Xontormia Express 1294

From Eressea
Jump to navigationJump to search
_  __        _                 _        ___
\ \/ /___ _ _| |_ ___ _ _ _ __ (_)__ _  | __|_ ___ __ _ _ ___ ______
 >  </ _ \ ' \  _/ _ \ '_| '  \| / _` | | _|\ \ / '_ \ '_/ -_|_-<_-<
/_/\_\___/_||_\__\___/_| |_|_|_|_\__,_| |___/_\_\ .__/_| \___/__/__/
                                                |_|
Wir schreiben die erste Woche des Monats Nebeltage im Jahre 42 des zweiten
                        Zeitalters. Es ist Herbst. (21.01.2023)

Liebe Leserschaft,

die Tage und Nächte werden wieder merklich kühler und erste Blätter verfärben sich. Der Herbst beginnt. Auf den Feldern herrscht reger Betrieb und die Bauern ernten soviel wie möglich und füllen die Vorratshäuser der Dörfer. Hoffen wir für die Völker, dass sie dies in Ruhe machen können, ohne von Untoten, Drachen oder marodierenden Söldnern gestört zu werden.

Leider war in der letzten Woche etwas viel Stress in der Redaktion, so dass der Druck des Xontormia Express versäumt wurde. Die Artikel der letzten Woche erscheinen also nun in dieser Ausgabe. Die Redaktion entschuldigt sich für dieses Versäumnis.



6. Welt

Aus Antarius kulinarischen Reisen 6te Welt (Auszuege aus an diesen gerichteten Botschaften), Neu-Tolfalas, Pusegonis, Wald:

Speis' und Trank fuer Antarius werden kredenzt im Labyrinth der tausend Spiegel (efax), Größe 10, Leuchtturm. Die Art der dargereichten Koestlichkeiten ist dabei sekundaer, primaer ist die sich stellende Herausforderung, Antarius sieht sich selbst im Spiegel, sein Spiegelbild sieht sich selbst im Spiegel, und diese Szenerie setzt sich tausendfach fort. Die zu meisternde Aufgabe: Kann Antarius die kulinarischen Genuesse schneller verschwinden lassen als seine Spiegelbilder? Tausendfach schaffte es bisher noch nicht mal ein Vielfrass. Und eine Steigerung des Schwierigkeitsgrades waere: (Fr)Is(s)t Antarius schneller als sein Schatten?

Es gruesst (ob des Ergebnisses gespannt) der Traumtaenzer fuer die Sidhe von Zemur

Aus Antarius kulinarischen Reisen 6te Welt (Auszuege aus an diesen gerichteten Botschaften), Neu-Tolfalas, Wuvadidas, Gletscher:

Antarius scheint kalte Kueche zu bevorzugen, hat er doch schon wieder einen Gletscher auf seiner Rundreise aufgesucht. In Wuvadidas gibt es deren zwei Gourmetkoeche, deren Angebot im mikroskopischen Bereich jegliche Vielfalt zu bieten hat, im makroskopischen Bereich aber eher Einfalt erkennen laesst. Die beiden sind aber mitnichten ein Herz und eine Seele, daher muss Antarius waehlen: Entweder im Steinbruch Steinkruemel (4a5q) bei der Stoned Woman Steinkruemel als kulinarische Spezialitaet geniessen- kein Kruemel ist wie das andere, ein jedes einzigartig. Jedes Kruemel muss einzeln durch die Nase eingeschnueffelt werden- das wird unvergesslich sein. Oder im Bergwerk Rostpulver (s1i8) beim Iron Man nicht Kreide fressen, sondern Rostpulver in Gletscherwasser veredelt mit tiefen Atemzuege (Nase dabei zuhalten!) inhalieren. Auch hier soll der dabei empfundene Genuss unbeschreiblich sein.

PS: Bitte vermeidet Niesanfaelle- bei Antarius derzeitiger Statur koennte die dadurch ausgeloesten Erschuetterungen den Gletscher in den Ozean abrutschen lassen.

Aus Antarius kulinarischen Reisen 6te Welt (Auszuege aus an diesen gerichteten Botschaften), Neu-Tolfalas, Vofehozut, Hochland:

Die in diesem Wald befindliche Trutzburg (74z), Größe 1250, Festung, wurde ebenfalls von den Goblins der Horde der Wolfsklauen erbaut, eine architektonische Meisterleistung, die auf den ersten Blick verwunderlich erscheint, da von der Festung nichts fuer das verblueffte Auge zu sehen ist. Diese ragt in die Tiefe, damit niemand Treppen hinaufsteigen muss. Die Festung ist freibeweglich gelagert, um wieder nach oben zu gelangen, wird sie gedreht, damit es erneut bergab geht. Es funktioniert- denkt nicht darueber nach, wie so etwas moeglich sein soll!

Die Bewohner dieser Region sind Sidhe, das versichern Wir hoch und heilig, obwohl sie im Aussehen eher Trollen aehnlich. Sie haben aufgrund des kulinarischen Angebotes eine eher etwas... aehm... fuellige Koerperstatur, daher wird das Servieren der Mahlzeiten fuer Antarius in entschleunigter Langsamkeit erfolgen, unterbrochen von kleineren Pausen, um wieder zu Atem zu kommen. Ist das Mahl aber erst serviert, steht dem Genuss gewiss nichts mehr im Wege.

Das kulinarische Angebot: Zwei Huehner, eine Hammelkeule, Kartoffelbrei, Gruene Bohnen, Leberpastete, ein Laib Brot, Drei Schweinekoteletts, Sechs Eier, Wurst, etwas Fisch, Honig, Kaffee und manchmal ein Stueck Kuchen waere zum Beispiel ein typischer Speiseplan- zum Fruehstueck...

Es gruesst der Traumtaenzer fuer die Sidhe von Zemur

PS: Die AGB (s.u.) von Vofehozut habe ich zur Kenntnis genommeen (Antarius moege bitte Kreuz setzen)

AGB von Vofehozut:

Alle Angaeben ueber Speis, Trank, Trutzburg und Bewohner sind ohne Gewaehr. Illaun ist der Kuechenmeister!

AGB gelesen [ ]

Neue Welt / New World

The War on the Raven Tribe

Episode 1: First Contact

Sunfire, year 40

The creature seemed as dumb as it was strong. "Warrior elf, ay? Good! Hear Khain god, yes, not know if good." It then squinted its eyes, apparently in an attempt to think. "Land end to west here. And east?" It looked at the elf, expecting an answer. "I wouldn't know what's to the east" he answered. "I came from the south". "Ah, the sooth, ey?" the creature grinned. "From the Red Swamp. Maybe you no blood elf, maybe you red swamp elf, ey!" It laughed at its own stupid joke, then stopped when it saw the expression on the elf's face. "Well, tell your chieftain, ork will think of your offer. Alliance you say, with lots people. This land big enough for people lots?" "Orc? Is that what you call your people? And we have no chieftain, we are led by the priests of Cain." "Yes, Ork. Raven tribe. Tell your chieftain. I go tell my chieftain." With that, the green brute turned around and marched into the woods down the slope. Apparently, this conversation was over.

---

Water of Life was seated at the head of the table. It was her duty as the High Priestess to make the final decision. But before that, she would need to listen to the reports of the scouts and the councel of the generals and her fellow priests. The scout had just finished telling about the brutish creatures he found in the hills north of the Red Swamp.

"What of the current situation in their village?" she turned to Grey One. "I heard you have some informants there." "I certainly do - murmured the First City's head of intelligence - and they report that it's but a small village, and a very poor one. Apparently, they are using spears to beat the local peasants into submission and extort agricultural produce. The numbers seem small enough that if we attack now they have no chance against the power of your magic." At this, he bowed his head respectfully before Water of Life.

"Hm, but they seemed genuine enough, and too stupid to really be a threat to us" - hesitated Water of Life

"If I may, High Priestess" - interjected an elderly war-beaten elf. "Of course, Punishing Hand, we'd be glad to hear your opinion"

Punishing Hand cleared his throat and continued in a conciliatory tone: "From what I gather in the scout reports, the orcs seem to be possessed of a base cunning. They certainly aren't intelligent by any stretch of imagination but they did manage to find out very quickly where we live, and that's all that matters to them, from a tactical standpoint. And correct me if I'm wrong, but they seem to know already of our allies in the Kingdom of Lordaeron. I would caution of ever thinking of them as not being a threat." "So you suggest that we attack and wipe them out early?" "That's not what I meant..."

As he gathered his thoughts, another priest used the moment of silence to ask: "What of king Varian? Does Lordaeron want to attack the orcs?" "Last I heard from the man, he was in favor of an alliance with them" - answered Water of Life. "Honestly, I tend to agree with him: if we attack them now then I am not certain that we will find such capable front soldiers for our armies elsewhere. But if Punishing Hand thinks of them as too big a threat..."

"Well, I didn't say they are too big a threat" - objected the old elf. "I just cautioned you against underestimating them. Anyway, I think that together with our human allies we are more than able to beat the orcs not only now but also going forward. But only if we increase our own production of weapons now, too. And not spears like the orcs use - by Cain, those are useless. We need waraxes for our human allies and composite bows for our own snipers."

"So - concluded Water of Life - we will not attack the orcs. Instead, we will extend them an invitation into the alliance. At the same time, we will start the production of weapons. Any objections, considerations, remarks?" She waited a bit but nobody raised a voice. "Then it is decided."

Episode 2: Winds of Winter

Icewind, year 41

Grey One's study was small and scarcely lit but he liked it. It felt cosy and safe, and the best part was that he had a separate side exit from the tower, bypasing the main hall. This meant that he could slip out unseen and even more importantly, he could have people visit him without anyone else in the tower knowing: an extremely useful ability for the spymaster. Today, he was meeting an agent from the foothills near the orcish village of Kargaran.

Just yesterday, he received some very concerning news: a regiment of fourty armed orcs showed up near the Blood Tower in the Red Swamp. The tower was freshly built and only had a token garrison, so they wouldn't be able to hold it if the orcs chose to attack.

What's more, his human contacts brought news of a second wave of orcs in the desert oasis north of the swamp. Gray One had placed his pawns in the builders' caravan deliberately: he knew of the plans to build an outpost in the oasis and wanted to be the first to know of any orc movements in the area. His foresight payed off big time: he now knew not only of the impending attack on the Blood Tower but also of the full extent of orc forces approaching First City.

As he mulled over these thoughts, there was a knock on the door as his agent arrived. Grey One pointed to the empty seat in front of his desk, and when the lad sat down, looked at him expectantly.

"I bring news from the foothills, Grey One" - the lad started. "Some orcs have arrived with weapons but so far in small quantities. They beat up a few locals, declared themselves as the masters of outlying villages, and started extorting food and money. The biggest and meanest one is called Tabrk, and he is dumb as a log. You remember the previous order to start some logging operations in the area? Well, the orcs are attentive enough and they noticed that one big oak was missing from its previous location. And you know what? I listened in on the orcs that night, and they think that it was an ent. Can you believe the stupidity?" "Stupidity? Hmm... No, I don't think it's stupidity. I am starting to agree with general Punishing Hand: they are not stupid, even if they lack basic education. This Tabrk, he has certainly heard of the ents but I think he might never have heard of the elven art of tree whispering. If you didn't know of it and found a tree disappear without any traces of chopping, what would you think? Ents do exist after all, so the conclusion is not that far fetched." "You do have a point, Grey One. So, what should we do in the hills now?" "Why, you should continue the diversions. It seems like the orcs aren't advancing their forces eastwards but if they start doing so, I want to know immediately. In the mean time, let them think that it's really the ents moving around. Steal their supplies and spread rumors among the locals that a group of Ent Vagabonds are fighting to free the hills from orcs. But never engage them directly, play a game of smoke and mirrors. With any luck, this will alleviate the trouble that the First City is facing." "Trouble?" "Oh right, you didn't know. A hundred orc spearmen are marching on us. And all we have right now are five human swordsmen and one sniper - the rest are civilians. But don't worry, we will manage. Go to the foothills, and put the fear of Ents into those orcs' hearts."

---

Simo Häyhä was in the woods again. He had been going here every day during the last week and spending at least 12 hours walking around on skis, despite the cold weather. It wasn't that he was a huge fan of winter woods - oh no, he'd much rather cuddle with some nice elven girl in front of a fireplace and drink some hot wine. But Simo was the best sniper in First City and he had his responsibilities. And right now his responsibility was to find a way to fight alone against 100 orcs.

When he had first heard the task from Punishing Hand, he thought it was a euphemism or a bad joke. Then he understood that the 100 orcs are actually coming, and thought that it's a suicide mission. But then they sat for a debrief with that new high priestess Eternal Storm, and he found out that this was actually a battle they intended to win.

As Punishing Hand had let him know, when the orcs show up they would be hampered by civilians: not even fighting, just getting in the way. And according to Eternal Storm, she and her fellow priests would summon such dreadful storms that most of the orcs would simply freeze to death. And Simo's role? Well, he would have to make sure that none would make it out alive: circle around the flanks of the enemy and pick out any stragglers with his bow.

And this is why the lone sniper Simo Häyhä was now setting traps and shooting positions in the woods: not to stop the advance of the horde but to cut its retreat.

Episode 3: the Wild Goose Chase

Snowbane, year 41

Eternal Storm hated the squeaking sounds of the wagon's wheels. The most annoying thing was that they weren't rhythmical. At times, they would stop until she could almost forget about them and then suddenly start again. Funny how such tiny details could get to her, the high priestess of Cain; she must just be on edge, and why wouldn't she be.

When Water of Life departed overseas to help the Foreign Legion in their fight against Elivagar, it fell to Eternal Storm as the next most experienced priestess to lead her kindred. And right now this meant that she had to go along with the army and chase the orcs.

She thought back to the time when they had just met the green brutes. There was much hope in the council: hope of an alliance with those formidable frontline fighters. The hope was betrayed last month when a hoard appeared near the Blood Tower and attacked the garrison. First City was preparing for a desperate defence against a 100-strong horde, although Eternal Storm had no doubts that that battle would have been won with her felow priests' magic.

But the orcs never came. Instead, there were reports of a regiment showing up in Diamond Sands, near the Gem Tower. The same regiment that had raided the Blood Tower earlier. And so it was decided to give them chase. She and two more priestsesses, along with three of the human mages, joined the small regiment of swordsmen and went into the desert for a confrontation with the orcs.

When they reached the Gem Tower, however, they found out that there was no battle. The garrison tried to engage the orcs but they just hurried on to the east, to the mines of Khaz Modan. She wondered if that was the orcs' target, or maybe they intended to go on even further east to La Foret, Lordaeron's capital.

And so they decided to split again: the main army force chased the orcs to Khaz Modan, with all of the human mages and Cain's junior priestess Black Sun. The main forces would never get to La Foret quickly enough to defend against a raid. However, a small party could take a horse-dwarn wagon and just go through Khaz Modan, if they were willing to travel day and night.

And so it fell to Eternal Storm and her fellow priestess Bloody Dew to stay for days and nights in the tiny wagon, all to the incessant squeaking of wheels.

---

There were no traces of orcs to be found anywhere. Punishing Hand sat contemplating this in his war tent. They had expected to meet armed resistance at Khaz Modan but found none. This should have meant that the horde had moved on to La Foret but Eternal Storm came to him in the dream the last night and ascertained there were no orcs to be found there, either.

And now the reports started to arrive by pigeon from other regions: even one from Red Swamp where Grey One had somehow managed to get a cat informant. And to Punishing Hand's surprise, the orcs had retreated from all regions except Ent Hills. By process of elimination, he reached the conclusion: the whole 100-strong orc horde went deep into the central desert. As difficult as it was to believe, it had to be true.

However, it was one thing to know what happened and a different thing to understand why. And without knowing the reasons, how could he predict the orcs' future movements and lead his troops to victory? Going to the desert instead of striking at some of the elven or human settlements was illogical for the orcs: they would not cause any disruption to the economy of their enemies, and they would not destroy any of their armies. But the orcs were cunning, they had to have some reason for such strange behaviour. And Punishing Hand needed to understand that reason.

And then it came to him: what if the orcs were afraid of magic? He had not seen the mages in battle yet but he was lead to understand that destroying even a twice bigger horde would not constitute a problem for them. So maybe the orcs understood that too, and maybe this whole maneuver from First city towards La Foret and then into the desert was just an attempt to win time.

But time for what? To get even more spearmen? With each passing weeks the alliance was arming more and more humans with axes, so getting more spearmen would not help the orcs. Or maybe to train their own shamans? Possibly to try and disrupt the magic on the battlefield. Yes, that had to be it! With the numerical advantage, the orcs would surely win if the mages of the alliance could not help the army. And that meant one thing: the alliance needed to strike at the heart of the orcs' economy, and as quickly as possible.

---

It was so dark that Eternal Storm could barely see. On the orders of Punishing Hand, the forces of the alliance were moving through Ent Hills under the cover of darkness. This was the best way to reach the orc village of Kargaran without getting bogged down in combat.

For this night's sortie, Eternal Storm was paired up with Ardwyn Cailen - the strongest of the human mages. She did enjoy an occasional discussion with him in the day time and was glad of the company. As for Ardwyn, well, she was quite certain that he appreciated her company for more than just the night vision.

They were following a path in the rearguard of the army, maintaining silence as per the orders of Punishing Hand, when they heard some orc voices ahead. Eternal Storm motioned Ardwyn to stop and hide behind a tree. They stood and listened intently as the orc voices approached. There was at least a dozen, judging by the clanking of weapons and the heavy stomping of feet. They finally got near enough that she could hear what they were speaking about.

"Well, Blue Feather, where does it go?" - asked a voice belonging to a young orc. An older voice answered: "Hmm, I am sure that it was going along this path before. A rather strong scent of humans. Probably a large force. But it's strange, I can now sense something else off the path. Something human but also an elf." "You two! You heard the old man - go check the woods over there." This exchange was followed by the sounds of breaking branches and suddenly an orc with a spear at the ready appeared just before Eternal Storm. She barely managed to jump away from his jab, when a fire bolt from Ardwyn hit him and burned him to a crisp.

After this, everything happened very quickly, almost all at once. There were orcs running at her with spears, Ardwyn throwing fireballs at them like some fire god and her own ice slivers felling a couple of orcs. But the distance was too short, the orcs too numerous, and she and Ardwynn all alone, with the rest of the army too far ahead to hear the sounds of the fight. In just a few seconds, she felt a spear pierce her stomach. Ardwyn burned her assailant just as he was himself pierced by two spears: one to the leg and one to the throat. Then she felt another spear enter her ribcage and threw one last spell at the orcs. And then there was only darkness and cold.

Episode 4: Flight of the Valkyrie

Flowerrain, year 41

His new disciple was called Sword of Vengeance. Hungering Flame chose him among the young acolites when he heard the news of Eternal Storm's death. For over a week now, the young lad was practicing the art of spirit binding in the wood near First City. He definitely had talent. Last week they went to a village, and Hungering Flame cut a deep wound in one of the cows with his sacrificial dagger. It only took his young apprentice a few minutes to summon the healing spirits and completely heal the wound. And so Hungering Flame decided to accelerate the training and teach his student to bind the spirits of wind to manifest deadly hailstorms. He really needed Sword of Vengeance to succeed.

As the priests were training, in the dock of First City aquarian shipwrights were finishing the dragonship Valkyrie. Next week, they would have to sail to the orc village of Kargaran to bring reinforcements. Hungering Flame had no idea how many orcs would show up to the fight but he had a feeling that the extra firepower that Sword of Vengeance could bring would be very much needed. He sighed and went over to the young priest. They only had a week to train.

---

Punishing Hand looked at the wood near Kargaran and cringed. It was almost painful to see how many trees the orcs had felled here. Judging by the amount of stumps, at least a few hundred.

And for what? The village had no infrastructure - no sawmills, no smithies, not even a proper trading post. He had seen no ships on the shores, nor the traces of them having ever been built here. Judging by the scouts' reports, orcs never used carts to carry goods around. And judging by the few battles against the orcs he had participated in, they didn't use axes - just spears.

Well, calling them battles would be an exaggeration. In all encounters they had so far, the orcs ran away almost immediately when attacked - except for that night ambush where Eternal Storm died. Even when the alliance's army descended from Ent Hills to Kargaran village, the orcs ran away instead of fighting them. The mages and archers managed to kill about a half but the rest scattered into the surrounding area and were later spotted moving towards the hills.

And yes, on the bodies of slain orcs they found yet more spears. He shuddered: how many spearmen do the orcs have then - if all this wood was used just for making spears? Two hundred, three? Would the force that they had assembled together with Lordaeron be enough to win against such a number?

With these thoughts, he looked back to the sea and strained his eyes: maybe there would finally be a sail on the horizon? Grey One had informed him that reinforcements were on the way by dragonship, along with three priests of Cain and three human mages. Will they get here in time?

And then suddenly he saw it: a small golden speck in the rays of the rising sun, clearly visible against the dark backdrop of the sea. With every moment it became bigger, and soon he could see the ship: a long slim shape gliding effortlessly on the waves, with a beautiful winged maiden sculpted on the bowsprit. That had to be the Valkyrie, the ship's namesake.

And it seemed that the Valkyrie was arriving not a moment too soon. As she was nearing the shore, Punishing Hand heard the blowhorns of his sentries announcing the approach of the enemy.

---

The orc horde was huge, outnumbering the elves and humans more than two to one. Seen from the hill, their position resembled a porcupine, bristling with the tips of more than two hundred spears. As they advanced into firing range of elven bows, the archers let loose a volley. They were only a handful, so the orcs didn't even pick up the pace, conserving the energy for the upcoming engagement.

But as they continued their advance, more figures appeared on the hill: elven priests of Cain and the chaos mages of Lordaeron. More than half had just arrived by ship and were immediately hurried onto the battlefield by the rest. They started chanting, and suddenly the field was set ablaze with fireballs and pelted mercilessly with ice projectiles. At least two dozens of orcs were struck down by this magical attack.

This prompted a response: orders were shouted and the whole horde switched to a run, charging headlong into the formation of humans. Here, the first line was composed of spearmen, who braced to receive the charge. A few died but the momentum of the charging horde was stopped, and fighting started in earnest.

From the second rank of human formation, the axemen now advanced forward, each paired with a shield bearing swordsman. Working in pairs, the swordsmen were blocking the thrusts of orcish spears while their comrades swinged the heavy axes, reaping through the lightly armored orcs and exacting a heavy toll.

But the orcs were very numerous, and the numbers advantage could be felt. While the humans' superior gear helped them to block most of the jabs, the sheer number of attacks meant that some got through. And when they did, people died. Just a few at first, but then more orcs would pour into the gaps in the formation, and more and more humans started to fall.

While this went on, the mages never stopped their assault. Wherever there was an opening to hit the orcs without friendly fire, a fireball or an ice spear would strike, leaving behind only burnt or frozen orc bodies. Dozen after dozen after dozen, the kill count was mounting as the battle went on.

And then at some point the numbers evened out. More than a hundred orcs had been killed with magic, and the number kept growing. Suddenly, they could not group up two to one on the humans, and their attack lost the edge. And while the humans held the line, more and more orcs kept getting killed by magic.

At last, their morale broke. They tried to retreat but the humans pushed forward. And then they turned and ran. Most were slain but a few escaped.

And then there was time to bury the dead: mourn the comrades and pay respects to the enemies.

Epilogue

Harvest moon, year 41

"There is only one item remaining on the agenda" - announced Hungering Flame. "It concerns the official name that we will give to the lands around the former orc village of Kargaran. I have one proposal: we should call it Storm's End, to commemorate Eternal Storm who gave her life in the war against the orcs."

He looked around the council room. The priests and priestesses seemed to like the idea; his former apprentice even gave him a reassuring nod. The general was frowning, and the spymaster... well he was never able to read the spymaster, and now was no exception.

Punishing Hand coughed to attract attention. "I am not sure this is a good idea" - he said after a brief pause. "See, the reason why Eternal Storm died in that ambush in Ent Hills is our own tactical mistake. My personal responsibility, if you will. Lamenting her death is one thing but reminding all the future generations of our own tactical blunder - I don't know, that just doesn't sound right..."

"General, the point you bring out can actually be turned around" - objected Sword of Vengeance, the youngest priest. "A constant reminder of our own mistake can serve to avoid such mistakes in future, so I can't really think of a better name."

"I can!" - suddenly said Gray One. It was quite uncommon for him to speak his mind during council's meeting, so all eyes turned to him. "You are all looking at it from the wrong angle, you see. Grief, lessons for future generations - those are all inward looking considerations, they focus only on our own people. But this land used to belong to the orcs. We should name it after them." He looked at the shocked expressions of everyone in the room, then continued.

"There is a saying: judge a person by the strength of his enemies. But I would add to this: judge a nation by how it treats those it defeats. And these orcs, they were strong, and yet we defeated them. But they were no pushovers, and they deserve to be treated with respect. It's the first enemy we vanquished - how we treat them sets a tone for the future. So I say - name that land Raven Shore, for their tribe's namesake."

To this, no one objected.

The Raven Tribe is no more but their memory will live on at the Raven Shore.


Vorkommnisse in den neuen Welten

Nach dem Essen kommt die Freude, so oder so ähnlich lautet ein Sprichwort. Was könnte man erwarten, wenn man nach dem großzügig aufgetischtem, deliziösem Mahl in ein großes Zimmer geführt wurde. Das Zimmer war weit nicht so groß wie der Speisesaal, aber dennoch dem eines großen Schlosses würdig. Auf dem Boden waren weiche Teppiche, mit kunstvoll ausgearbeitet Ornamenten bestickt, ausgebreitet. In kunstvoll geschwungenenen Kerzenständern leuchteten frisch entzündete Lichter. Leichter Duft von Rosen lag in der Luft. Der Raum hatte nur einen weiteren Ausgang, der durch zwei abgerundete Türen, die einen Bogen darstellen sollten, zu einem Balkon führte. Die Gäste waren hier weit oben im Schloss untergebreacht, sodass man von dort gewiss einen fantastischen Ausblick hatte. Weich gepolsterte Stühle mit schnörkselig geformten Armlehnen und große Bänke mit Pölstern in allen möglichen Gößen und Farben standen für die Gäste ebenso bereit wie eine gut ausgestattete Bar. Spirituosen in bauchigen Flaschen ebenso wie welche in kleinen, fast schon Phiolengroßen Gefäßen. Ein Eisblock in einem Picker wurde von einem weißen Tuch bedeckt. Die Goblins waren die ersten, die sich auf die Bänke schmissen, die Füße auf dem Tisch ablegten und sogleich ihre Gläser füllten. Hier fühlten sie sich wie Zuhause. Mit vollem Bauch sanken sie langsam in die tiefen Polster ein. Der Elf war reservierter, nahm aber dann doch auf einem der Stühle Platz. Die abgestellen Wachen verabschiedeten sich und schlossen die Türe. Lag es an den spitzen Ohren oder an der misstrauischen Art der Elfen, dass sich dieser Richtung der Türe umblickte, als das leise klicken des Schlosses zu vernehmen war.

Der Wein der zum Essen serviert wurde vernebelte bereits ein wenig die Wahrnehmung, aber dennoch wurden alle Anwesenden ein wenig stutzig. Denn nicht alle, die vorhin beim Essen dabei waren haben sich auch hier niedergelassen. Etwas stimmte hier nicht. Sie waren zu dritt in dem Raum eingeschlossen. Einer der Goblins sprang auf und verlange unter lauten Gezeter eine Erklärung. Als nicht sofort eine Antwort folgte kam unter den drei Anwesenden zunehmend Unruhe auf. Der andere Globlin lief zur Tür und rüttelte heftig, doch sie öffnete sich nicht. Der Elf wandte sich Richtung dem Balkon und wollte sich dort umsehen als er die Gastgeberin in der Balkontüre stehen sah. "Was geht hier vor?", verlangte der Elf mit fester Stimme zu wissen. Die beiden Globlins ließen von ihrem Tun ab und stellten sich beiderseits des Elfen auf. Die hoch gewachsene Frau im schwarzen Kleid machte ein paar Schritte in den Raum hinein. Die beiden Balkontüren schlossen sich wie von Geisterhand hinter ihr, ein Luftzug erfüllte den Raum und löschte beinahe alle Kerzen.

"Ihr drei seid die letzten, mit denen noch nicht gesprochen wurde. Ihr hattet noch nicht die Möglichkeit, euch zu deklarieren", sie machte wieder ein paar Schritte weiter auf die drei verdutzt da stehenden Männer zu. In dem Raum wurde es merklich kühler und dunkler. "Ihr habt im Krieg gegen die NMA gute Dienste geleistet", führte sie aus und sah dabei jedem von ihnen nacheinander in die Augen. Erst jetzt fiel ihnen auf, wie kalt und schwarz ihre Augen waren. "Aber dieser Krieg ist vorbei und die Welt muss sich neu ordnen." Einen Goblin hielt es aufgrund dieses Affront nicht mehr und er stürzte wütend vor. Noch bevor er jedoch einen Schlag setzen konnte, packte die hoch gewachsene Frau den kleinen Goblin am Hals und hob ihn an diesem in die Luft. Erschrocken von dem Bild, das sich darbot, zuckten der Elf und der andere Goblin erschrocken zurück. Röchelnd und nach Luft japsend wand sich der Goblin, schlug und kratzte nach allem was er erreichen konnte. "Haltet ein!", presste der Elf hervor, um die Lage wieder unter Kontrolle zu bringen. Immer heftiger und wilder wurde der arme Kerl, dessen Hals immer noch mit festen Griff zugedrückt wurde. Mit ungelenkten Schlägen schaffte er mit der einen Hand eine tiefe Wunde in ihrem Gesicht, mit der anderen Hand zerriss er ihr Kleid und legte ihre Brust frei. Mit einem kurzen Knacken brach die Wirbelsäule des Goblins und er sackte leblos in sich zusammen. Sie ließ ihn nieder und bedeckte sich wieder. Die Wunden waren tief und schwarz aber es trat kein Blut aus. "Ihr seid ungeschickt, ihr seid schwach. Für ein fortbestehen der Welt müsst ihr ausgemerzt werden." Mit einem Fuß schob sie den toten Goblinkörper beiseite und näherte sich den beiden Verbliebenen. Der Elf schmiss sich auf den Boden und verneigte sich demütig, "verschont mich und meinesgleichen, Königin Siamanth von den Ambera, wir sind keine Gefahr." Sie neigte sich, reichte ihm die Hand und bedeutete ihm aufzustehen. Langsam erhob er sich und stand mit zittrigen Beinen vor ihr. Noch einmal wurde es kühler. Der Atem des Elfs vor ihr zeichnete sich in der Luft ab. Noch während sie seine Hand hielt, begannen sich ihre Wunden von selbst zu schließen und der Elf ging erneut zu Boden, als ihn die Kraft verließ. "Wer oder was seid ihr?", stammelte der verbliebene Goblin.

"Ich bin euer Tod."

Und so begann ein neuer Krieg.