First Quest

The First Quest

A young woman stood staring at a large but unimposing barn. The barn was far from even being the least bit frightening, but still she watched, before slowly venturing out of the shadow of a small farmer's hut and crept towards it.

Now it should be pointed out that normally this young woman was rather adventurous. But she had every reason to be wary as she passed this particular barn where it stood complacently beside a small pond, while the wind swept moodily at the dust of the road.

The young woman with copper hair had been warned several times of the danger she faced. The wizened gnome always seemed so somber when he spoke of the problem each time she took him supplies for his stone.

The stone, no, the lifestone was what he called it. She always liked to touch it gently, the soft blue light spilling out over her fingers. She thought she could feel… something… she wasn’t sure what, but she held the this feeling like a gem in the hidden places in her heart. She knew she was not the only one to feel this way about the stone, the lifestone. She had once met a man near the lifestone, a man of great respect and prowess known as Heldor. He had rested his hands on the side of the stone with reverence, and chanted a poem in a soft and solemn voice.

She did not ask him what he felt when he touched the lifestone, it seemed far too personal. When she touched the stone memories would flood back to her, memories of the warm winds of the drylands teasing across her skin, playing with her hair, watching the desert lilies bowing and swaying to a song only they could hear…

She shook her head angrily, her copper hair flopping into her eyes. Daydreaming was not a way to keep alive in a place like this. But where was this? A row of small farmhouses with an orchard behind, the unassuming barn, and the pond, with a sleepy road that changed from dust to mud to dust again in a single afternoon's rain.

But once the sun set, a hush would fall across the orchard, a waiting quiet would settle over the pond. What caused this breathless pause which made the farmers shutter their windows and huddle around small smoky fires?

The moon was just rising over the Hills bright and sharp as she stood frozen in place in the shadow of the barn. A snuffling, a brushing through the grass, then a sandy scratching, and she knew it was there.

She carefully, slowly, leaned forward just enough for a very slight glance at what stood there, and it was then she realized, she had to be out of her mind.

It stood slightly hunched forward, balanced on claws as sharp as any dagger. Lean muscles bunched and flowed under coarse, dark grey fur. Its snoutish nose flared as it sniffed the evening air, the humidity of the afternoon's rain carrying the scents of the day. It flexed a hand, the blackened claws catching the moonlight morbidly.

She was insane, what was she thinking? She had a short sword that fizzled with heat when she spat on it, and a simple dagger. She eyed those claws again, and the thought of the cheap blue leather armor she wore brought out a small sigh of dismay.

Grey tufted ears swiveled. Black, feral eyes glinted. Their eyes locked for one long, slow, instant that went on for a small eternity, and she was absolutely certain she was about to die.

She spun like a top on the wet grass, no time to think, no time to cry out, just run, run and don't listen as those claws dig into the mud and turf. Don’t look back.

Not worth the effort.

No matter what you do, it will catch you.

Except when you run into an ogre.

She looked up, dazedly thinking she had run into a tree, or a wall, the face that looked down at her barely registering before the roar of the beast caused her yell out as she instinctively ducked.

"Lookoutforthewerewolf!"

Moonlight lit the scene in her mind as the massive arm raised an axe as tall as she was and brought it smashing down between those tufted grey ears. The beast let out a howl as she scampered behind the ogre, belatedly remembering that she had a blade and drawing it. Claws raked across the arm, and the erstwhile wall let out a grunt in return, then simply raised the axe and brought it down again.

The beast, the werewolf, gurgled out a threat, swayed, and crumpled in a heap.

She stared at it, gulped a breath of air, then sheathed her blade without cutting herself, which she was rather proud to be able to accomplish with her hands shaking like they were.

One eye turned and regarded her somberly. the ogre's other eye, she noted, was a mass of scarring. "What that?" The ogre asked.

"A werewolf." That seemed a little inadequate, but it was descriptive enough. She glanced at the ogre out of the corner of her eye and briefly wondered if she had just run from one problem into another, but the ogre shrugged stoically, then hefted his greataxe over his shoulder and turned away.

"Wait!" Her voice returned hoarsely. "Wait, what is your name, how can I thank you?"

The ogre turned again and faced her, then cracked a yellow, jagged-toothy grin. "Gortog." He waved his other hand in a strangely delicate manner. "Nothing. You have nothing I want." Then he thudded away.

She stared after him a moment before turning back to the grey-furred form. She took a step, then another, then with her lip caught between her teeth, she stood beside it, stooped and whisked an amulet from round its neck. This was rather easy to do as there wasn't much head left to impede things.

The young woman studied the strange amulet for a long while in the sharp light of the moon, frowning slightly, lip still caught between her teeth. With a worried glance round her she realized the oppressive, breathless feeling had abated. As she hurried north across the fields she could hear the soft sounds of the night returning to the area. Warm light from a small campfire welcomed her as she stepped into a small grove of trees. The wizened gnome hurried up to her, obviously relieved, and took the amulet she offered him.

"Drem, what can you tell me of this?"