IoK Saline – Session 3

The Hammerfell Mountains loomed heavy to the East, their frozen peaks still laden with the winter snows.  The trees that grew in the mountain's shadows were mostly soft woods… pines and cottonwoods.  Buferl Nutcatcher spent the morning examining the trees.  He only need collect firewood at the moment and pine would work fine for that.  Burns fast, but clean.  It was also easy to cut and tie to the mules, so the task offered him extra time.  He had decided to use that to evaluate what he would have to work with once real camp construction began.

“You see this here, Rusty… that’s white pine.  It’ll burn nicely and add a nice scent to the camp.” 

Rusty watched Nutcatcher intently as he moved from tree to tree.  She would dig at the ground when she got bored, sometimes finding a root or spring flower to nibble on.  Ears perked and attentive to the calming voice of her handler.

“Now this one… this is what I hope to find up the mountain.  Ponderosa’s don’t burn easy.  No good for firewood, but we’ll be thankful when we carve her into a mess hall.  What’s that look to you… about 100’?  They’ll be taller on the mountain.”

Rusty approached the mature pine.  She sniffed, and turned to scratch her backside against the rough bark.

“Oh yes, that’s a good tree Rusty.  This one can be yours.  What’s that now…”

Nutcatcher reached for Rusty’s reigns and pulled her closer.  At first, he thought the mule had cut herself on a sharp branch or rock, but as he examined her flank he saw no wound.  Still, a fresh red stain now marred her brown coat. 

It was the tree.  As Nutcatcher moved round to get a better look at Rusty’s flank, he finally saw the carvings.  The flesh of the tree had been stripped and deep gouges had been carved into the east facing trunk.  They seemed to form the shape of a toothy maw… a visage of sharp teeth, curved just enough to give the impression of a grin.  From the tree’s wound bled a deep red sap, the same color that now adorned Rusty.

“Rusty… may be time for us to head back.  This isn’t your tree after all.”

‘Hide.  Hide.  Hide’

Gorb knew he could not help them.  He wasn’t sure if he should help them, but his lame arm would have prevented him had he summoned the courage.  He was so tired.  The hynn had hit him so hard, cut him so deep, that he feared whether he would ever use his arm again. 

It didn’t matter though.  With his good hand, he held close the tree that concealed him from the biters.  He was late.  They would punish him for being late, this was certain.  He had at his side his tithing, but it was souring.  The smell had attracted flies and he knew that the shaman would be angry.  But what was he to do.

‘Hide.  Be still.’

The skulked by his tree in two columns.  Seven little biters, and a wicked master.  Were they looking for him?  ‘No’ he thought.  They never looked for him, they knew he had to return.  He always returned, bag in one hand, his chain in the other.  Which would he hold with his remaining good arm? 

‘You must hide.’

Gorb saw the human and the hobok.  They were scouting too.  He knew he should have simply left them, but they were different.  They had offered food and did not kill him.  They did not torture or maim after the fight like the biters do.  They could fight.  This is why he did not stray far.  If they could fight, perhaps they could kill the biters. 

But not the human and the hobok alone. 

‘Hide and fight’

And it looked as if they would.  The hobok had taken a position in a tree.  He had a bow like the wicked master.  The human was now attempting to sneak back to the camp, but he was too far from the trees.  The wicked master saw him, and the biters chattered at the air.  That sound…

‘Fight!  You must fight!

The human shouted and Gorb heard the cry.  Many of the others did as well.  Not as one though, they were not ready… but they were not surprised.  They were not frightened.

They moved to the creek and readied themselves.  They used their bows and Gorb could hear the whistle.  The human moved quick and Gorb lost him amongst the trees.

‘Hide and fight’

The big one, the hynn with the axe, he approached without fear.  The flatlander behind him now held a spear and held ground across the creek.  The biters had spears as well.  Long spears in which they could poke at Gorb.  Taunt him and stab him.

‘Shaman…’

The biters ran to the fight.  They were never afraid.  They stabbed with their spears and gnashed with their teeth.  But the others stabbed truer.  The human darted from the shadows of the trees and slashed at the biters.  In their surprise, they did not see him.  Their weapons did not greet him, and a biter died.  It was then that Gorb heard the sound.  The awful sound of chanting.  Of dark magics and ancient words.  He hated the sound.

‘Wonders’

It was a flaming sword, bright and righteous.  Gorb could taste his fear as the light of the blade danced in the reflection of the biters eyes.  It lashed at them without arm to wield.  Two blades, balanced and dancing around the biters.  Terrifying and awesome…

‘Fight’

Biters stabbed their spears and gnashed their teeth.  The wicked master threw arrows at the others.  The others stabbed and slashed in return.  The human was now approaching the wicked master.  ‘No!’ thought Gorb.  ‘He will bite you and you will die’

But the wicked master could not.  The human was fast, and he kept the wicked one at bay.  Gorb could not help but smile as the human knocked it to the ground.  Without its bow, it was just a tall biter.

‘Kill them all’

Gorb did not know how, but the forest had begun to help the others.  Strange wolves and eagles attacked the biters.  Gorb had never seen this… the animals of the mountains dared not bite a biter, for their blood was death.  Never had he been so happy to see so much black blood upon the forest floor.  The will of the biters broke and they attempted to flee.  The others would not allow any to escape as arrow, blade, and spear ended the conflict.

Gorb unclenched his good fist, the fear for the others having passed.  They could fight.  They could kill biters, and they were not afraid.  This was good.

‘Soon… you must kill them all’

Gorb carefully stepped from the tree into the growing dusk.  The others would be too busy to notice him.  They had captured the wicked master.  Would they let him live as they had let him.

‘Kill them all’  whispered Gorb, and he continued his journey back to shaman.  For the first time in months, he was not afraid.