The Wildbound Wardens

A heavily laden merchant wagon rolled along the shaded path of Riverton's main roadway. A tarp pulled tight over the top covered its contents. It likely carried woolen fabrics or grain, the staple resources of the region.

Northern winds carried the promise of winter whispering through the autumn trees lining the well-worn road. Soon the snows would come, and the road would become impassable. These next few days would be the last chance to pass for any Rivertonian merchants seeking to sell their goods in the larger markets of the east.

Two travelers in warm cloaks sat in the wagon front, glancing nervously about them. One was a half elven man, of average height and lean build with dark scruffy hair. The other, tall and feminine in form, kept her hooded cloak over her face, hiding her features.

CRACK!

The horses whinnied and leapt about as a massive tree trunk collapsed onto the road not 4 feet in front of them.

"Woah, woah, easy now," the half-elf called to the horses.

CRACK!

Another tree collapsed onto the road behind the wagon.

The half-elf looked gravely toward his companion, then leapt off the wagon and attempted to calm the panicked horses. He grabbed their harnesses and whispered calmingly to them.

"Hush now, my friends. You are safe. All is well."

The horses whinnied anxiously, but began to calm.

"You 'ave a wonderful way with beasts, sir." The half-elf spun to face the speaker, a rugged looking brute of a man. He wore leather armor which seemed to be cobbled together from mismatched sources. His greasy black hair was tied back in a long ponytail. Two axes rested lazily in his grimy hands, one perched on his shoulder and one swinging back and forth at his side. He stood atop the fallen tree blocking the wagon's path forward.

The half-elf looked around him, and counted four other well armed men emerging from the dense forest around the wagon. Each was equipped with a similar hodgepodge of armor and either an axe or a sword. Only one had a bow, arrow nocked and ready to strike.

"I might let ye keep the mangy things," the brutish man said, "an' I might let ye return home with yer life if ye play nice wit' us."

The half-elf raised his arms in a gesture of cooperation.

"That's a good lad, then," the brute said, "show us what goods ye've got and we'll lighten yer load. Truly it warms me heart t' see the good hospitality ye kind folks of Riverton share wit' me and mine."

The surrounding men laughed. Two of them approached the half-elf and pushed him to the back of the wagon. The leader sauntered forward, eyeing the woman sitting in the wagon. She had not made sound nor movement since the bandits had emerged. He flipped his axes over in his hands, grinning as he approached the silent woman. She twitched angrily under his gaze.

The half-elf hesitated at the back of the wagon.

"Hurry up, now," said one of the men.

"Yes, sorry," the half-elf said, "it's just..."

"Just what?" The man asked.

The half-elf glanced nervously at the other bandit and pulled the man aside.

He said softly: "A word of advice. You should really bathe, because my friend could smell you guys a mile away."

"Wha-" the man's reply was cut short as the back of the wagon splintered and shattered. A great big giant of a man leapt from the wagon and tackled the other bandit to the ground. The big man was a huge mass of muscle clothed in a deerskin vest, hide pants, and fur boots. His head was bald, but a thick reddish brown beard sprouted around his snarling mouth. He lunged onto the prone bandit like a wild beast.

The remaining bandits were stunned, and lost precious seconds as they realized this was not a simple merchant's wagon they had set upon. It was a trap. In the few seconds it took them to process this fact, several important events occurred.

The first of these events was that there suddenly appeared a woman standing atop the wagon tarp where there had certainly not been a woman a moment before. Her skin was a deep red color. Her hair was long, black, and curly. It framed a face with gold colored eyes and full, dark lips. Two goat-like horns protruded from her forehead and a long tail tipped with a rounded mushroom tip flicked out behind her. She wore a simple country dress that housed two quite large and perky breasts. It flared out at her thin waist to accommodate her rather generous behind. Only her arms were armored with segmented steel plates from shoulder to wrist. As she appeared, she stretched out her hands, and several beams of flame launched out, striking the bandit archer and incinerating his bowstring before he even had a chance to loose an arrow.

The second event was that the woman sitting in the front of the wagon pulled two daggers from her sleeves and sliced outward at the leader of the bandits in such rapid movement that he might not have noticed had he not felt the sting at his throat.

The third and final event was that the half-elf muttered a word and a shining sword materialized in his hands. He swung the blade toward the closest bandit and mumbled another word. Green flames danced over the blade. As the sword bit into the bandit, the flames leapt out from him and struck the other bandit held against the ground by the giant warrior.

"Hey," yelled the warrior, patting his short trimmed facial hair. "Be careful with your black magics; you have very nearly singed the beard of Thrak."

"Apologies my friend," the half-elf said. He dropped his cloak to the ground, revealing the armored chestplate and segmented plate pauldrons he wore underneath. He parried a sloppy strike from the bandit and returned with a powerful slash that knocked the bandit's sword from his hands.

"Thrak would hate to have to kill you is all," Thrak said to the half-elf.

A short, curvy, woman with wavy golden shoulder length hair poked her head out of the wagon. She was quite lovely in her youthful features. Her big blue eyes sparkled with unyielding enthusiasm, and her soft skin glowed with vivacious energy. She wore a blue tunic with a loose neckline that struggled to contain her enormous breasts. A short skirt rested over her creamy thighs. She wore high laced sandals that crisscrossed up her bare calves.

"No one is killing any of my friends today, okay Thrak?" She said.

"Yes Fifi." Thrak said disappointedly.

The bandits scrambled to regather themselves. The archer, now weaponless and scorched, ran forward to grab the leader who had fallen to his knees and was clutching at his throat. He dragged the leader backward toward the forest, but only made it a few feet before a whip cracked out from the silent, dagger-wielding woman's hand and wrapped around the archer's ankle, toppling him to the ground. She stood and shed her cloak. The bandit gasped in fear as the woman revealed herself to be a dark elf. She was tall and lithe, lean-muscled and graceful like a jungle cat. Her graceful curves were subdued under the black leather armor and fine black cloak that seemed to bathe her in shadows. Her skin was a soft dark shade of purple and her hair was stark white. It rested over her shoulder in a braid that came down over her chest. A score of dagger hilts protruded from various sheaths strapped to virtually every available space on her body. Her red eyes gleamed with malice as she pulled the bandit toward her with her whip.

The bandit underneath Thrak struggled futilely to remove the mountainous man on top of him. Nearby, the wounded and now weaponless bandit that had traded blows with the half-elf recognized he was far outmatched by his opponent and raised his hands in surrender.

"Wise decision." The half-elf said.

The final bandit, still standing in the tree line and still fortunately unscathed, turned to flee, only to find a small, horned creature with reptilian skin and bulging black eyes blocking his path. The creature leapt up at him, long clawed fingers scratching at his face. The bandit, with the creature clinging to him, tumbled down onto the road and rolled to a stop against the wagon. From her perch atop the wagon, the horned woman looked down at them.

"Good boy." She said, a sultry accent flavoring her words, and the little creature vanished in a puff of smoke.

The group tied up the four bandits, binding each at their hands and feet. Thrak threw them into the back of the wagon. Fifi, the young blonde woman, sat over the bandit leader, whose neck was covered in blood. She chanted under her breath as she placed her hand over his wounded throat. Blue arcane energy flowed from her fingertips, forming thin points of light that wove in and out of the bandit's skin, stitching his wound shut. The half-elf walked over to the dark elf.

"He could have died, Morgan." He said.

"I did not like the way he looked at me. So I cut him. It is not my fault that you surface dwellers are so fragile." Morgan the dark elf replied. The half-elf sighed.

"Just show some restraint, please, when the bounty calls for a live return." He said.

"He is alive, is he not?" She muttered under her breath.

They tied up the bandit leader and set him up in a sitting position.

"Siarra!" The half-elf called up to the horned woman. "He's all yours."

Siarra jumped agilely down from the wagon. A pendant around her neck swayed back and forth as she landed. The pendant was a simple iron ring inset with a five pointed star. She approached the leader and knelt down to his eye level. His eyes dipped down to the deep valley of dark red cleavage she presented to him as she knelt.

"I have some questions for you." She said to the greasy bandit leader.

"I ain't answering nothing to ye." He said hoarsely, punctuating his declaration with a gob of spit directed toward his interrogator.

His spit didn't reach her. It changed course mid flight and plummeted directly onto the pendant nestled between Siarra's breasts. The pendant seemed to absorb the missile completely. It glowed white hot, but still felt cool against her skin. The bandit leader looked confusedly at Siarra.

"My mistress thanks you for your offering." She said, smiling at him. She planted her gentle hand on his shoulder. "Now I need you to trust me. Trust me... Trust me..."

Her words were layered with magic. The bandit looked into her golden eyes that seemed to flow in spirals of pure light. He suddenly felt guilty for trying to rob them. He cared so much for Siarra. He would do anything for her.

"I'm so sorry." He said, tears welling in his eyes.

"I know you are." She replied. "You can make it up to me by answering a few questions, my darling."

"Anything ye ask." He said.

"Are there any more bandits in these woods?" She asked.

"No, none 'cept me and me kin in yer wagon now." He said.

"You're a family?" She asked.

"Aye. Those're me cousins: Podley, Dorin, Egwin, and Krum." He said.

"And you are...?" She asked.

"Jedimiah, of clan Terwind." He said.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jedimiah, Love." She said.

"The pleasure is all mine." He said.

"I have one more question for you, Jedimiah. Where is the loot you've been stealing?" She asked.

Jedimiah opened his mouth to reply but something stopped him. Why was he speaking so freely with this person? He shouldn't be saying any of this. Siarra sensed his hesitation and fueled more magic into the bond between them. Jedimiah felt a surge of affection and disregarded any of the doubts he had just experienced.

"Further east on the main road." He said. "There's a big oak tree that was split by lightning. Head off the road there, walk north for twenty minutes or so and you'll come to a clearing with a hill in the middle. The loot's in a dugout in the hill."

"Thank you darling, you have been so helpful." Siarra gave Jedimiah a kiss on the cheek that made his blanched cheeks blush. She rose and joined her group. Thrak picked Jedimiah up with one hand and tossed him into the wagon with his cousins.

-- -- --

The group followed Jedimiah's instructions and easily found the lightning stricken tree. Morgan and the half-elf left the others to guard the wagon and forged into the forest. The half-elf unharnessed one of the horses and led it into the forest to the north. The pair marched in silence with the horse trailing behind them, each keeping their keen senses searching for signs of either traps or trail.

Easily enough, they arrived at Jedimiah's dugout. The half-elf was about to pull the moss-camouflaged door open when Morgan stopped him with a harsh slap. The half-elf eyed her angrily until she pointed to a thin string crossing the door. It was covered in moss and grass to hide it from the eyes of intruders; the half-elf had missed it. Morgan examined the string closely, determining how the trip wire was intended to work. After a few moments she unlatched it from a hidden peg, making sure to apply the least amount of pressure necessary. She pulled the door open slowly.

The half-elf poked his head around the opening. Jedimiah had rigged up a crossbow to fire at anyone entering the dugout. The loaded arrow seemed to be coated in a green substance, likely poison. The half-elf nodded his appreciation to Morgan.

They both strode into the single domed chamber, eyes scanning for further traps. They found none. The chamber was full of chests and crates. The two adventurers opened a few to identify the goods that had been stolen from Riverton merchants over the last few months. A few smaller chests were filled with gold and silver coins.

"The people of Riverton will rejoice to have their livelihoods restored." The half-elf said.

Fortunately there was a stolen wagon included in the contents of the hidey-hole, and the two partners loaded the various goods onto the wagon, leaving only dust and dirt behind. They hitched the horse to the wagon and made to set out back to their companions.

"Wait a moment." The half-elf said. He felt an itch up his spine. Something felt off to him. On a hunch, he walked back inside the dugout. He muttered an incantation and a silvery film spread over his eyes. The world seemed to take on an enhanced sharpness as the spell affected his sight. He looked about, searching for anything out of place.

There.

In the back of the dugout he perceived a faint glow emanating from the soil. He knelt near it and pulled his dagger. He dug away layers of packed dirt until his dagger struck something firm. He dug around and pulled it out. It was clear to the half-elf's investigative eye that this item had been buried long ago. Long before Jedimiah. The dirt was hard packed around it from years, decades perhaps of entombment.

The magical aura pulsed around the object. It was a tube seemingly made of bone. It was corked at one end. He uncorked it and peered inside. Parchment. The half-elf dumped the parchment, the true source of the magic aura, into his free hand. He unrolled it to find himself looking at a map.

"What is it?" Morgan's voice came from the door.

The half-elf didn't hear her. He was enraptured by the map. It felt warm to his skin; it seemed to almost vibrate with energy. It showed Riverton. And the road to the east. And the rest was only forest as far as he could tell. A smudge of ink blotted the page at roughly the spot where he imagined they were standing now, not far from the road. As he stared longer, a luminous red line materialized on the map, beginning at the smudge, traveling back to the road, then to the east.

"What is it?" Morgan repeated.

The half-elf unfolded the map to follow the line. It continued east, to where only the very western corner of the next town over appeared before the map ended. The line ran to the edge of the map. He flipped the map over and noticed lines of old writing in a language he was unfamiliar with. He noticed a symbol at the bottom, something that struck him as oddly familiar, yet hard to place. It was a circular rune with a small crescent moon shape at the top and an image of an eye at the bottom.

"Daemon!" Morgan shouted to her companion, breaking his concentration. He was startled to see that she was standing right behind him.

"What did you find?" She asked.

"A map." Daemon the half-elf replied. "Just a map."

-- -- --

The troupe of adventurers returned as heroes to the town of Riverton.

Daemon, Thrak, and Siarra walked in front. Fifi and Morgan sat in the wagons. As they walked through the town with their two carts full of bandits and stolen goods they drew a crowd of townsfolk.

Morgan tightened her hood over her face in response to the growing throng. She and her friends were returning as heroes, but even as such, dark elves were deeply feared and mistrusted above ground. She did not wish to turn their reception sour. She leaned back and hunched over. She wished she could disappear like Siarra could.

Daemon noticed as Morgan attempted to make herself small and unnoticeable. He understood her fears, but it pained him to see his friend, such a brave ally and powerful warrior, reduced in such a way. Someday things would be different.

Fifi, conversely, loved the attention. Perched above the others, she waved at the townsfolk. She blew a kiss to a young man who blushed and nearly fainted. She giggled and waved some more.

"I love this part." She said to Thrak.

"Thrak enjoys the adulations of the peoples as well." The big man replied. "But Thrak thirsts for real battle with a fierce opponent. Honor. Glory. This is Thrak's true desire."

Siarra turned to him.

"I can think of something you desire more. A few things actually." She said, smiling coyly. Fifi giggled, making her breasts bounce lightly.

"Siarra sees Thrak's heart more clearly than he wishes." Thrak said.

The troupe continued down the road to the town square, where the bailiff awaited them. He didn't waste time as the wagons rolled to a stop; he signaled to a group of men who began removing the cargo and detaining the trussed bandits.

Siarra leapt atop one of the wagons and addressed the gathered crowd.

"Good people of Riverton," she called out in a voice that was magically magnified to a booming level, "we have returned with your stolen property, and we have captured the thieves who dared to steal from you."

Cheers rose up from the crowd.

"Spread the word," Siarra continued, "that anyone who troubles Riverton faces the might of the Wildbound Wardens!"

Another round of cheers went up. Siarra hopped down and joined Daemon in greeting the bailiff.

"Many thanks, my friends. Ye have saved us this day. With our goods returned, and the bandits removed from the woods, trade can resume. We will yet survive the coming winter." The bailiff said. He produced a small chest and presented it to Daemon. "Our eternal gratitude aside, take yer fee and the bounty. Riverton pays its debts."

"It is enough just to be of service to the good people, master bailiff." Daemon said.

"But the gold pays the bills." Siarra chimed in, grabbing the chest from him.

"Indeed it does," the bailiff said, "but tonight your bills are settled. Join us at the tavern to celebrate yer success. Food and drink on us."

"We thank you for your offer, and we will gladly join you in revelry this evening, but for now we must retire to our room and rest." Daemon said.

"Aye, ye've earned a spot of rest, true enough." The bailiff replied. "And ye've earned great favor amongst the traders of Riverton. I imagine we'll have more business to discuss. Some of the merchants may well offer ye more coin to guard their passage to the east. Come find me when yer able."

"We certainly shall." Daemon said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see that my companions are well taken care of."

The bailiff waved him a cheerful goodbye and Daemon and the others departed to another round of cheers from the surrounding crowd. There would be time for merriment and finding new work later, true enough. But now was the time for a very special ritual of the adventurers.