was to focus his attention to the Ruilserk vine. It grew almost every where, including near and around the plants that Ganlon needed to harvest. Both of Milo's axes chopped and slashed every living piece that appeared before him. He soon had a wide path for Ganlon to follow down the side of the old building. The abrupt cries of Will-o-wisps came to his ears once or twice early on, but soon stopped.

As Milo found less Ruilserk to eradicate, his thoughts began to return to the haunted building over his shoulder. He felt a growing sense of unease invade him from the building,as if a larger, more menacing presence was contained there. Ganlons steady and speedy work without a word or distraction was a sign that he too felt some change.

Holding his position as well as his breath, Milo took the time to take a slow and through look about the area. Physically, nothing had changed other than their disturbance of the swath of plants and their minor shift in position as they worked. On another unseen level, something had definitely changed. The problem for Milo was that he sensed the change, but had no idea what it was or who it effected.

"Ganlon," Milo spoke quietly and without looking at his friend, "I think our time here has just about ended."

Ganlon had already begun to gather his sacks of herbs together before Milo had spoken.
"I thought you would be saying that before long." He said as he put his dirty shears away.

Milo looked over as Ganlon was wiping his hands on his pants and checking the area he had just been, being sure he wasn't leaving anything behind. Four tightly packed sacks sat in a heap behind Ganlon, ready to hauled from this awful place and be turned into a much smaller pile of gold. The thought of leaving the Moors almost brought a smile to Milo's face.

Both of their heads snapped to look toward the front of the building when the sound of crashing and breaking wood interrupted the dead silence. Pieces of wood and other debris flew from the front doorway of the building, snapping tree branches and flattening the grass for tens of feet in front of the building.

Reacting by instinct, Milo readied his axes for attack, and Ganlon snatched up his herbs.

To run back the way they had come they would have to go past the front of the building. To run any other way would push them deeper into the Black Moors.

Milo tried to swallow and his mouth went dry. The wraiths were enough to make him run for his life in this dead place, he had no desire the face anything that could actually live here.

"I knew I should have burned this damn place down," Milo muttered as he and Ganlon made ready to meet who or what ever was about to exit the building.