Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 7
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Krogenar reached into the leather bag hanging at his belt, withdrew a metal spike. Wedging it into the crack his hands had found, he tapped it in with his ice hammer, angling it slightly downwards. Securing his line to the piton spike, he continued his ascent.

The distant cities of the Realm of Vector lay behind him, and the icy wastes of the Far North lay ahead - up and beyond these mountains. Pushing back with one bare foot against the cold rock, Krogenar pressed his back against the opposite wall of the rock chimney - he did not look up or down - only ahead at the rock. His hands and remaining foot slid over the cool stone, searching through his thick calluses for any difference in texture, that could hold him. The screech of a gyrfalcon overhead stopped his hands.

The strider watched it soar, the fingers of its wings spread wide - hunting.

He smiled, envious.

The falcon was so perfectly adapted. It was born with something special.

........ ....... ...... ..... .... ... .. .

The druid looked down at the small boy, hidden in the trees from him.

Below, the half-orc boy hid from the animals in the clearing, breathless at his own ability to hide from them so easily. The druid smiled, but made a note to teach him a lesson in humility. Still, the boy was becoming skilled, and was becoming more gentle.

Below, the half-orc child pushed a branch away, watched the porcupine move about its business, unperturbed at the wolf that sniffed at it. The wolf followed the strange mound of quills, wondering if it was -NOT EDIBLE! The porcupine swung its small tail at the wolf's snout. Yelping in pain, it leapt away from the creature, which curled into a spiny, quivering ball. The wolf pawed at the quills protruding from its face...The boy stared in awe... such a small animal, could fend off such a large predator! In the days that followed, he studied more animals. He had fled from the skunk, marveled at the ant hill, and wondered how an owl could turn its head around so far... The light inside a cougar's eyes - it seemed all creatures had some special ... something.

Finally, in his Father's haphazard garden, his Father had crossed his arms, and just stared at him - his eyes asking, "What have you discovered?" Using his hands, the boy had hummed like a bee, made soaring motions with arms, and described his explorations in wild hand motions.

Eventually, the druid had poked this child playfully, asking him if he had wings, or a long snout to ferret out food? His eyebrows arched at the boy, asking silently, "What about you? What gift were you given?"

The boy froze in thought... looking to his Father for some hint, some clue to the right answer...He stood tall and proud, flexed his arms, balled his fists - grimaced!

Seeing his Father had not changed his expression, he strained to make his bicep look a bit bigger, twisting his fist sideways. The druid shook his head slowly, grinned, eyebrows arched again. The young half-orc smiled widely, understood, his canines showing.

He slapped at his forehead - what a wondrous mind! He had discovered the secrets of all the animals, had ferreted out their secrets, he-

His Father, frowned, shook his head with more energy - confident he was wrong.

The small boy shrugged, abashed at his ineptitude.

The druid walked to him slowly, patted his shoulder, and pinched at his tiny biceps, nodding impressively. The boy smiled meekly back; the druid held the child's forehead between his palms, repeated his judicial nod of satisfaction. But he looked to his Father, wondering still, what was his ..."specialness"?

In a quick motion, the druid reached down, grabbed the boy by his ankles - spun him up into the air, holding him by his ankles. The boy looked up at his Father's smiling face, upside down. He still didn't get it. His Father tapped his feet together, drawing his attention to them. The half-orc child scowled, thought, "my feet?!"

The druid smiled down at him, nodded slowly.

. .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........

Krogenar regarded his bare feet, pressed out against the cold rock. The gyrfalcon's cry rang out over the mountains. Weathered and calloused - his feet had taken him far. Thick-toed, and ugly to others - Krogenar smiled at his twin companions, and then reached for another piton spike.

Krogenar knelt on the warm, pine-needle covered ground.

His hands touched the ground gently, felt a slight depression.

The clearing he was in, was small, secluded, and level. It also offered an excellent view of the icy tundra that lay beyond the Kamekh Mountains. "This is where I would stay." he thought.

Pulling the sod up in a neatly trimmed section, the strider found the remnants of a fire beneath. Handling the blackened wood, he could still feel a very light heat. The ground was still moist. He was closing in on his prey, but caution was needed.

Very faint tracks leading down, into The Waste, confirmed that he was on the right trail. No muscle-brained warrior had tramped off into the wilderness, no bumbling settler either.Frowning, he looked down at the wood before replacing the sod.

Not far away, in the rock wall that sheltered the clearing, black lustrous rocks jutted from the stone.

... why use wood at all? ... anyone who knows this region would not.

... the rocks themselves can burn. So his prey was knowledgable in survival, but not familiar with this region in particular. The Kagluni could find him, or her, before he did. Krogenar hoped they remained as superstitious as they had been years ago. He might still have some dark mojo in their eyes - if he was lucky. With dark hair, almond shaped eyes, the Kagluni were to be feared.

Short, with olive colored skin, they were the masters of this Waste.

And damnably vicious - they hunted anyone who entered their land.

The strider hurried after his prey, hoping it would not be snatched from him.

.........................

Walking through the mountain pass, great drifts of snow littered the path to the left and right, as the stranger passed through them. His armor, finely crafted, with gold flourishes, and silver chain mail were not well suited to the cold. Why had he come to this damnable place? Pushing his platinum hair out of his eyes, he pushed on past the snow drifts, towards the icy plains below.

As he passed, a snow drift exploded outwards in a shower of ice! 

The strider felt himself shoved sideways into the opposite drift, his armor deflecting the first strike of a strangely curved axe-head. His opponent, wearing white, shaggy furs skipped back, raised his short hand axe high for another strike. His blue eyes blazing with a strange light, the strider crouched.

The shaggy assassin was taken aback by his eyes - a look of horror overtaking his expression. Holding his axe before him, the raider made wild hand signals, all about him - backing off quickly. The strider wondered at the gestures, warding gestures?

He shoulder exploded in pain.

- an arrow, with a black and red markings pierced through the joint in his armor. Spinning behind the far side of the drift, for what he hoped was cover, The strider pulled his shield up, listened to the thudding of more red and black arrows peppering the area where he had stood.

He looked up into the tree-covered hills from whence he had come. He had passed by them, without noticing!

His mind calculated at least six archers were above him. A voice, from above yelled down, sounded older, grizzled.

"Hatuna Gredata! Ipshe! Ipshe! Fek'ud jikow!"

To his ears, it sounded angry, but imperative. Like an order.
Pinned where he was, the silver haired strider waited.
Another voice, younger, more shrill, came from nearby his position.

"Egri t'ganow... ekti wek ta..."

He could not make out the language, but it sounded pleading, as though whoever spoke argued against an unfairness. Then it became quiet.

Struggling to control his breathing, the strider looked above at the hills - waiting, listening for a bowstring to bend. But they were most likely already notched with arrows trained on him. Reaching for his knife, he held it loosely, ready in his hand.

The warrior he had repelled did not attack.

"Sepki Hatuna! ekti Wek ta!"

"They will not harm either of us together."

Peering about the drift, the strider saw a short man clad in furs standing where he had been attacked moments before. 

The taller man straightened into his full height, ignoring the arrow that was still lodged in his shoulder.A flurry of arrows appeared in the ground before them.

An older voice called down, "Getwa Hirktu Kro-Henar!"

The taller strider looked down, wondering, then smirked.
"I've no evil magic!" he looked disgusted at the idea.

The smaller strider pulled his hood back, grinned, his canines peeking out. The taller man suppressed a feeling of mild disgust... ... a halforc. Forcing a smile, the taller of the two gave a short bow. "I am Sammian, well met - who were those -"

"The Kagluni - this is their hunting ground. Seems they selected you as a suitable test for one of their younger hunters. A test of manhood." He explained. "Each youth must perform his 'walkabout' - he returns as a man."

"Your eyes must have frightened them - I am also thought to be an evil spirit of nature - I'm Krogenar." Unconvinced, Sammian looked down at the diminuitive man.

"They fear you? They would not attack you?"

Ignoring the slight, Krogenar explained.

"Against us both, they will let us pass." Krogenar looked down at the forest of arrows at his feet.

"But they are eager to have us leave... or separate."

Looking back at the quiet, white hills, Sammian nodded in agreement.

They left the area together, into the tundra.

Krogenar's conscience nagged at him - he didn't like lying. But he needed some way to spend some time with this .. Sammian. He had recognized Garul's red and black arrows. His presence alone had stopped the conflict - what he had told Sammian of the Kagluni was true enough - but they held Krogenar in a grudging respect. It would protect them for a time. But he was not on friendly terms with all the Kagluni.

His conscience eased, the strider followed the younger strider, watching his every move carefully, sizing up his skills, and knowledge.

Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 9
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Sammian winced.

Krogenar eyed the red and black striped arrow he had withdrawn from Sammians shoulder - but not before pressing some healing herbs (properly chopped, and boiled) - into the open wound. The two sat atop a hilly knoll overlooking The Waste, an icy tundra far beyond the Kamekh Mountains.

A gray white haze hung shroud-like over the featureless white place. From here, they could see into the heart of it. Both men were striders. The one sitting, younger, with platinum hair falling down his back in thick curls surveyed the land before him - his lavendar eyes nearly glowing with anticipation. He wore gilded, heavy armor, jewels of all sorts cunningly worked into place so as to both beautify the armor, and deflect a blade. He carried himself with a confident, noble air. The other, rising from his crouch, was short, his arms and legs wiry.

Red-brown hair tangled about his face; he brushed away some of it, revealing a greying patch of hair just above his ear. A somewhat piggish nose was off center, and a keen observer would see the tips of small canines peeking from above his lower lip.

Licking his cracked lips, he gazed out at the landscape.

But they saw different things. Sammian rose, his arm patched - beaming a smile out into The Waste.

He looked down upon it as though it were a newly found jewel.

"What lies below, Krogenar?" Sammian asked excitedly.

Responses scrolled through his mind:

"Death....ice.... numbness..... pain..." or (the most correct) "nothing."

Could he squash another strider's discovery-joy that way? He could not. Looking upon a new land first the first time was sacred.

"Its a whole world, Sammian - but dangerous."

"Its beautiful... so perfect looking - at the very summit of the world!" The younger strider squinted, staring into it.

 "There's a pass that will take you to the side of the Kamekh Mountains..."

He watched the look on the younger striders face sag, tried again. "... past the Towers of High Sorcery... in the Shadow Grove." He hoped that the mysterious-sounding names might pique his interest.

Trusting Sammian's instinct, Krogenar dropped as well. Peering out into The Waste, the half-orc squinted.

A dot moved against the featureless white tundra. Taking a breath, he let his vision compress, let the details of the dot expand... A man, smiling, confident, wrapped in skins, drove a large wagon southward.

The wagon, covered against the cold, was lit from within. The flap of canvas beside the man opened, a feminine hand held out a cup of some drink. But the horses dragged their feet, their breath coming out in ragged white clouds.Still, the man smiled back into the canvas.

Krogenar began the grim arithmetic - 5 days journey distant, two horses who would be dead in two days at most... Krogenar stood. "They will die."

Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 9: Part 2

Sammian lowered his eyebrows in concern.

"That cant be! They have hors-" Krogenar interupted him.

"Horses which will be dead by tonight, most likely." "Foolish settlers..."

"Not The Waste - they seek it as a shortcut. Rather than take the pass I told you of, they cut through the Waste to reach the more prosperous southern lands."The Pass took 2 months. The Waste would take 2 weeks.

Sammian pressed on, "We could help them Krogenar."

The older strider watched his and Sammian's numbers fall into the grim arithmetic - saw that the numbers did not add up. He frowned, shook his head."Then we will die with them."

Sammian looked back down at the dot, imagined the man and his wife inside their small wagon, slowly freezing to death. He turned back to the older strider. 

"I will go alone - no less could be expected from a D'Ryne."Hearing the slight derision in his voice, Krogenar spoke again.

"Did I tell you, that there is no magical escape from the Waste?"

"Did I also tell you, that there is nothing to truly HUNT in the Waste?"

Sammian snatched up his pack, slung it over his back.

Krogenar saw Sammian with the people in the wagon. At first they would reject him as another mouth to feed - not even seeing their own danger. Then the horses would die. Then they would welcome him, and be glad of his presence. He would find nothing to hunt, but he would share his food with them.They would be greatly impressed by his nobility and kindness...

-- but in the end, he would huddle with them in the cold,
-- and die just as they did.

He looked at the departing strider. Sammian would be the last to perish.

Krogenar could not let that happen. He snatched a pebble, hurled it.

Sammian turned at the impact of the tiny pebble - it would be unstriderlike to call out. 

Krogenar moved down to him. "All right... we'll help them. But I will go, and you will seek help." Sammian opened his mouth to protest, but Krogenar let his reasons spill out.

"I'm smaller, faster and know the terrain - I eat less than you do."

Sammian closed his mouth; nodded slowly.

That night, they hunted down a full deer, packing it for a long haul. Krogenar pulled the rope that held the carcass around his shoulders, balancing them out. Pulling the gold ring that bound his hair from him, he turned the symbol of Mystra inscribed on it towards Sammian.

"Take this to Westbridge... seek out a Mystran. Any Mystran will do." Sammian turned the ring in his hand, eyeing it.

"They will seek me out." He turned, and trotted off into The Waste, leaving Sammian behind. Krogenar had business in The Waste anyway.

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Trudging through the snow, his feet buoyed up by the branches of evergreen boughs he had strapped to them, Krogenar looked back to where he had left Sammian.Certain that he had left for Westbridge, and help, the strider let the harness drop from his shoulders. Kneeling, he cut away a large portion of meat from the carcass. Those settlers were dead, or soon would be.

He would not risk Sammian's life - or his own - for a lost cause.

Carrying less weight, his pace quickened. He continued North.

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Next Chapters... The Waste & The Eye
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This is a slight detour in the story... illustrating the nature of The Church of Mysteries. We also see the value that even a thief can bring to a church of wizards!

Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 10
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Sammian made his way through the Pass in haste, heading for Vector,

But as a noble, of the D'Ryne family - a descendant of the ancient angel, Arynthalas - leaving people to die was not an honorable option. He said a silent prayer to his ancestors, for Krogenar's sake.

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Without the burden of the deer carcass, the strider moved over the permanently frozen land quickly. His makeshift snowshoes allowed him to pass over the deep snow, without falling into it.

Further north, it would be hard-packed tundra - good for skids, dogsleds, and wagons. By nightfall, he would no longer need them. He had left Sammian to return, and find The Church of Mysteries.

Laisha would most likely find him, and bring him into the Church.

Smiling inwardly, he thought, "She will net him..."

His business here in the Waste was to find The Way.

And hunt for other striders, rangers, and other survivors. He paused in his tracks, peering through the white haze of the blowing snow. Pulling his furs closer to himself, he watched a lone figure, indistinct, rise up from the snow.It waved to him, beckoning for him to follow.

It was too similar to the tales he had heard of the 'Wendigo'

Old trappers and hunters would tell the story of an evil, but lonely wind spirit, that would lure travelers to follow. They would follow after, and soon, the unlucky traveler would begin to be dragged along by the spirit...Krogenar had seen the tracks they spoke of... tracks that started to appear further apart, as if someone began running, and then they would lengthen, as though they were being dragged through the snow...The figure waved again, it's form white and shadowy.

The Wendigo, lonely but cruel, would take its victim into the sky.

Krogenar had scoffed at the tales, even as the ancient trappers nodded.

But he had seen the frozen corpses - sunk deep into the snow -

- as if from some prodigious height. And their feet were gone.

He waved to the shape, and stepped towards it.

Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 11
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Kalamar pulled his white-furred jacket around him, grateful for its warmth, and it kept him hidden. 

He waved to Krogenar again. What was wrong with him anyway?

He could see the strider walking to him now, but cautiously.

-----------------------------

As Krogenar got closer to the figure, his fears began to ease.

This was no Wendigo - it was human. Which made him feel better about killing it. 

Better a natural foe, than supernatural.Since leaving Sammian behind, the strider had made straight for one of the Church of Mysteries many secret places. He had never felt the need to actively guard this particular magical storehouse, since it was already protected by The Waste.He planned to go inside, and search for rest or food.

But now it had been discovered - and he could not allow the discoverer, this person - live.

He pulled his coat tighter, placing his hand on the dagger hidden within.

He hunched over, making himself appear more tired than he was.

-----------------------------

Kalamar noticed the strider looked cold, and weak, his head low.

"Blessed Be! Krogenar!"

Krogenar stopped, his head lifted, his frame straightened.

Kalamar watched the fatigue disappear from the strider - a trick.

Crunching through the snow, Krogenar trotted to his friend.

"Blessed Be, Kalamar!" the half-orc stared.

"Do we have a thief on our hands, Kal?"

The Mystran thief nodded. "Someone's inside, searching for the Eye!"

The strider stiffened at the thought of an intruder.

Kalamar calmed him. 

"It's alright. The Eye is safe; I was just about to go inside, and check on his progress."

-----------------------------

His cold-weather gear discarded, the thief lowered himself into the cold, stone crypt. 

He had found the crypt by carefully searching for some hills that (from above) would look like the points of a star.Months earlier, he had found some intriguing scribblings in the margins of a book he had stolen from a mage. They spoke of a valuable jewel. 

"The Eye of Kashoon-Amun..." he muttered under his breath.He had made it his business to steal books from mages whenever the opportunity presented itself - and from jewelers. From those merchants of shiny things... he took their indexes, and codexes of geological lore - searching for more lore on The Eye.At least one jeweler had awakened, and Othello had fled.

The shopkeeper was relieved to find only some of his inventory stolen - but all his books taken!Othello completed his journey down the stone corridor.

There were no webs - since there were no spiders.

A stone wall, covered in dust faced him. Rubbing his hands across the surface, a symbol of a closed fist, with a single finger pointed up - energy radiating from it.Othello smiled. He hadn't come so far to fail.

"Azuth" he breathed slowly, but carefully.

The etched grooves of the symbol began to shine.... and parted.

A doorway opened silently, as the glyph of warding faded.

Most statues of mages depicted them on rocky pinnacles, their arms waving in some mighty spell, destroying and creating whole worlds by whim. Kashoon-Amun's statue described him as sitting at a desk, slouched in a chair, deep in thought.

Walking slowly towards it, feeling very vulnerable in such an open space, Othello approached the obsidian desk. The ceiling arched overhead, icicles dangling in the cold air.

Ignoring the statue, and focusing on the gem that the statue held, the thief began to reach for it...

The eyes of Kashoon-Amun looked down at the gem quizzically... wondering.

Krogenar's Trip: Chapter 12
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Othello stopped himself.

What did he really know of Kashoon-Amun? His researches had revealed only that he had been a powerful mage, an ancient member of the Church of Mysteries. His area of specialty had been ... prescience. The ability to see the future.Or the ability to manipulate the future.

A voice in Othello's head shouted angrily at him.

"Grab the bloody thing and let's go before whatever trap is sprung! Haste!" But remained still, ignoring his impulse.

The thief stared back at the eyes of Kashoon-Amun; he grinned.

Standing, he looked down at the statue's desk, wondering what notes he perused here in this tomb.Wanted Posters.

Posters of thieves and other rogues. Mercenaries, robbers, all manner of brigands, pirates - every nefarious sort of pilferer could be found, engraved on the desk as notes. Stepping back, and feeling a cold shiver run down his spine, Othello looked back at the mage who sat at the desk. Kashoon stared back at him - or, rather, past him. Othello started for the exit, even before he could hear the hidden gears in the crypt begin turning. The floor shook, and the icicles from the ceiling began falling, shattering all around him.He stopped, looked back at the statue, saw the glimmering gem held in its fingertips. He ran back, snatched it, and ran for the exit - the top of the door was descending into the floor.He dropped, skidding through the shrinking opening.

Othello took a deep, panting breath - on all fours. He laughed at the crease on the floor, where the top of the doorway had vanished into the floor."Good ... try..." he grinned despite himself.

But something about the statue, at the end, was strange.

It had not only warned him by looking back at the doorway...
... he had detected a faint smile on its face?

He had expected a cruel smile, the smile of a mage that had trapped a robber - but it - it had been a proud smile. The sort of smile that a father would give to a son. Or a master to a skilled apprentice.Looking down at his prize, the Eye shone in the dark.

........................

Above, in the cold of the Waste, Kalamar listened to the rumbling beneath the ground.

He knew that the Eye had been found, and waited to see if the thief would be of any value to his Church.

Krogenar waved, wishing his Churchmate luck, and continued north.