Vignette: War Stories - The Elven Retreat23rd Felsite, 353Captain Ragna stormed into the Beerhall, carrying a runtish creature by the scruff of his shirt. She tossed him down on the floor by Urnriddled, who was busy nursing a watered-down mug of ruli brew - drinks were running thin until the next wagon arrived. The dwarf looked down at the wretch with surprise.
"This yours?" she growled. The scrawny figure scrabbled to the wall, turning so its back was against it and glaring up at Ragna with beady eyes.
"What, Stug?" asked Urnriddled. "Not really; he's been following us for days."
"Want fight," croaked the filth-covered mess in the corner, its hair tousled and rags covered in dust. It habitually scratched the back of its hand with yellowish fingernails.
"I'll say," muttered Ragna. "Little beggar tried to strangle one of the horses today, got a well-deserved kick for his trouble." The miserable figure bore a bright red welt on his cheek as evidence to the claim.
"Ah, it's not his fault," said Urnriddled with a touch of pity. "From what I can tell he was kidnapped as a young lad, raised by goblins. Fortress got burnt down, the dwarves that rescued him felt he was too much trouble, so they shunted him into the Mountainhomes. Apparently he got out during the big break a couple of years back, been living off the land since."
Ragna looked the creature over. It wasn't easy to admit it, but Stug was definitely a dwarf. He didn't look dwarven, though, and he certainly failed to act it. Worst of all he had no beard. That is to say, he tried to have no beard. The ragged patches of hair and criss-crossed scars around his chin and under his nose were evidence of ham-fisted efforts to shave. Instead, Stug bore scars across his face, quite clearly intentional and possibly even self-inflicted. They were long and surprisingly graceful affairs, curved into almost elegant tattoos of ravaged flesh that gave Stug a wild air and bore stark contrast to the accidental or incidental scars that covered Stug's chin and, if one were to look through the layers of dirt, all over his body.
Ragna shook her head and waved at Urnriddled.
"Well, he's your problem tonight. Next time I see him causing trouble like this I'll clap him in irons for his own damn safety." She plodded over to the booze table and gestured to the bartender Mincewind, flicking a handful of firecaps onto the bar. "Gin, neat," she ordered.
"Captain," Mincewind began to protest.
"I know we're rationing," said Ragna, cutting her off, "but after today I need something to take the edge off it." The bardwarf rolled her eyes and drew a small but strong cup from the barrel, passing it to the captain and pocketing the sun-hardened firecaps that everyone was using for currency these days.
"I don't suppose I can interest you in a rock cake whilst you're here?" Mincewind suggested with a hint of pleading to her voice. Ragna glanced at the innocent-looking tray of grey cupcakes. They looked like they were
probably made of redbulb flour. She decided to pass and shook her head to Mincewind's disappointment. Ragna glanced about the beerhall and was waved over to a corner table by Jora, Datan and Khain. She sat and muttered various greetings.
"Hey, captain," said Datan. "Tell us another of your stories. I'm getting sick of this swill and it looks like you've the only hard liquor in the hall."
"Stories?" asked Khain.
"Aye, the captain's got war stories enough," laughed Jora. "Not a kill stealer either, unlike
some people. She was trained by the Old Elven Masters, don't you know? Ooh!" she exclaimed. "You haven't actually told us that one yet, cap'n."
"Aye," replied Ragna stoically. "I haven't."
When it become evident she had no plans to continue on the topic, all three militiadwarves began pressing, cajoling and attempting to bribe her into a tale. Eventually she gave in.
"All right, all right," she growled. "If it'll shut you up. So there I was, waking up in an Elven bed..."
The soft, silken thread of her hammock did little to allay the trepidation Lieutenant Ragna felt upon waking up. Six elves, garbed in loose-fitting mauve robes, looked down at her. Four of them were armed, though she noted with some relief that their swords were sheathed for the moment. The unarmed pair of elves were studying her with a judgemental air.
"Awaken, dwarf," one of them redundantly commanded. "What is your name?"
"Ragna," the lieutenant replied somewhat hesitantly, then stiffened her resolve. "Lieutenant Ragna Stockadebow, 10th Infantry. What business have you with me?"
"Saving your life," chuckled the other unarmed elf. The first gave him a scathing look.
"That remains to be seen," said the first. "I am Druid Avetho Thiniolova, and you are being held until you are fit for trial."
"On what charges?" demanded Ragna hotly. She grimaced as the searing pain in her back flooded back to her.
"Acts of war, betrayal of trust and defilement," said Druid Avetho sternly. "Your dwarves were given permission to pass through our neutral lands on the understanding that you would not bring your war here. Yet you attacked the goblin forces given equal leave to pass through our lands, shed blood on the forest floor and worst of all,
far worse, you brought fire to our lands! Do you have any idea how many trees were slaughtered by your callous actions? It is a pity only that more of your dwarves were not spared by your own inferno, that we might slay them for this desecration!"
"Easy, Avetho," commented the other Druid. "You'll give yourself an ulcer."
"How can you be so calm, Inefa," growled Avetho, "knowing what this filth has done?"
"Chiefly because I don't
know what she's done," replied Inefa. "We only suspect. I am sure that when the other Druids have finished inspecting the site we will have a clearer picture of events."
"What have you done with my equipment?" asked Ragna, directing her question to Inefa in the hope of some actual compliance.
"Your chainmail has been kept in storage," responded Avetho hotly, "and your axe has been destroyed, as is only fitting of such a barbaric tool."
"That was my mother's axe!" shouted Ragna again, flinching as the pain crashed over her like an ocean wave. She could feel it dragging her back down and struggled to stay conscious. "You tree-hugging pansy, I'll-"
"Do nothing," said Inefa in a calm, firm voice. "Nothing but rest, lieutenant. You are in no state to argue, or to be trialled." He passed a hand over her eyes and Ragna felt the heavy weight of her aching body. "Sleep."
Ragna slept.
When Ragna next truly awoke, not counting brief moments of stirring, muddled consciousness in the twilight of sleep, she had the sensation that some time had passed. To her surprise she found the pain in her back had mostly gone, though a quick check with her hand revealed that the dressings there were fresh and still covered the majority of it. With a little effort she was able to sit up on the hammock and inspect the room she had been kept in.
The floors, walls, ceiling and indeed most surfaces were wooden, though upon on closer inspection Ragna realised it was not as she had originally assumed. Rather than boards of cut lumber, the floor was comprised of interlocking branches, fused together and flattened into a level surface as if they had grown that way. The roughly circular walls followed a similar theme with round spaces for windows, the many branches fusing together at the ceiling to create a watertight roof. Looking to the windows it appeared the branches spread outwards into bright green leaves, and the subtle dip at the centre of the room from which the thick initial branches sprung confirmed Ragna's suspicions; the whole room was constructed from some manner of living tree. The room was bare save for a wooden table, Ragna's hammock, a tightly-woven lintgrass rug and surprisingly enough a marble jug and goblet on the table's surface. Ragna inspected the designs on the jug, recognising the familiar engraving as a scene from the history of the dwarven clan The Long Bolt.
Realising how thirsty she was, Ragna poured herself a drink from the jug and grimaced at the sight of the crystal clear spring water. She knocked back the goblet anyway, following it up with a second and third. Unable to see any apparent exits, the dwarf walked over to the window and peered out. The view was limited by the broad expanses of foliage, but Ragna could see the forest stretch out at length. Several of the trees had the same notably expansive crowns, suggesting additional rooms such as the one she was presently kept in.
"The view's better from up above," came a voice from behind her.
Ragna spun around to see the elf Inefa standing near the centre of the room. Behind him a thin silk rope ladder stretched down from the ceiling, where a dark lintgrass covering had concealed the room's exit amongst the fused branches. Ragna hadn't even heard him approach.
"I thought I was your prisoner," said Ragna. "You're unarmed and you've left the exit wide open."
"Indeed," said Inefa easily. "You are also unarmed, you have no idea where in the forest this is and you are quite literally surrounded by our rangers on all sides. Even if you aren't aware of it, you are being watched like a vole."
"Don't you mean a hawk?"
"No. The hawks are the ones doing the watching. How are your burns?"
"Itching, but I'm surprised I'm alive. How long was I out?"
"About six weeks, give or take." Ragna blanched. "You spent much of it asleep," Inefa reassured her. "You spoke of fire a great deal in your sleep, something Avetho claims is sign of a guilty conscience."
"I didn't start the fire," protested Ragna. "That human did."
"Human?" Inefa raised an eyebrow. "We found no human bodies, only goblins, and no human tracks leading from the devastation. Believe me, we are very good at telling this sort of thing. Would you care to revise your story?" Ragna glared at him.
"I'm no liar," she growled, then moved to the table to pour herself another drink, tapping it. "I thought you elves didn't cut wood? Pretty sure this table isn't alive."
"We don't. Trees
do die naturally, hard as it may be for you to imagine. When a tree dies, we perform a suitable funeral, then transform its mortal shell into art. It is so much nobler to give its death meaning. How do you imagine we are able to provide ethically-obtained logs for you and your dwarves in our trade?"
"Funeral?" scoffed Ragna. "It's a tree, elf! It's made of wood! You talk like it has a soul."
"You are made of meat," Inefa replied levelly, "yet you claim the distinction for yourself. We give your deaths meaning as well, if we deem it necessary."
"So what's this doing here?" Ragna asked, changing subject. She waved the polished marble jug.
"We trade often with your kind. Are you surprised to find your wares in our homes?" The elf stode to the table and picked up the jug as Ragna drank from her goblet and inspected the engraving. "Ah, the Assaulted Onslaught on the goblins at Monstrousbowels. Two hundred apiece on either side. The Bolt actually lost that battle, but the siege forced the The Evil Thief into a peace treaty by starving the stronghold of meat from its raiders. See here, the depiction of the goblin commander Asno Dustymenaced the Mute Claw being gutted by Rakust Fencemoistened? They always get that wrong. Rakust was using a sword, not an axe."
"How would you know?" challenged Ragna. "Were
you there?"
"Yes," answered Inefa. "I stood with my blade and my shield in the days before I gave them up and I fought alongside dwarves against a common foe. A year later I fought alongside your leader Bembul Abbeyflashed in the Onslaught of Sharks, when the Searing Crypts struck against the Green Monsters. A friend of mine, Yemeni Gladeglimmers, shot their leader Ngom Handlewitch's right hand, Smunstu."
"I know the tale. Every dwarf knows the tale of General Abbeyflashed, who fought a ten year vendetta with the goblin Ngom Handlewitch the Defective Admiration and was eventually shot in battle at the final attack on Menacelaws, almost a hundred years ago. I know my history."
"Do you? Ngom was an elf, as was Smunstu."
"An elf?" exclaimed Ragna. "Why was an elf leading a goblin nation?"
"A question for another time," said Inefa, indicating the rope ladder. "Now that you are awake and able, you are to be brought before the High Druid for your trial. It will be a journey of two weeks and the sooner we begin, the better." Inefa turned and ascended the rope ladder with surprising grace and speed. Ragna clambered up it after him, asking another question.
"How will this trial work?"
"A Druid informed of the particulars will present a case against you, and a Druid will defend you on your behalf. The High Druid will make a decision as to your guilt and punishment."
"I hope you're the one defending me, then," said Ragna as she pulled herself up through the opening.
"By the Force, no," laughed Inefa. "I'm the prosecution.
Avetho will be defending you."
Ragna groaned at this piece of news, then looked around as she clambered onto the treehouse roof, a flattened surface of fused branches from which small leaf-covered twigs sprang out. The treehouse stretched up above the layer of foliage, allowing her to see much further about the forest than before. The treetops spread out in all directions, an endless and uninterrupted sea of green that rippled softly in the winds. Almost uninterrupted; a great eyesore presented itself in a swathe of blackened forest to the west. A fair few acres of trees had been destroyed by the fire and looking back, Ragna could see the twinge of pain in Inefa's eye.
"Horrific, isn't it?" he murmured. Ragna felt herself unable to answer, so she changed the topic.
"How do you get the trees to grow like this?" she asked.
"Druidry," Inefa replied shortly, taking off to the west. Ragna looked down and noticed a footbridge made from the familiar fused branches, stretching from their present treehouse to another in the distance. She followed after him, jogging to keep up with his swift pace.
"Which means what, exactly?" she pressed.
"Something that would take years to explain," replied Inefa irritably, still clearly distressed by the sight of the razed forest. "It would be best described as use of the Force to encourage nature to develop in a certain way." Inefa strode from leafy roof to leafy roof across what Ragna was beginning to see as a network of half-concealed walkways spanning the retreat.
"So you can make trees grow differently?" Ragna hopped after him, taking care not to slip on the treacherous walkways; the forest floor was some way down.
"Faster, too. Growth that would take centuries can pass in decades, or years. There are limits. You would consider the time it takes to grow a town such as ours to be unbearably long."
"What limits?"
"Growth such as this can only happen when the Force is sufficient to bear it - too much growth in too little time is harmful to the natural order. In places where the Force is especially strong, such as the heartwoods, much greater growth can be attained if one has the patience to endure centuries. In some places the Force slumbers or is weakened and little can be done. Worse, it may be corrupted." Inefa stopped at a treehouse at the edge of the retreat and reached down, swinging onto a rope ladder Ragna had not even realised was there. He slid down it and Ragna followed hurriedly.
"Corrupted? How?"
"My, aren't you full of questions?" muttered Inefa as he stepped off the rope ladder. "Suffice to say, there is power and ruin in the dark side of the Force. Now, I hope you're ready."
Ragna turned around as she reached the base of the ladder to be greeted by the sight of several Elven rangers, swords at their belts and unstrung longbows at their backs. Despite the fact that they were all garbed in mauve and blue cloaks and tunics, they had somehow managed to arrive without her noticing. Avatho was there, as annoyed by the dwarf's presence as before.
"Where are you taking me?" Ragna asked.
"To the heartwoods," said Inefa. "We go to the tree city of Sealpasses, where you will face judgement for what you have done and the place that the Fin of Saints shall take in this war."
"And there," said Captain Ragna as she finished her gin, "is where I met the Old Elven Master." She stretched and yawned to the disappointment of the listeners. "That, however, is a tale for another time and a fuller mug." Once again there was a chorus of groans and the departure of the gathered crowd, so Ragna stood up to retire for the evening. Somewhere in the background she heard the sound of a dwarf playing a rock musical instrument, followed by spitting and a cry of "You put cement in the damned cupcakes?!", silently thanking Onol for her earlier decision against Mincewind's baking. As the captain moved she just noticed the little figure in the corner that had been paying rapt attention throughout. It wasn't a certain thing, but she fancied the little wretch Stug was watching her with something approaching awe.
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Yeah, no, Metal Miltia. I draw the line at actual plagiarism.
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Topic: Olonkulet - Bloodlines (Read 62478 times)