1 - Prelude [Story]

Even if Wing Lung, apprentice wizard, had not been puzzling over a particulary difficult glyph in Colbert's Tome of Arcane Binding, he probably would not have seen the figure advancing upon him. Clad in forest browns and greens, the figure's footfalls were so silent and smooth that even squirrels and rabbits in the quiet glade did not stir. Wing only saw a blur of a masked figure upon him and then he was suddenly beset, arms encircled under the armpit and secured at the neck in a viselike grip from behind.

Wing's more physically talented friends had given him some training; he shifted his weight, bucked and turned, but his attacker, though seemingly not much larger in girth than the slight mage, seemed stronger and better trained. Wing could not break free and, arms immobilized and unable to see his assailant, Wing could neither utilize the spells that could give him a chance against a more physically talented opponent nor reach the dagger he had on his belt. Within moments he was driven to his knees, arms locked and enemy behind him. Panic tugged at him and he steeled himself for a blade to the back or the onset of a choke.

Instead of a cold blade, however, Wing suddenly felt a cold wind as his trousers were pulled to the ground. Wing gasped as the assailant administered a stinging swat to his exposed rear. Panic turned to confusion and embarassment as the dark haired young man realized he was being spanked.

Wing heard melodic ringing peals of laughter, long familiar to him.

"Nary," the mage pleaded, trying to will his voice not to crack, "Stop it. Its not funny."

Another swat.

"Nary, please!" his voice broke a little and he felt his cheeks flush. The hold was released and the blows ceased, though the laughter did not. Wing hurriedly pulled his trousers up as he turned around to confront his masked opponent. Though the head was covered in black silk there was an opening through which he could see the amused bright blue eyes he knew so well. They stood an arm's length apart for a moment.

"Don't cry, little brother," the figure said, amused, in a soft female lilt. "Come give Nary a hug."

Before Wing could figure out the right words to say, he was wrapped in a fierce hug with his once mysterious foe. His embarassment and anger ebbed away. "Welcome home, Nary," he whispered.

Still embracing Wing, Naruel used one hand to unwrap her silken headwrap, allowing her shoulder length golden hair to spring free and reveal a joyous smile. "Good to be home," she whispered back.

* * * *

"Madeleine Attleborough! Where are you? What have you done?" Dame Attleborough, wife of Sir Attleborough and mother to the Attleborough clan, barreled down the hallway, maids and manservants scattering from her path like so many startled antelope before an enraged gingham-clad elephant.

"Here mama," came a calm voice from the parlor.

Puffing from her exertion, Matron Attleborough strode into the room to come upon her youngest daughter clad in a blouse and skirt demurely knitting. Madeleine gazed up at her mother with a look of innocent curiousity.

"You heard me! What have you done?" she demanded.

"A gryphon of our family crest," Madeleine said, wide-eyed with just a hint of a smile, holding up the piece of cloth she was embroidering. "See, here's the wing ..."

"Don't be smart with me, child," her mother scolded. "Your sister is hysterical up in her room. She says you stabbed Tobias!"

Madeleine heaved a deep sigh, and put down her cloth and needle. "Its but a scratch. Besides, it was in combat. He challenged me."

"Clarice says you insulted his family and goaded him into a challenge."

"I gave no insult, just truth. He was the one insulting me, belittling uncle's accomplishments. I merely pointed out that whereas our family's honors were the result of valor his were widely known to be the result of the unlawful trade of whores.."

"Madeleine!"

"Its true!" Madeleine retorted.

Matron Attleborough heaved a deep sigh and sat down in a divan, placing her hands into her heads. "Madeleine, if we have chosen to indulge your wild ways, that's one thing, but you must pay more care for the welfare of your siblings. Your sister's prospects are rapidly fading."

"I do care, mother," the chestnut haired young woman's attitude changed, hardened; she leaned forward, her green eyes narrowed. "That boy was a gauche brat whose family is seeking to launder their ill gotten gains by marrying up. He's lucky I didn't run him through like the pig he was. I was sorely tempted."

The plump older woman seemed to deflate. "Whatever will we do with you, Maddy," she said in a softer voice, "you have to be realistic. We can barely maintain the estate."

Madeleine leaned forward and kissed her mother's forehead gently. "Trust me, mama. I will provide for us and Clarice can marry someone more worthy of her charms and distinction."

Matron Attleborough shook her head and gave something between a laugh and a sob. "I gve up. You are totally incorrigible."

"True," her daughter responded. "But equally unstoppable. Believe in me."

Mother and daughter sat in silence for awhile.

"Do you have anything else to say?" Matron Attleborough asked.

"Yes. Naruel is back in town I hear. I am going to meet her and Wing to catch p now."

"When!?" Although Matron Attleborough thought the Eastern born apprentice and the half-elven daughter of the town's most public minded wizard decent folk, if a bit exotic for her taste, but they were hardly the type of company she'd prefer her daughter to keep.

"Now," Madeleine said, getting up to leave the parlor.

"You can't ride out to the alehouse like that! How can you even ride in that dress?" mother shouted. Madeleine gave a teeth baring grin.

"I suppose you're right," she said as she stood and grabbed the sides of the delicate ankle length skirt she was wearing.

There was a ripping sound that made Dame Attleborough jump. The shreds of her skirt were in Madeleine's hands, but exposed not bare legs, but a rugged looking pair of pants. "Girl's got to be prepared," she explained with a shrug. Madeleine winked and gave her mother a quick peck. "I'm off, mama. Don't wait up!"

Then she was gone.

* * *

Autumn had brought a chill into the night air but a roaring fire kept the common room warm and lit. Ensconsed in a small table in the corner a slightly built Easterner, a willowy blond half-elf and a lanky, athletic chestnut haired human young woman drank and talked into the evening.

"Madeleine's led the guards of the last three caravans since you left," Wing pointed out, raising his mug to Madeleine.

Madeleine beamed and raised her stein. "To be precise, I led the last two and a half. In the last trek before the passes froze over last year, old Irongut took a wicked blow to the skull from a mace on the way there ... oh, no, he's fine -- the skull is the thickest part of that old dwarf's body -- so I led the guards on the way back."

"Impressive," Naruel replied.

"More a testament to our lack of other willing fools than anything else," Madeleine snorted, tossing her drink back.

"Not true," Wing objected, slapping Madeleine on the shoulder. "Irongut says Maddy might become the finest commander he's ever seen. I went on the last caravan and she's amazing. All your years of bossing everyone in the village around have paid off!" Madeleine shoved at Wing, but playfully, her smile broadening.

"Father let you go on a caravan, Wing?" Naruel's eyes widened. "Your skills must have really improved. You two have grown so fast."

As Wing launched into a description of his current state of arcane learning, Madeleine gazed at Naruel, her delicate, ethereal features and the slightly curved ears that peeked through her tussled blond hair. While Naruel appeared only slightly older than her own score of years, due to her partial Elvish heritage Naruel had appeared that way for about the last decade. Madeleine felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought Naruel would still be in the bloom of youth when Madeleine was middle aged, but also pity. Naruel's longevity was both blessing and curse, as the half-elf would likely see every friend she knew die before a single strand of her hair turned grey.

"Well, you have been gone two full harvests, Naruel," Madeleine pointed out, interrupting Wing's explanation of his most recent accomplishments. "You've been training with your kin almost a decade now. When will you be finished?"

"She's a slow learner," joked Wing.

Naruel put down her wine and laughed. "I can't win. My elven kin say I am too hasty to declare myself trained and my human ones wonder why I spend year after year running around the woods with my pointy eared relations. But ..." she reached in and pulled from her shirt a golden wrought symbol of a blade wrapped in ivy on a silver chain, "at long last, I suppose, I am supposedly ready to stop preparing and to start doing."

Madeleine applauded and Wing cheered, drawing momentary glances from the occupants of a few other tables. "Here's to us!" shouted Madeleine, to no one in particular. Naruel thought to quiet them for a moment, but then joined in, glad to be among friends once again.

* * * *

It was several weeks later when Naruel was called to one of the private rooms of the ale house by her father for an evening meeting. She strode up after a late afternoon's hike through the woods, boots muddied from the ground still wet from the recent rains. Upon entering the small but cozy space on the second floor that the ale house reserved for special occasions she saw in the flickering lights of the small firehearth the imposing but now slightly greyed form of her human father, barrel-chested guard captain Torin Irongut and in a shadowy corner Wing in his dark apprentice's cloak. But her attention was most drawn to the stranger among them.

Golden piercing eyes gazed out above a dull scarlet snout and below a crested brow of hornlike scales and a scaled talonlike claw gripped an ale stein. Though seated, the creature still stood a hand span larger than her father, of no mean height himself, and had imposing bulk, though Naruel surmised that was partially due to the heavy armor the creature was obviously wearing under its cloak.

"Father, Torin," Naruel bowed respectfully to each of the elders. As was custom, she did not greet Wing, but gave him a quick smile. She turned to the Dragonborn and curtseyed politely. The creature rose, and with a grasp that was surprisingly delicate, took Naruel's hand in a polite grasp. "I am Farad, a servant of Bahamut."

"I am Naruel."

"Daughter, be seated," Alastair said, standing and pointing to an empty seat. Naruel sat. Farad then himself sat down -- the wood of the chair groaning slightly under the weight of steel and scaled flesh.

"Farad's sire is an old friend of Torin's," Alastair began.

"Very old. Before the founding of this town, when I was a reckless young orcbreaker among my kin. My team was sent to find a foul beast named ..." interrupted Torin.

"Torin, let me speak. We do not have time for one of your ale-befuddled tales of adventure," Alastair snapped. Torin snorted, but fell silent.

"Farad is on his way to the town of Winterhaven at the request of his order." Naruel had heard of Winterhaven but never traveled there and rarely met others from there. It was isolated and even further north than their own, nestled in the southern foothills of the Cairngorm Peaks. Reached via the long neglected Kings Road, a journey risked bandits or worse. "The historian Douven Staul was last known to be traveling there to research a dragon burial site and Farad's order had some interest in his most recent inquiries. He has been absent longer than would be expected, so the order thought it prudent to check on him."

Naruel recalled reading a book of Douven's in father's library -- a rather dry tome comparing rituals of various ancient religions. He had even visited once. She recalled a tall, stooped, somewhat balding old man visiting the tower years back, sitting amidst father's dusty books and contraptions and talking late into the night of ancient kingdoms and lost relics. He had seemed harmless enough -- she wondered what he might have found that would prompt the interest of the paladins of Bahamut.

"Douven is an acquaintance of mine and we share some interests. I would not want to see him come to harm, and if the Order of Bahamut believes his absence may be related to what he was studying, it concerns me, as some of the lore Douven followed relates to ancient troubles. Torin and I agree that you are best qualified to accompany him. As you know, Wing also has a keen grasp of history and so I thought his knowledge might help Farad, as well as his growing abilities." Alastair continued.

"Of course, I will go." Naruel said, "I am a ranger and well versed in tracking prey, be it two footed or four footed. Between Farad and I, we can surely find him, and deal with any trouble along the way. Wing is not necessary. There is no need for him to go on such a potentially dangerous journey ..."

"Hey!" Wing exclaimed, moving forward. Alastair waved him back.

"Naruel, I know you have the best of intentions for my apprentice, but he is no longer the child that you remember him as. He has the potential to be a formidable caster and his skills might be important in tracing Douven's steps," Alastair laid his hand on her arm and smiled at her. "Besides, if I am going to send him out, I'll be glad to know you are there to protect him."

"Milady, your valor is most becoming." Farad's deep voice echoed in the small room. "But prudence as well as valor is important. Often numbers are a greater deterrent to trouble than even the most fearsome of solitary travelers. That is why I have sought Torin's aid, to seek companions."

"Aye, but my duties here prevent me from gallivanting off for a month, even for good causes," the dwarf replied.

"What about Madeleine?" Wing blurted out from the back of the room. Naruel shook her head in disapproval, and Alastair looked surprised at his apprentice.

"She's the deadliest blade in the militia and can out command Irongut on a battlefield -- no offense -- " Wing continued, stammering a bit as he looked at now scowling Naruel.

"This is not some fun trip to the city, Wing, or even scaring off some starving serfs wielding sticks and pitchforks away from a caravan," Naruel retorted, giving him a pointed look that reminded Wing of when she'd scorched his bottom after catching him smoking father's pipe when he was little.

"Besides, you know she'll run off with the next mercenary group that comes into town to seek her fortune if you don't give her an opportunity." he concluded. Naruel silently conceded that he had a point -- these days their friend constantly spoke of rumors of far away wars and fortunes to be made with a fervor that bordered on obsession.

"Maddy Attleborough is an inspiring commander and an accomplished swordsman ... woman ... whatever," Torin mused, stroking his beard. "You won't find a cooler head in the head of battle. If I were in a fight, Wing's right -- there's no one I'd trust more. Farad, you should bring her as well. Tad unorthodox, but any problems bringing two lasses and an easterner?"

The Dragonborn's laugh was unexpected, but it sounded just as Naruel imagined it would, a deep chortling sound that she more felt than heard. "Says the one-eyed dwarf to the dragonborn. Who am I to judge on what is unusual, Torin Irongut, friend of my clan? Lord Bahamut smiles upon all who seek to uphold the cause of the righteous, regardless of what they look like."

"It is settled then," Alastair said. "Wing come here and grab a glass. Let us drink to all of your good fortune. Torin will tell Madeleine tomorrow and then once you are ready, you will be off. Wing, you and Madeleine are to follow Naruel's lead -- do not disobey her. May Ioun grant you insight."

They drank.