Cronen Chronicles ~ Dam Lumberjacks

[Breaker]

Closed to the Otter Guy. This is the untold story of how Joshua Cronen first met the Corone Rangers. I'm leaving all the original content except for a few mechanical errors in the interest of remembering what I came from. Keep in mind that this story takes place early in Cronen's history on Althanas, before the creation of most current Canon, not long after an unstable portal transported him from Earth. At this point in time he has no special abilities and is loose in a magical world, with nothing but his specialised training and skills as a martial artist to his name.
Trouble stirs in Concordia. For no apparent reason, a group of local lumberjacks isolated themselves in the north region of the great forest, refusing to deliver timber. Instead they began barricading themselves in the evergreen trees, south of the mild slopes of Comb Mountains. Furthermore, they began construction of a dam on the Firewine River. The reason for this is as of yet unknown because Concordia is a region rich with water. Some doubt that they intend to accumulate vast amounts of water before breaking the dam and flooding everything that stood downstream from their current locations. It is clear that the woodcutters are not working on their own and while Corone can provide a regiment that would deal with this situation, we look for somebody who would infiltrate their camp and get some information on those involved in this insurrection before attacking.

In short, if you think you’re capable to get behind enemy lines and strike at the heart of this rebellion, please contact the local vendor for more information.


The wind slid through the treetops like slender legs beneath silken sheets. The sky was a clear, fair blue, wrapping the earth snugly like a baby’s blanket. In the corner of the horizon, the sun had just begun to creep above the tree line, casting long shadows and creating a thousand glittering mirrors on the rippling surface of the Firewine River. Many of the trees’ leaves had begun to dry out, and they whispered secrets of solitude as the gentle breeze rubbed them together. Autumn mornings were nearly always peaceful in the north of Concordia. Thirty yards from the river, and ten yards up a tree, the peaceful atmosphere was totally lost upon me. As the power of the wind increased, I gripped the trunk of my tree tighter, knowing that the branch beneath me could support my weight, but worrying all the same that it might snap at any moment. The leaves seemed to be laughing at me, cajoling how awkward I was so far from the ground. Trying to ignore the danger of my altitude, I gazed south and west, shielding my eyes awkwardly with one hand, while wanting to use it to cling to the sturdy tree trunk. I could see at least five ghostlike plumes of smoke rising into the cool crisp air, from fires in the lumberjack camp. The camp itself was hidden by the dense vegetation, but I could easily pinpoint its location from the smoke trails. One of them was much thicker than the others, probably close to the centre of the camp. Eventually, it would become my target. But I had other goals, primary targets, to accomplish before I could get there. Fixing the location of the camp’s fires in my mind, I allowed my eyes to slide along the treetops in a line perpendicular to the river. Where my eyes landed, the flowing water stopped most unnaturally.

A large dam had been built spanning the width of the mighty river. I had seen many beaver dams back on Earth, but unlike those, this one was clearly man made. Large logs had been tied together with tough green vines and slick rope, weighted at one end with stones, packed with mud, and then placed in the river in a line. It also looked as though the upstream side of the dam had been lined with canvas, to make it even more watertight. More bundles of logs were stacked on the west bank, ready to add depth, and thus more fortitude to the dam. Already the mammoth construction looked plenty strong, and made a convenient bridge from one bank to the other. Staring at the enormous creation, my task of destroying it began to seem nearly impossible. Steeling myself against the notion, I began to climb down the tree. I had overcome massive odds before, and felt confident I could do so again. Hopefully, I would succeed inside the next few days… I knew the Rangers were impatient to move in.

I landed softly on the forest floor, next to where my knapsack and new weapon lay. Reaching down, I shrugged the knapsack on and shouldered my new weapon. It had been given to me by the Coronian Rangers-- A massive dehlar War Hammer with a well bound leather grip. Adjusting to the weight of the weapon, I set off in a southerly direction, keeping the unnaturally still river in sight to make sure I didn’t get lost. At the same time, I was forced to divide my attention between the multitude of obstacles which threatened to trip me up, and the tough vines and branches which grabbed at my clothing like so many devilish hands. As I trudged onward, I entered a mental state of pure concentration. Completely aware of my surroundings, I was simultaneously immersed deep within my own thoughts, envisioning the mission I had set out upon, and all the challenges it would involve. I felt like an actor approaching a difficult audition. The only difference was, my audition was a life-or-death situation, and I knew I would have to bluff my way through many levels of security. Luckily, I had been trained to do exactly that. “Trained to do it on a different planet.” My mind told me. I quieted the doubtful voice and continued towards the dam. At that point, I knew doubts were something I could not afford.

[Breaker]

One Day Prior, in Underwood.

It was a dreary day, with a grey sky which was apt to smother the ground like a giant malevolent pillow. Despite a brisk wind, the air was incredibly dense, promising rain sometime that night. The wind carried many unpleasant scents, from landfills, sculleries, horse barns and back alleys, but moved them too quickly for me to be able to get a fix on any one smell. It seemed to be teasing me, slowing for awhile then suddenly whipping to high velocity, shooting tiny shards of earth into my nose and mouth. I spat the grit out, tasting its dry unpleasantness, and yearned for a drink. Just a bit further to the Peaceful Promenade, I told myself. The prospect of alcohol was not my only motivation to arrive in a quick and timely manner. The atmosphere that day was incredibly heavy, and my head felt like it was in a vice which continued to squeeze harder and harder. Finally, I rounded a corner and saw the familiar sign. Sighing with relief, I stepped across the threshold into the well renowned tavern.

With my feet thudding softly on the hard tiled floor, I crossed the tavern to a corner table and sat down. It was around noon, and the interior was quite dim, normally relying on sunlight at this time of day. Instead, several lanterns had been lit, and they cast slim, flickering shadows about the bar. There were only a few patrons there that day, a couple who were in for lunch, and three alcoholics devout enough to start their drinking before sundown. The pub lacked its normal energetic bustle, but the lack of air pressure was enough to satisfy me. There were only two waitresses on duty, and I leaned back against the wall, watching the room through half-closed eyes until she arrived. She was middle aged and slightly plump, with her otherwise auburn hair going grey at the roots. Tight lines around her eyes and mouth showed that she was quite stressed out despite how slow business must have been. I ordered a glass of water, and watched her nod happily and walk away. I assumed her increase in mood was because of the simplicity of my order—all she had to do was fill up a glass. A stronger drink was tempting, but I wanted to keep a perfectly clear head. After several minutes, the waitress still hadn’t returned, and I grew impatient. Rising, I trudged my way over to the front desk, and spoke to the clerk there. He was a thin balding man, who seemed extremely bored with his job. I reached inside my trench coat and pulled out the scroll which I had been given at the Bazaar’s employment kiosk, waving it in front of his nose.

“I’m looking for a delegation of Corone Rangers. I was told I could find them here… this scroll should prove I’m coming from the right source.”

The clerk reacted as though I had been wafting a bad smell toward him, and I took an instant disliking to him. Luckily, he did not waste any time in directing me to the inn’s largest private dining room. The Rangers must have been paying a fair fee to have it reserved all day. Thanking the man in clipped tones, I turned and trotted away. I was beginning to feel a bit more energetic, glad that I would finally be getting some more information about the mysterious mission I had accepted. I walked down a hallway with oaken panel walls, enjoying the light and feeling of warmth which came from the many bare candles in their cast iron holders. As per the clerk’s directions, I followed the hallway to the end, where one door stood directly in front of me, and another was facing my right arm. The clerk had said I wanted the door on the right. Funny that the largest dining room wouldn’t be at the end of the hall. I thought. Putting this oddity down to poor planning, I knocked twice on the solid door to my right then, getting no response, twisted the knob and entered. Having taken one step into the room, my first observation was that it was the wrong one. It was a tiny dining room, with only a small square table, four chairs, and a single abstract painting on the wall. My second observation was that I was not alone. A flurry of movement in the corner of my right peripheral, coupled with a slight scraping sound, was my only warning. An instant later, large steely fingers closed around my right wrist, twisting the arm behind my back and slamming me face first into the wall.

[Breaker]

Reaching the dam did not take long, for which I was thankful. Despite constant conditioning, walking through the forest was definitely not one of my talents, and I quickly grew tired of being swatted by the many whiplike branches blocking my path. The air was cool, and that coupled with the breeze was enough to keep the many flesh eating insects at bay. I was incredibly glad for this, because I wanted to keep my mind exclusively on the task at hand. As I drew level with the dam, I crouched down behind the boughs of a large evergreen tree, spying out the dam and its surrounding area. Aside from the occasional movement in the undergrowth caused by the light wind, there was no sign of life. I crouched there for several minutes, just watching and feeling my muscles begin to cramp up. Birds twittered and flew about overhead, reveling in their freedom of movement. After a few more minutes, I decided that there was no visible threat, and straightened up. I knew I would have to encounter the lumberjacks at some point, and talk my way through their exterior guard, but I did not want to be caught on the dam when that happened. Balancing my dehlar hammer across both shoulders, I stepped out of the vegetation, over the riverbank and onto the dam.

The construction, which had plugged the river like a cork in the mouth of a bottle, made a decent bridge. It was fairly easy to balance on the bundled logs, and I made my way across taking cautious steps. If I over balanced I didn’t doubt I would be able to right myself, but I did not want to lose the war hammer, as I wasn’t sure if the Rangers intended to let me keep it. It had been given to me for two purposes; one that my only other weapon was a constantly concealed nunchaku, and two to make me seem more believable. No one traveled alone unarmed in Concordia, I had been told. It was as my thoughts drifted back to my instructions from the Rangers that I heard the shout. My head snapped up, and I saw a man standing on the opposite bank.

“You there… what do you think you’re doing?”

At first, I thought the man was wearing some odd kind of camouflage makeup. Then, I realized that his skin was in fact a dark purple color. I delved into my memory, and recalled being told at some point, in some pub, that dark elves had purple skin. “But what is a drow doing in Concordia?” From the extreme little I knew about them, it had seemed like the drow folk kept to themselves in Alerar. Now, however, I saw one approaching me across the dam. I had been so caught up in keeping balanced on the dam that I had not been watching for enemies, and now this creature had the drop on me. I was caught; almost three quarters of the way across the dam, turning back would be useless. I was sure the drow did not intend to let me past, however, and two things told me this; the look of ferocious danger in his eyes, and the solid wooden quarterstaff he carried. The elf moved across the bundled logs with the natural grace which was commonly attributed to his species. Suddenly, my own ninjitsu trained movements seemed clumsy and slow. I stood my ground though, and let the drow approach, then called out in a firm voice.

“I think I’m crossing this river, that’s what I think I’m doing… and I won’t have you stopping me.”

In answer, the drow lunged forward, swinging his staff in a swift arc at my temple.

[Breaker]

I didn’t even have a chance to twist my head sideways. My assailant was fast and strong, with a grip like iron pressing my wrist into the small of my back. To stop my nose from being shattered against the wall, I tucked my chin. The result was that my forehead struck the solid wood, and shockwaves ran down my neck even as I felt my skull bruise. The attacker shoved forward again, forcing my entire body flat against the wall. As he did so, the shock of the attack faded from my senses, and adrenaline began to pump, numbing the pain in my wrist and forehead. Quickly, I sized up the scenario. My assailant was strong, and had my wrist locked very effectively against my back. I knew I wouldn’t be able to overpower him, so I lifted my right leg, swung it out sideways for momentum, then brought my heel crashing back into the side of my opponent’s knee. He grunted, nothing more, and tightened his grip, pressing me harder still into the immovable wall. I could feel his heavy breathing close on the back of my neck, and both his hands wrapped firmly around my wrist, unforgiving and unrelenting. It was a decent wrist lock; the man obviously knew how to fight, and was very strong besides. He had made two mistakes though; the first was that he was using both hands to dominate my right arm, thus leaving my left arm free. His second mistake was engaging me in an unarmed grappling match.

Steeling my nerves against the pain building in my wrist and shoulder, I reached my left arm straight up in the air, then bent it at the elbow, dropping my hand to the top of his head, then moving by touch down to his throat. Hundreds of years of evolution had given the human hand four fingers and a powerful opposing thumb, which I put to good use, squeezing his windpipe with all of my force. With a confused gasp he loosened his grip on my wrist, raising his right hand up and easily batting my attempt at strangulation away, which gave me the opening I needed. Clenching my right hand into a fist, I tightened the muscles in my arm and with a solid wrench freed the trapped limb. Knowing I had no time to lick my wounds, I pushed off the wall, hard, with my left hand and right leg, driving myself forcefully backwards, straight into my attacker. I had kept my right arm tightened up behind me, and caught him with a straight elbow to the gut, while the back of my head simultaneously clipped his nose. Instantly, I spun to face him.

He was a grizzled looking man of maybe thirty, with short brown hair and a black patch over his left eye. Seizing this advantage, I sidestepped to my right, moving momentarily into his blind spot. My right arm shot out, wrapping around his left like a snake until my hand met his shoulder, where I gripped the heavy wool of his shirt. I pivoted powerfully on my left leg, forcing him face-first into the wall. In less than three seconds, we had changed positions; now he was jammed uncomfortably against the rough oak paneling, with my right arm controlling his left in a tight shoulder lock. I spun again, placing myself back to back with him, and reaching my left arm out to hook his right elbow, hoping to fully immobilize him. Before I could grasp his arm though, I stopped my attack and stood very, very still. A dagger had appeared against my throat, with calm, cool green eyes gazing into mine across the glimmering blade.

"Release him."

[Breaker]

The dark elf's sudden, vicious attack was quick and precise. It showed great physical balance and long hours of training with the weapon, and he moved with the confidence of a fighter who had used a similar tactic many times in the past. A straight blow to the head from a solid wooden staff: Knockout. His confident expression suddenly became startled when I bent my knees and tucked my chin. The staff whizzed by little more than an inch above my head, and the force from the swing threw the drow off balance. For an instant, he was wavering with all his weight on his left leg. I struck without hesitation. Still crouched, I gripped my war hammer by the head and swung the handle in a tight arc, striking my purple-skinned attacker squarely on the inside of his left knee with the leather padded handle. The leg buckled, and he went down headfirst, in the water. Using a warhammer backwards might lack power, but it sure is quick.

A commotion on the river's edge drew my attention from the splashing, sputtering drow. I heard shouting, and crashing in the brush. "His friends will be arriving soon, I expect. Better make this look good." The downed dark elf clearly was not a very good swimmer, so I bent down and grabbed the back of his shirt, then began hauling him through the water towards the bank on which he had first appeared. Small droplets landed on my skin, shed by his struggling. My shoulder began to ache from carrying his weight plus the drag added by the water. Finally, my feet left the wooden dam and landed on solid ground. With a mighty heave I pulled the drow from the water and dropped him on the bank. He was coughing fairly badly, because when I pulled him through the water, the neck of his shirt had been strangling him. Seeming too exhausted by the ordeal to speak or move, the purple skinned elf merely lay on the bank, glowering at me and coughing violently.

"Hey! Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Three men emerged from the dense vegetaion, one chopping his way through with a large axe, the others following in single file behind. The second two rested their hands on their hips next to the pommels of short swords. All three were of the same type: thick, stocky men with bulging muscles, scraggy hair and beards, dressed in layers of mismatched clothing. They were lumberjacks, but it seemed as if someone had recently given them a little military training. The two followers knelt on either side of the dark elf and began to lift him to his feet. The leader seemed confident enough to deal with me on his own. Ignoring his question, and the menacing axe in his hands, I grinned and looked up at the sky, pretending to be enjoying the sunlight and breeze. Internally, my mind was racing. I had a plan, but it innvolved a lot of smooth talking, fast action, and good luck. I counted to five in my head, then looked back to the axe wielding lumberjack.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" The man's red face turned redder, he seemed about to burst with rage.

"I asked you who you are, and what the hell are you doing here!" He screamed. The release of verbal energy seemed to make him feel better, and he became moderately more composed.

"My name is Josh, I'm a mercenary looking for work... and I have very valuable information for your leader." I could see the gears grinding slowly behind the lumberjack's eyes. He clearly wanted to disbelieve me, but I hadn't said anything that sounded even remotely like a lie. Also, he would be in a lot of trouble if he stopped me from carrying information to his superiors. He reached this conclusion just as is friends and the drow disapeared into the forest.

"Well, Josh, I suppose I'd better take you to see the Commander then... but no strangers come into our camp armed, so I'll have to take that hammer." I grinned disarmingly, nodded, and tossed the warhammer to him. He caught it awkwardly against his chest, and immediately realized his mistake. Both his axe and my hammer were large, heavy two handed weapons. Carrying both of them was extremely awkward, and would make it difficult for him to travel through the dense woods. Embarassed, he handed the weapon back to me. Turning his back, he muttered "Follow me," and plunged into the forest.

[Breaker]

Concealed behind a cunning barricade of leafy branches was a path as wide as three men. Trees had been felled, and stumps uprooted to allow easy travel between the lumberjack camp and the river's edge. The sides of the path were littered with broken tree trunks and clumps of vegetation. "This must be how they transport their materials to the dam," I thought, following the lumberjack closely. Although it was a fairly straight path, I could not see the camp at the other end, and realized that I had misjudged the distance earlier. From my position it seemed like the camp was a mile or so away from the river. "Must be a pain to move tree trunks all this way." Catching up to the lumberjack, I moved beside him, matching stride for stride. "Time to gather soem information." I instructed myself.

"What's your name?" I asked genially.
The lumberjack glared at me, as if I was trying to trap him somehow.

"It's not a difficult question," I said, sarcasm leaning briefly into my tone. "I told you mine." I added. He glared at me again, then stumbled on a loose rock and returned his attention to where he was walking.

"Henry." He grunted, after some time. As we walked I had begun to set the pace. He seemed reluctant to let me get ahead, which was stupid. Ideally he would be pushing me in front of him with his axe at my back. Evidently, Henry was not experienced in bringing strangers to the camp. He had caved very quickly on the no weapons rule, and now seemed perplexed as to how to deal with me. I decided to take advantage of that, and began to pick Henry's slow-moving brain.

"What are you building that dam for, Henry?" It was a direct inquisition, but I tried to sound conversational.
"We don't ask questions, we just do the work."
"Okay, so who hired you?" I jumped over a clump of weeds, and increased the pace again. Henry kept up easily, breathing only a little harder than me.

"The dark elves, like the one you pulled out of the water back there. There are about fifty of them at the camp, but mostly they spend their time patrolling the woods. The Commander is their leader."

I took a moment to think, pushing our pace up yet again. I was impressed by how well Henry kept up; his cardio was evidently better than his bulk suggested. He carried his axe with apparent ease. It was a big weapon, although I was willing to bet my hammer was heavier. From the corner of my eye I scrutinized him. "The Commander" seemed like a name, not just a title. I doubted whether Henry or any of the other lumberjacks knew the mysterious leader's real name. I was trying to think of more questions when two dark elves materialized from the foliage. Henry did a double take; I tensed and lifted my hammer. The first olive skinned fellow spoke to his partner in a foreign tongue, then turned to me and spoke in common.

"You're coming with us, human."

[Breaker]

The eyes were slightly slanted, like a cat’s, and piercing as the blade on my windpipe. I looke beyond them and saw a set of pointy ears protruding from beneath short sand colored hair. “An elf. No, make that a half elf.” I might have been wrong, but I doubted it. The ears weren’t that pointy, and more rounded than long. Also, the warrior had broad shoulders and a muscular frame, not normal for a pure bred elf.

“Release him.”

The half-elf repeated the command, every bit as calmly as he had said it the first time, but an extra fragment of danger edged into his voice. The knife pushed harder, it was very uncomfortable now. Slowly, I slackened my grip on Eye Patch, feeling him groan and move away, undoubtedly massaging his sore limbs.

“Who are you?”

The half-elf and I both stood still, but my eyes danced. I spotted a symbol on the left breast of his shirt. A sword crossed by a rifle. “A Ranger. They’re Rangers, thank God.”

“Joshua Cronen. Check my left inner coat pocket.”

Cautiously, the Coronian Ranger’s hand reached inside my trench coat. For an insane moment I thought about carrying a set mousetrap in my pocket for occasions like this.

“It’s him. Yuri, tell the clerk we don’t need this room anymore.”
“With pleasure. I’ve got better things to do then sit in a...”

Eye Patch—Yuri’s voice faded as he moved down the oak panelled hall. The half-elf sheathed his dagger. The blade had vanished from my neck as soon as he removed the scroll from my coat. He hadn’t even needed to unroll it; the seal was enough. It bore the same crest that adorned his shirt. He looked a little sheepish now that the moment of danger was over. I was glad to see that this particular specimen carried none of the haughty demeanour elves were famous for.

“Sorry about the ambush tactic, we needed to make sure, beyond all reasonable doubt, that you were legitimate.”
“No need to apologize. I’d have done the same thing.”

The ranger nodded and led me out of the decoy room, through the pleasant-smelling hall and into the inn’s largest dining room. It was a larger version of the room we had just left. A fire crackled and popped in the hearth, unecessary in the day’s heat, but a pleasant addition to the aesthetic of the atmosphere. Several nature paintings hung on the walls, and two square windows stared out at the cloudy sky. A large square table made the room’s centrepiece, with five chairs surrounding it. The craftsmanship was a little better than the furniture in the other room, but made from the same cheap wood. Three of the chairs were occupied by two humans and an elf, pointed ears and slim frame marking the last as a pure-blood Raiaeran.

It was obvious they had been there awhile. Cloaks and jackets were thrown over the backs of chairs, shirtsleeves rolled up, the men lounging in slumped positions that spoke of hours of sitting. The elf looked a little edgier, like maybe he had just sat down. For all the long lives they led, elves could be quite impatient. I guessed that he had been pacing until his extra-sensitive ears picked up the commotion in the adjacent room. Something told me it was not unusual for Yuri to bash new recruits against walls.

The remains of a meal, or perhaps several meals, had been pushed to the centre of the table, leaving room in front of each ranger for a thick sheaf of documents. Mostly maps, from what I could see, mixed in with the odd scouting report. My guide took the empty chair next to his half-kin, gesturing for me to sit in the remaining seat directly across from them. With one man on each side of me and the two elves straight ahead, I felt like I was up for interrogation. I shrugged my trench coat off onto the back of the chair, getting comfortable. My casual demeanour under their scrutiny sent a message; I’m capable, I can handle myself, you’re not wasting your time with me, I’m one of you now. The humans nodded to each other and one of them poured me a glass of water, which I gratefully accepted. Even the elf’s ramrod spine softened a little. The water cooled my dry throat, and seeing this, the half-elf began to explain.

[Breaker]

Seconds later I was travelling along the well beaten path once more, sandwiched between the two dark elves. With one in front and the other behind, both resting their hands on the hilts of sheathed longswords, I had no apparent avenue of escape. Not that escape was a part of my plans. The camp was my destination. I chalked it up to arrogance that the elves let me hold on to my hammer. I could think of six or seven different methods of disarming and incapacitating both of them before they knew what was happening. Luckily for them, that wasn’t in my plans either.

“What are you doing in this part of the forest, human?” The drow behind me piped up suddenly. I refused to turn around, responding instead to the back of the other elf’s head.

“Seeing as how this is Concordia, I could ask you the same question, dark elf.” I heard a seething behind me, but the elf in front of me cut in, backing his partner.

“You could, but since you’re our prisoner, we’ll ask the questions.”
“Prisoner? I don’t think so. I’m a mercenary for hire. The fact that I’m walking with you two, rather than leaving your ugly corpses behind me on the path, is purely a courtesy.” They ignored the half-threat, the one behind me again taking over.

“Maybe you’re a mercenary for hire, or maybe you’re a walking dead man. It all depends on whether or not you pass initiation.”

“Initiation? What the hell is that? Damnit, why didn’t Henry mention this?”

I kept up the tough front, my mind racing, wondering what I would need to do in order to infiltrate the camp.

“Well, if you two got in, I’m sure I’ll pass with flying colors.” There was a moment of silence, and then I realized we had arrived at the camp.

It was an impressive clearing; a massive ring of rough brown tents lined the exterior, alive with action. Lumberjacks, mostly big burly types, sauntered in and out of the ramshackle structures, going through their daily routine with nonplussed motivation. Several fires blazed wherever there was space, and a few men stood around each, cooking, dicing, or just passing the time in idle conversation.

Although I doubted it was intentional, circles seemed to dominate the camp. The outer layer of tents formed a circle around the inner layer. These were smaller, neater shelters, made of heavy dark blue canvas. The camp itself was a circle within a circle within a circle, the innermost ring being a small bare area with a massive fire set in the middle. A thick shaft of smoke rose from the fire, showing that these people were not afraid of being discovered. A beacon that high could be spotted from kilometres away. The theme of circles continued. Each fire was surrounded by a small circle of rocks, containing the flames, and the rocks in turn were encircled by men. It was almost like looking at an odd piece of modern art. Secretly, I dubbed the camp “Bubbles”.

Before long I had been escorted to the largest tent, a navy blue extravagant affair not far from the main fire. Within, I was told to sit and wait. Since nobody stayed with me I opted to stand instead, examining the interior. The only furnishings were a number of chairs and a large table, which sported a map of that particular area of Concordia. It was new, with the locations of the camp, the dam, and the path clearly marked. I was beginning to examine it further when a voice from the entry flap startled me.

“Tell me your name, and what your purposes are in Concordia.”

[Breaker]

I looked up, surprised but unwilling to show it. A lone drow stood in the entrance, confident, a king in his own domain. He was at least three inches taller than me and about the same weight, carrying more muscle mass than most of his kin. Silver hair spilled down around his ears, but it was not the silver of old age. It glistened; catching what litle sunlight came through the entry flap and throwing it back. I guessed it had been that color since the day he was born. He was healthy, muscular and hard-looking, as though he could eat rocks and like it.

“My name is Josh Cronen, and as I’m sure you already know, I’m a mercenary looking for work.”

He seemed satisfied by the answer, but it was clear I would have to give more information.

“What makes you think we have work to offer the likes of you?” I ignored the insult, not really sure what ‘the likes of you’ was supposed to mean.

“Well, apparently you’re building a dam, and I can swing an axe as well as any of those lugs outside. Of course, I have other talents too. The skinny staff wielding drow on the dam can attest to that.”

For a moment the Commander did not respond. He took a seat in the nearest chair, facing me across the table. Refusing to be put at odds, I leaned forwards, examining the map, both palms braced on the table edge. Moments later, the Commander spoke. His tone said that he had been contemplating the answer, not deciding what to say, but rather how much to say. In short, how much to tell me.

“The boy you sent into the river is Hassin. He is a far better fighter than I think you think he is. And he has other talents, talents very valuable to a man in my position.”

The turn of phrase seemed odd. I would have thought the Commander would say “a drow in my postion”, or “an elf”. I was hardly an expert on Aleraran elves though, and dismissed the comment. The Commander’s eyes were boring into me, flat and dull in the tent’s dark interior, but the gaze felt penetrating all the same. I made a choice at that moment, trusting my instincts.

“I’ve travelled through several villages on my way here. One of them called Underwood.” The Commander raised an eyebrow at the seemingly useless information, then gestured for me to continue.

“It’s a day’s walk from here, less if you move quickly.” I paused a moment, letting suspense build. The more he waited for the information, the more likely he would be to believe it.

“There’s a legion from Corone camped in the forest just outside the town. I asked around, and none of the citizens could think of any reason for them to be there.”

A long moment passed, in which I met the Commander’s eyes, our pupils dilated, locked in a non-verbal battle of wills. Finally, he spoke, and it was nearly a whisper, rhytmic, almost taunting, like a child’s song.

“So this is the 'valuable information' which you bring to the leader of the camp. The camp you seem to be looking for honest work at.”
I said nothing. Neither of us blinked, then he looked away and continued.

“Well, it is valuable information indeed. If you pass the initiation, you will be given employement starting tomorrow.”
“What’s the initiation I keep hearing about?”

The next was delivered in such a casual, offhand way that it took me completely by surprise.

“A fight to the death. Your opponent will be that oaf, Henry. The winnings a job; the pennance final.”

I blinked, shrugged, and walked out of the tent.

[Breaker]

I stood with my back to the camp’s largest fire, the heat crackling against my back.

Ten feet away, Henry was doing powerful lunge stretches, the heavy axe gripped in his hands, bloody murder in his eyes. His warm-up reminded me of a bull pawing at the ground. I thought about the way a matador fights a bull, and smiled.

After leaving the Commander’s tent, I had received instructions, and taken them with a total lack of emotion. The grinning lumberjacks, with their sparse leather armor and rusted helmets, had delivered the specifics, seeming to expect a show of nerves. They were disappointed; in my first few weeks on Althanas I had been “recruited” as a Pit Fighter, and escaped only after a solid week of matches similar to the Cell tournament. Then I had been nervous; now I was not. I shivered despite the heat of the fire, remembering the gore, the carnage in the Pits.

“This lot would probably lose their breakfast over a day in the Pits. Dinners, too.” I thought, inspecting the would-be soldiers. They formed a rough ring around the large fire, leaving lots of room for Henry and I to fight. The rules (which had simply been that we fight to the death) said nothing about the fire, so apparently it could be used as an obstacle as well as a weapon. My smile grew a little wider. The Commander had just joined the crowd, which was three or four men thick. He stood on a box at the back, the skinny Hassan at his side. The battle would give me a chance to invade the Commander’s circle of trust.


A cheap little firecracker was tossed into the bonfire, and as it burst the battle began.

Henry charged straight at me, axe held in front of him like the bull’s horns. From five metres away he telegraphed his move, and I got the signal loud and clear. With each step the axe rose a little higher, and it was clear it would reach the apex of a swing just as he came into striking range. When he was three paces away going full steam, I tossed my hammer in his direction and dodged sideways.

[Breaker]

I had more or less dropped the hammer, and as the axe scythed past my ear he tripped over it, face going from surprised to contorted. A bovine grunt issued from his throat, accompanying the heavy thud his torso made in the dust. He rose slowly, and my foot crashed into the side of his head before he was halfway up, knocking him reeling. My feet whispered over the ground as I skirted the fire, arriving at the edge of the circle, facing the Commander.

“You’re so quick to distrust me.” I said, my voice ringing loud and clear over the crackle of the fire. The crowd was quiet, as was the Commander. Henry staggered to his feet, pawing at the ground for his axe. His eyes were a little unfocused, his rage tripled. I pretended to ignore him, tracking his movement from the corner of my eye.

“Your intentions are transparent, Commander,” I continued, ignoring the shocked gasps of the lumberjacks and the murderous stare Hassan shot me. The Commander himself merely looked at me, as though he were reading the beginning of a long book. Regaining his feet, Henry rushed at me again, now limping badly. I didn’t move very much, just ducked and turned to face him, but I ended up inside his guard once more. Before he realized what was happening, I had both my hands around his right arm, hyper extending the limb and using it to toss him into the crowd. Spectators went down like ninepins, one screaming as Henry’s axe scored a hit to his ribcage.

“What I’m wondering, Commander, is whether you waste the life of a working man every time a stranger applies for a job.” I was walking back to retrieve my hammer, easily lifting it off the ground, “You’re paranoid, drow. You think the Rangers will bother sending a spy here? They’re going to wipe you out, to the man. I’ll even get the ball rolling for them, with these fools.”

Henry was slower getting up this time, and three men had advanced on me in his place. The first had blood dribbling from a wound to his midsection. For some reason I couldn’t imagine, he blamed me for what Henry’s weapon had one. I hit him in the groin with a straight snap kick, and he crumpled to the ground moaning. Not exactly the most sportsmanlike move, but the bastard was interrupting a duel. His two friends came at me together, or tried to. Before they could close the distance I threw the hammer like a spear, the heavy head catching the first in the stomach. He doubled over, lungs emptied by the weapon’s brutal weight. The second glanced at his downed friend, which was enough time for me. I drove my elbow into his throat, then shoved him choking and gagging back into the crowd.

Still breathing pretty light, I retrieved the hammer again. The short, wide man it had struck was curled in a ball like a child facing a grizzly, the cause of his pain apparent; the kinetic energy generated by the thrown hammer had been enough to cause a compound fracture in his ribcage. Blood soaked his shirt and trailed to the ground, a hint of reddish black on the dark, dead ground. I ignored it, turning inevitably to face the Commander.

“I saw those hand signals, Commander. Why are you trying to kill me?”

The drow’s eyes widened then squinted, surprise quickly and efficiently covered.

There was a sound behind me, and suddenly I remembered Henry. I spun clockwise, my hands already in motion. The left was stiff as a board, guarding my chin like a wooden handed boxer. The right had become an eagle’s claw, fingers grouped and flexed, ready. My left barely knocked his crazy haymaker away, and he stumbled towards me, overbalancing from the heavy punch. The eagle swooped up in a swift blur, and my fingers dug into the cartilage of his throat.

“Ches-ah!”

The focus word echoed in my mind as the eagle ripped the man’s windpipe loose with wild savagery. Henry collapsed, his face contorted in pain, dying from an invisible injury. I waited for his coughing to stop, just standing there staring at the Commander. Finally the lumberjack give a final choking gasp and lay still. I turned my head, looking pointedly at the barrel-chested man who had been the “announcer” at the beginning of the match. His clear baritone was a little hoarse as he went through a mental list of post-recruitment formalities. I didn’t really listen to them, just walked out of the circle, the group parting like the Red Seas for Moses. Without looking back I strode into the Commander’s tent and sat at the map-covered table. Examining the more detailed version of what I had in my pocket, I waited to be hired.

[Otter Guy]

"By the jagged peaks," the Giant Otter muttered to himself, watching Cronen duck into the Commander's tent through the needles of an ancient pine. "Half of a whole bloody summer in Concordia an yer' still walkin' in to traps. After fightin' yer way out!" The man-sized otter had wound himself sinuously around a strong lower bough of the fresh smelling tree, and the last quiet comment came out forcefully enough to shake it like a strong wind. Aside from the way it pampered his nose, the natural colours of the evergreen camouflaged his thick brown fur and serpent-scale clothing almost intentionally. By the Mizuchi, Reev, he admonished himself mentally, what's the point in hidin' if yeh go givin' yerself away? Using his thick serpentine tail as a guide he reverse-slithered down the coarse trunk and lay flat on the forest floor. The reverse slither was a move he had learned from a friendly talking beagle as a pup, ideal for stealthy exits off low branches.

Reever Glacegeyser rolled over on to his front, then rolled several more times in the loam because it felt so good, and all the smells, like a hot mud massage with salmon... rather, to coat himself in grime and further disguise his presence. A beast better be careful in broad daylight, especially with them elven eyes searchin'. Satisfied with his camouflage, the otter crept along the forest floor on all fours like an alligator. An alligator who attended Akashima's school of ninjitsu. In spite of the otter's best efforts, several dead twigs snapped beneath his weight, and leaves crinkled as he rustled them. He trod on a mouse which squeaked and scampered away noisily, and a thorn which punctured his left paw.

"Arrgghassannuffalready!"

The otter managed to stifle his cry of pain before it could break the wall of white noise coming from the bustling human camp. Deciding to quit sneaking while he was still undetected, the otter jumped up to a standing position and walked normally through the woods. He made little noise, and the thickness of the forest shrouded him from view.

Reever cared little for humans as a race. His own breed had been largely wiped out years earlier, and since then his life had been a warm cup of tea on a rainy day; everything seemed alright, only lacking its usual brightness. But Joshua Cronen was one of the few humans he had met whose intentions seemed pure - the man was more at odds with Althanas than the otter. At least I've me legacy to uphold. Poor Breaker in there is on an alien planet, and he's about to get murdered to pawsock. And yet the silly human continued to put himself in mortal danger just for a chance at helping other humans he had never met. O' course, I do suppose if'n I was put on a different planet with lots o' giant otters, I'd do my best to help 'em all too. 'Course we wouldn't go killin' each other like them elves, and men, and elf men... Before Reev's bizarre fantasy could sprout too many details he reached a position where he could see both of the dark elves and the entrance to their large tent. The otter looked to the skies expectantly but was disappointed, seeing nothing but trees and clouds above him. The rough callused pad of his right paw touched the hilt of one of the damascus cutlasses stuffed in his broad belt.

With a little time to spare, he pulled his trusty sling out of the stone pouch on the back of his hip. The weapon was made from tough material and he normally used it for serving rocks to his enemies at high velocity, but wound just right it made a decent bandage on his punctured paw. The shallow wound still stung, but it was protected.

Now then, the otter thought to himself, where's bloody-bag-o-feathers Bane when I need him?

At that moment the golden eagle in question swooped down and landed on a nearby branch, arriving with his usual aggravating punctuality.

"The Rangers are coming," the eagle said. Bane stared regally down his beak at his less lofty otter friend. One of the few sentient animals Reev had encountered in Concordia, Bane's skills as a scout and undying loyalty made him worth every insufferable moment of his company. Shifting his footpaws over a bed of pine-needles, the otter was about to respond but froze harder than his unmelting ice magic the strength of iron when he glanced into the heart of the camp.

Framed by flames that threatened to lick the sky, the older drow had produced an iron wheel lock pistol, and examined it like a diamond of equal weight.

[Otter Guy]

"Daughter of a direling, didja' see that matey? We gotta help Josh..." Reever watched fearfully as the Commander pulled a powder horn and a small sack full of lead ball shot out of his pockets. The otter had experience with similar firearms, mostly from fending off pirates, and knew they immediate danger the weapon presented.

"My eyes are several dozen times more powerful than yours, of course I can see it." The eagle said dryly, gazing beyond his friend with fierce golden orbs. "I can also see he hasn't loaded it yet. That takes a long time, why don't you tell me how you can this Cronen fellow met?" The great bird ruffled his feathers and settled on his perch, ready for a good story.

"At a time like this?" Reev had trouble not shouting, "Matey, one o'me best mates is about t'get shot through the belly, and you want to know how me and Josh met? You were there! We met in these very woods by this very river, and I helped him save his friends from some river pirates. There, are yeh happy?" The otter wound and unwound the sling around his paw in agitation. Bloody ol' eagle, what kind of a question is that? "What about them Rangers?" Reev demanded, deciding to respond in kind, "How'd yeh get 'em to come, did they unnerstan' yeh?"

The eagle rolled his eyes, which took considerable effort and head movement but was well worth it. He then held up two feathers, straight in the air.

"Two words? Mate, we don't have time fo-" Reev glanced over his shoulder and realised the drow Commander was still selecting a bullet. The otter shrugged deliberately, a human gesture he liked and often practised using. "Never mind mate. Two words." Bane covered his eyes with both wings. "Hiding?" Reev ejaculated, then "Oohh, dark!" As the eagle waved off his first guess and shaded himself from the sun with both wings instead. He nodded in approval and held up two feathers once more.

"Second word," Reev breathed, almost dancing in anticipation, the lumberjack camp temporarily forgotten. Bane flexed the strong muscles at the ends of his wings then folded their span in on himself, so that the points of his wing tips protruded from either side of his head. "Elves? Dark elves! Well done matey!" Bane nodded proudly and adopted his usual regal pose, preening strayed feathers back into place.

"There's a score or two of adept fighters incoming," the eagle explained, "They asked that you don't interfere until they--"

The otter was no longer listening. Next to the central fire of the camp, the Commander had just finished the long process of preparing his pistol, and turned towards the tent where Cronen sat unknowingly.

Reever's mind raced like a river in spring thaw. League's o' lightin', 'ow can I 'elp 'im?

[Breaker]

I wondered what was taking the drow so long, but didn't really care. More time alone in the main tent gave me a chance to properly examine the large map. There were several spidery lines which I guessed were small paths splaying out from the camp. But earlier I'd overlooked an x at the end of one of those paths, mistaking it for a smudge or error. After careful consideration I decided it was a deliberate marking, and the only one of its type I could find.

The sound of running water nearby made me spin around. Water burbled from thin air in the middle of the tent, wetting its walls and ceiling. I had only seen such clear elemental magic once before, and when the water froze and twisted into long fluid icicles, I knew it had to be Reever Glacegeyser. Exactly where the giant otter was or how he knew I was in the tent didn't seem to matter, because the three large icicles formed themselves into three block letters.

RUN.

Suddenly the tent didn't seem like a good place to be. I snatched up one of the wooden folding chairs and dashed out of the tent. The sun dazzled my eyes and I crashed into the Commander chair-first, not even seeing the wheel lock pistol he held go flying. The chair shattered and the Commander sprawled on the ground, winded. Hassin had been approaching from behind the other drow, mouth open in preparation to say something, but his teeth snapped shut when he saw me flatten his superior. The quarterstaff that seemed permanently affixed to his palms (he even used it as a flotation device in the river) swung in a swift arc at my ribs. Rather than try to evade the speed of the attack I bent my knees and took the impact on my high on my ribcage, away from the vulnerable organs and floating ribs. My arm snapped down like a bear trap and pinned the staff in its pit. I pulled forwards, trying to grab hold of Hassin, but he shook me off the stave and snapped a kick at my jaw. I had to throw myself in the other direction and roll away to avoid his clever assault.

Hassin said something in a foreign language as he helped the dazed Commander up. He was recovering slowly, understandable considering the kinetic force the chair must have delivered. The urgency in the younger elf's voice and whatever words he used had an immediate effect. Together the blue skinned beings vanished into the trees. The lumberjacks were looking at one another confused. I heard one mutter to another that all six of them had disappeared. All six what? Dark elves? I wondered.

It was then that I saw a familiar furry figure striding confidently through the mass of men. Whether because of the blades on his belt, the stone-laden sling swinging from his paw, or the icicle razors which danced menacingly about his head, the lumberjacks parted to let him through. He looked like the Giant Otter King of Ice, and I wanted to laugh out loud. Seeing the otter guy always inspired joy.

"Reever, you ole' seadog!" I called, mimicking his nautical banter, "Have yeh' come to chuck me in the river again?"

"No time to talk matey, here take this" he replied, handing me a loaded single-shot firearm. I goggled at the gun, but asked no question as the otter went on in his abnormally serious tone. "The Rangers are on my 'eels but we gotta' get after 'em drow before they escape!" The two heroes raced into the forest. Several lumberjacks watched them go, until one turned to another.

"Shouldn't we have tried to stop them?" He asked, face a picture of fantasy. The other man responded immediately.
"Why on Althanas would I get in someone's way when I just watched him kill several men my size? He did it with his bare hands. Now he has a gun. And a creepy talking beaver. Honestly Dick, passive participatory people like you are the bane of Corone."

"Ravenous Ravenheart!" Dick exclaimed, "Look at the size of that eagle!"

[Otter Guy]

The great forest Concordia was a place of serene beauty, and she did not appreciate having it disrupted. As such she vented her full fury on the martial artist and the otter as they crashed through the trees and loam.

"Yeesh!" Joshua uttered as a whippy yew branch nearly lacerated his neck. The martial artist ran with both hands up as if fending off a boxer. "Ow, damn it, Reev can you see the elves? Every time I try to look for them a branch hits me in the eye!" The human ducked and ran as if avoiding oxygen deprivation in a smoky room Cobwebs caught on and decorated his visage.

Reever had more experience moving through the woods than Joshua, but was more of a swimmer than a runner. As he puffed and blew, footpaws scattering twigs, he squinted and managed to spot a twin blue figure through the layers of forest shadow.

"Woohurr, y-yes a-ho" The otter controlled his breathing with a concerted effort, "yes I do mate, they're dead aho-" giving up with the idealistic notion of beating a fit human in a two-foot race, Reev pitched forward onto all four paws and trotted easily at Cronen's side. He refused to speak though, knowing and disliking the taste of cobwebs.


*

Back at the camp, activity ceased temporarily and then restarted with a different urgency. Tents were struck, possession gathered, and several of the lumberjacks slipped into the sanctuary of the forest, hoping to go unnoticed. But before the bulk of the camp could disband, the Rangers arrived. They outflanked the camp swiftly, using evident weapons and intimidation in lieu of superior numbers. As the highest ranking officers delegated guard patrols and set about questioning the individual lumberjacks, a group of six Elven Rangers with outstanding orders slipped into the forest, expertly tracking the drow and their heroic pursuers.

"Where do you think the otter guy's pet eagle - oh there he is." One elf said to the other.

"Hey, eagle!" The second elf called, "Where are your friends?"

Claws dug into the bunk of a decaying old oak, Bane ruffled his wings and patiently held up three feathers.

"We don't have time for that!" The elves roared, and resumed following the obvious trail Cronen and Reev had left.

Still staring after them, Bane folded down the two outside feathers.

[Breaker]

The smell was all too familiar, somehow unnatural in this rustic magical forest.

Gas.

The high pitched keening reached my ears as I ducked around the last clutching branches of a dogged fir tree.

"Can you hear that?" I said to Reever's tail, which was the only part of him close to my head. I got an affirmative grunt from below in response to my question, and a gnat in the lung for talking while running in the great Concordia Forest.

Coughing and gagging, I tripped over a large rock and fell on all fours next to Reev just as we entered a clearing. The source of the keening and the smell was immediately apparent.

"They have a zeppelin?" I gasped around a burning lung. It was a rhetorical question. The great gray monstrosity rose out of the clearing, its bulging belly level with the trunks of the oldest trees. I couldn't identify the tough, dark fabric it was made from but spotted two mythril tanks at the base.

"Is 'at what ye' call 'at bloody great thing?" Reev spluttered, still spitting out whiskerfuls of cobwebs. "I calls it an airship. Never seen one of 'em up this close before." The otter rose to his full height and whirled his sling sinuously above his head, sending a stone at the blimp's power source. It panged harmlessly off the white mythril tank. "Think ye can shoot 'at thing at the base?" He roared. I wondered if the high-pitched noise was affecting him worse than me.

"It's called a tank, Reev." I muttered. On one knee, I had my right arm braced like a spear, aiming straight for the mythril tank. I cocked the unfamiliar mechanism of the wheel lock pistol and lined my eyes up with the barrel. It had dot-and-point sites, just like the ones back home. Probably not exact, I thought, but it would have to do.

It was twenty yards away - outside normal range for a handgun, but not by much. And the old piece had a long, heavy barrel. I breathed in, allowed for the rise of the blimp and the pull of the breeze, adjusted my aim one last time and squeezed the trigger on the exhale.

The bullet winged off to the left, missing Reev by less than a yard as it plowed a path through the foliage. The airship rose higher and faster and caught a thermal or some updraft of wind, and it was gone.

"These old pistols are absolutely useless." I said to Reev, and pitched the thing into the woods.

[Otter Guy]

"Wasn't yore fault mate, I know ye weren't aimin' fer' me brainpan." Try as he might, the otter could not console his human friend as they walked slowly and respectfully through the forest. Harmonizing their energy with Concordia, the tree branches seemed to massage their weary limbs as they slid past, and the bugs that they inhaled were delicious. Even so Cronen's face remained a mask. Reever beat his tail nervously on the ground as he walked and wiggled his whiskers.

"I'm shore the Rangers won't murder ye or nuthin' mate, probably just take back yer' wages an' that hammer they gave ye. Say where'd that honkin' great thing go anyroo?" Blast, Reev thought, even the makin' up funny words won't shake'im. He must be really depressed... Suddenly Joshua froze, halting so abruptly that Reev continued two paces before turning around. "Whats wrong matey?"

"I know why they dammed the river," Cronen exclaimed, and then sprinted through a swarm of gnats towards the heart of the camp.

I really should learn to read human facial cues, the otter thought blithely, and then shrugged. Ah well, body language is good enough!

Marching triumphantly, Reev turned towards the river, intent on inspecting the base of the dam. He dove into the water with barely a splash and pulled both of the cutlasses from his belt, swimming about and slashing the vine ropes which bound the base of the dam to roots waving from the riverbed. As he worked the otter kept and eye out for tasty looking fish, and as such noticed something shiny protruding from the bed on the downstream side of the dam.

What could 'at be? He wondered heartily.

[Breaker]

The crowd of lumberjacks and rangers parted to let me through, until I reached the entrance of the large navy blue tent. Yuri, the burly eye-patched man, barred my way with his arms across his chest.

"Cronen," he barked, "There you are. Where are the rangers we sent to help you and Reever?"
"What rangers?" I asked, "We didn't see anyone, and we came straight back... aren't you guys supposed to be really good at tracking?"
"The best," he said. We stood for a moment as Bane swooped over head. "Crazy birds," Yuri muttered.

"I think I know what the elves were doing here," I said in a rush, "They must have crashed their airship-"
"Airship?" Yuri demanded, "They had an airship here? What happened to it?"

I sighed. This is going to take awhile.

Eventually I managed to get Yuri and the other rangers to hear me out, and they followed along the path the lumberjacks had carved out. With Reever's help we discovered a makeshift tapping system the drow had affixed to a source of natural gas beneath the river bed. Damming the flow had made the process possible, reducing the depth and water pressure. At first I had trouble convincing the Rangers there had been any drow at all, but fortunately the lumberjacks corroborated my story. Most of them, aside from a nasty few who ended up arrested, were just working men who had fallen prey to the promise of pounds of gold.

Reever did most of the work uprooting the dam, and I agreed to raft it downriver to Gisela with him, where he proposed to sell the lumber.

"Always someone needs to buy good wood," the otter reasoned. He taught me much about Althanas on the trip downriver, and I learned some surprising things about him. The otter it seemed, was an incredibly successful lumberjack and had more gold than most humans in Corone had ever seen. In spite of his natural lifestyle, Reev was curious why I had turned down any wages aside from the dehlar sledgehammer. I shrugged at the question, not really sure how to answer.

"You need to find yoreself a place in this world matey, and you're a fighter born. There's a ferry from Gisela to Scara Brae, and ye should challenge the Dajas Pagoda masters there. Ye could be one of 'em mate, an' from what I here it ain't a bad job!" I agreed, wanting to explore other islands and continents. The world called to me, and travel seemed an ideal way to embrace it. The idea of being paid to fight wasn't half bad either. I thanked Reever when we parted ways in the woods outside Gisela, but the strange otter still seemed worried about me.

"Look matey," he said, pressing a cloth bag which jingled weightily into my hands, "Yore one o' the only humans I ever met I liked. So take this, I know ye'll make somethin' o'yorself with it. Nex' time yore back this way Bane an I'll find ye for a celebration to yore success!" His benevolence seemed far too kind, but I was still incredibly young on Althanas, and accepted the gift, not knowing what was in store for me.


Spoils: Josh requests the dehlar sledgehammer. It was the reward offered for this job originally, even though the mission board is incredibly old. Reever requests however much yew (tier 2) sellable lumber (in kilograms) the judge determines is appropriate. I'd also like 10,000 GP transferred from Otter Guy to 016573. Thank you for reading!

[Silence Sei]

Story (7/10): I was actually impressed you worked your story so well into the simple task of an employment kiosk mission. Lord, did we really call it that? Cripes.

Continuity (6/10): There were mentions of Earth from Josh here and there, which scored you a little higher than the norm.

Setting (5/10): Sometimes, you had legitimate good descriptions in settings, but sometimes you just fell short of something here or there. One the biggest things that comes to mind is the fact that you weren’t ever misted by water. In my experience, when you’re that close to water, you get hit with it from time to time.

Creativity (6/10): The tank was a nice touch, but I couldn’t give it a whole lot of points since it seemed kind of out of place.

Character (8/10): God I love that otter.

Interaction (8/10): Josh’s interactions with all of the characters were well done, especially with our boy R.

Strategy (7/10): One things for certain, you write some of the best close quarters combat on the site, hands down.

Mechanics (5/10): There were errors here and there, and a few times I caught errors in dialogue grammar.

Clarity (6/10): There were times during the fight, while good, left me scratching my head and having to re-read. Same thing with the tank, bringing it in just made me kind of go “wait…wha?”

Wildcard (8/10): A great story. Well done.

Total: 78/100’

Numbers gets 2000 exp, and spoils approved

Otter guys gets 500 exp and spoils approved,

[Breaker]

Rewards added. Reever receives 50 kg sellable yew and 50 kg salvageable yew