[Scronan]

Chapter 2

The Elven Rogue

Her sapphire blue eyes sparkled in the dim torchlight, poised in a seductive stare. A green veil covered her face, cool as the lush green of the nearby woodlands. Her entire body was covered with a red and silky material, save her well toned and sensual abdomen, which moved in and out to the rhythm of the music.
The drummer beat with a steady tempo, as the dance of the Elven belly dancer enthralled the audience. A few Elven men stared with quiet faces, more in control of their urges than the whistling and howling humans. Several dwarves stood watching the swirling maiden dance, and despite her seeming to frail for a female, they could not keep their eyes off of her enticing body.

A lust eyed and drunken human stumbled onto the stage, his arms reaching out for the dancing maiden.

"I love you! I love you!" he spoke in a desperate voice.

The sensual dancer continued her dance as she turned and winked at the large male, and lowered her stance so that her upper body shook and wiggled when she arched her back. She laughed to herself.

"Sigh...human males. So quick to anger, and so easy to please.."

The caravans body guards quickly removed the man from the stage, cursing at him in their Dwarven tongue. The dancer merely laughed and then signalled to the drummer to increase the tempo. Her dance continued, beautiful, seductive and full of Elven charm.

As the night rolled on and the ales were drank, more and more of the crowd of men had either passed out or left for the night. A dwarven wife of one man came into the pub with a volley of curses, then belted her husband over the head with a large stick. Her two sons proceeded to help drag their drunkard father home to the rest of his waiting and worried family.

The crowd drifted until only 3 men remained, the most patient and rich of the entire bunch.

The three human males cheered as the Elven girl approached the end of the stage and bowed from her waist to them. The musicians rose and bowed as well, their hats catching the gold and silver coins which were tossed onto the stage.

"Sweet maiden, we've waited long enough for you." said one of the men, holding up a small pouch of gold coins. "You must make your choice, for you stand to be very rich. A small bit of comfort will lead to you to great fortune."

"Aye!" howled the other two men, also drawing forth sacks of gold.

The dancer was exhausted, her body drenched with sweat and her thin figure was all but spent. Or so she lead them to believe, for she knew well that she was taken for a prostitute. The thought of a night of passion with any of these men disgusted her, but she knew well her powers over these foolish humans.

She spoke softly, almost like a dove in the humans tongue, whispering like the wind. But within the softness of her voice, the tides of seduction rang in her tone, causing the human males to squirm in their chairs.

"You're so kind to watch my dancing, and you're all so handsome...I just can't make up my mind."

She approached their table as her swaying hips commanded their full attention. Touching ones mans exposed chest, she stroked it lovingly and hissed softly like a snake in his ear. Turning to the others, she blew kisses to one and licked the arm of another.

"Play it all the way..." she thought to herself.

"Well I just don't know my brave suitors. I think a real MAN is the one who can hold the most ale. I propose a test: Whichever of you can out drink the rest, will win my love for this evening."

"So be it!" roared one of the men, leaving the pub for his wagon. He quickly returned carrying a small barrel on his shoulder, and three large mugs.

"This is Boogre Brew, the finest ale to be found in the Gael Serran. I'd drink three barrels alone just to kiss you my lady. Well my friends, are you up to it?"

"Aye, that I am." said the second.

"Me as well." said the third.

The dancer sat down in a nearby chair, her seductive gaze still fixed on the men who argued and cursed to one another as they filled their cups. The mugs lifted and then slammed down on the wooden table many times, but their capacity for the wicked brew was even larger than their egos.

After the barrel was nearly empty, the younger of the three drank his last mug down, but his head swayed and he fell out of his chair, sprawling out on the dirt floor on the pub. He lay unconscious as the other two men sized each other up, realizing the contest was only between each other now.

"Too bad." said the elf. "I thought he was rather handsome. Well, which of you will it be?" she blinked her eyes coyly and the two men, whose lust for the dancer was even greater due to the intoxicating effects of the Boogre Brew.

The contest had fallen to the men trading sips, but neither of them seemed to be the victor. The dancer moved and sat in front of them, her perfume entering their nostrils. It was the closest they had been to her the whole evening, which excited them even more.

With a slight of hand motion, the Elven girl hid a small vial in her left hand, and then gently smiled at the two men.

"Come on boys." she said, caressing their hands. "Keep drinking, the sooner one of you wins, the longer the night will last." Her hand had deposited a small amount of a powered substance into each of their mugs, much to the unknown of the her two victims.

The men both turned to each other and spat on the ground, and with much effort, raised their mugs to the sky and drank the brew with mighty gulps.

Chucking to herself, the dancer counted in her head, waiting for the powerful herb to take effect on the two men.

"11, 12, 13...!"

The eyes of the 2 men glazed and in an almost perfect unison, their heads fell forward and hit the table with a resounding thud. The dancer checked their eyelids, but their was no doubt in her mind. These men would be asleep until noon tomorrow.

With careful haste, she helped herself to their gold pouches, the jewelry on their hands, and everything of value that they carried, even their clothes. Never one to rob a person completely blind, she left them tied to the table in their loincloths, each with an empty mug atop their bellies.

"At least their not completely naked." she said to herself.

Turning to one of the members of the band who had waited in the shadows, she tossed him a bag of gold. He winked at her and motioned a sign with his hand. It meaning was well known among the guild of thieves, one of brotherhood and loyalty to the art of the rogue. Hiding in an empty hut she quickly stuffed her booty into her satchel, and dressed herself in her leather outfit she normally wore. Her pack was filled with robes and dresses for the many roles she played in life, housewife, belly dancer, priest and beggar. Stuffed full with her newly stolen treasure, she bounded off into the forest, moving fast like a midnight raptor.

It was said the following day that the entire village came and laughed at the three men, of which the town mayor said served them right for harassing the gentle dancer.

Morning found the elf sleeping quietly in the bough of a tree, out of site and safe from the larger and more clumsy clans of the humans and dwarves. For elves, climbing trees was as natural as walking or swimming, never viewed as a challenge.

She washed her face in a nearby stream, and did her morning stretches before she ate a small meal of bread and jerked deer meat. And she studied her surroundings and prepared to leave, her eyes caught something in the dirt at her feet.

A poor scout of some kind had tried to cover a set of tracks, but more than that, she saw caked and dried blood under with dusty topsoil.

Studying the tracks on the ground before her, it told of quite a tale that had transpired a day before her arrival. The footprints of many trolls were scurried about, as if they had snared a wild bear in one of their net traps. Sure enough, they had captured something, but the elf rogue looked closer at the tracks. They belonged neither to a bear nor some other beast, but to the bipedal race of felines known as the Whiskas. Whomever this unlucky cat was, they did not go down easy. He was clearly a male by the widened paw print, standing tall and most likely a warrior of some kind.

Smelling the ground, it told her it was Whiska blood mostly, and quite a bit of it from the Goblins. Her inner senses believed the Whiska was still alive, and possibly needed help.

The elf sighed to herself, for although a thief, rogue and pickpocket, she was also a loyal and heartfelt woman. Something called to her inner being, and spoke to her like her adoptive father once had so many years ago.

"Always help those in need, whenever you can. Be of good heart, and Kerah will smile upon thee."

Her mind was made up.


*****

The proud Whiska warrior was stripped down to his leather trousers, which were torn and stained with his blood. His upper body was bare, showing his powerful chest and beautiful feline stripes. Many cuts and bruises covered his body, obviously the victim of cruel torture. Despite the deeds of the trolls, neither his mind nor his flesh had given into their will. He'd die before he ever told them any secrets of the clan of the Whiskas.


A sniveling troll shaman stood before him with small dagger, and spoke to him in their crude imitation of the common tongue.

"You tells us....you tells us abouts the magicks of your clan. You talks or you dies! DIES!"

The Whiska ignored the shaman's stammering, and spoke aloud with a proud voice.

"I shall tell you nothing. We'll meet in the afterlife, as sure as Kerah watches over me."

"BAH!" spit the shaman. "Kerah iss NOTTING! NOTTING! We kills you! Roasts you and the little trollies eats you up. You taste good whisska, very good."

"Eats the whisska!" yelled the small band of trolls.

The warrior closed his eyes and began to mutter a prayer in the Whiskas native tongue, which sounded like hissing to the squabbling trolls. He prepared himself for the realm of the dead as the shaman raised his dagger, sputtering and cursing.

"We kills you! We eats you...we...agkkkkkkk!"

The shamans curse was interrupted as a willow arrow slammed into his neck, striking his vital veins. Blood spurted out as he clutched the arrow and fell to the ground, kicking his feet and hissing. His troll minions yelled out in fear, but soon gathered their weapons as their shaman died in a pool of blood.

Another arrow found itself at home between the eyes of a second troll, who was dead before his body collapsed and fell over. Several more trolls grunted and yelled as random arrows struck, wounding and killing them. As their party of warriors was reduced from 11 to 6, the Elven rogue knew she must act now before they regrouped for a counter attack.

Leaping from the trees, she hit the ground rolling and approached the Whiska. He had been beaten, tortured and wounded, but the fire in his eyes told her he was far from defeated. Pulling a healing potion from her pouch, she lifted the wounded cats head as he drank the purple liquid. His eyes flashed open and a shimmering blue aura surrounded his body. He could feel the elixir moving through him, into his muscles, his bones and even into his spirit.

"Roaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!"

His body tightened and twitched, and the ropes around his arms broke with his summoned energy. His claws quickly cut the bonds on his feet and with another mighty yell, he turned to the trolls.

The remaining goblins, 6 in number turned to see their now freed victim, which caused them to howl in anger. They came with a rush, but not before the Whiska warrior pounced and leapt, his feral instincts taking over.

His teeth ripped the first goblins throat wide open, and his menacing claws slashed another goblins face, for the hunted had now become the hunter.

The Elven rogue parried a spear, and slashing with her small sword, she sliced one trolls belly open, spilling his guts on the ground. She felt a club strike her from behind, and falling to her knees with a gasping breath, she saw the Whiska standing guard over her, then she passed out.

The Whiska held her dropped sword and slashed, searing the head of a troll clean off, his blood spraying forth like a fountain of water. The remaining trolls screamed and ran in cowardice, but not before the Whiskas had bounded after them, slaying them all with silent menace.

The elf regained herself and managed to rise to her feet and suddenly felt the Whiskas arm around her. She looked up into his blood stained face and felt a sense of great fear inside her. Her fears were soon calmed and he gently set her on the ground, his eyes were warm and friendly.

"I thank you for saving my life, my Elven friend. I am called Lion-O, once lord of the Thundercats, from the western tribes of the Whiska."

The elf recognized that name, the Thundercats. As a small girl growing up, there was a legend about a group of Whiskas who travelled the lands doing deeds of justice and honor. Though once a powerful and respected clan, it had been many years since anyone had heard or seen them. It had been said they battled with a great lord of the undead, but apparently some of them had survived.

Her voice stuttered and she felt the back of her head, for the blow from the club had done more damage than she had realized.

"M-m-my name is Zijana. I'm honored to meet you, Lion-O."

"You saved my life."

"Well, it seems I have returned the favor, for you came to my rescue."

He looked at her attire, chuckling to himself. "A rogue with an honest heart, well now I do believe in the power of the gods."

"We best travel from here, the town of Valeia is only a few days journey from here." said the Whiska.

"Valeia?" Zijana stuttered. "Why, that is my destination as well, I hear they are calling for would be heros to recover the blade of the Mavin."

"It seems we are on the same path." said Lion-O. "Among the Whiskas, risking your life for another is the highest honor we can hope to find in friends. I pledge to you my friendship, if you will allow time to know and trust me."

"Aye my feline friend." she said. "Let us travel together."

Their hands gripped and the Whiska smiled, showing his beautiful canine teeth.

Zijana thought to herself, "I'm surely glad I'm not a Ratling, for I've heard tell some Whiskas consider them a great delicacy."

They hastily gathered their weapons from the battle scene, and even found a few bags of gold from the slain trolls. Lion-O found a beautiful spear and several throwing dirks which he attached to his belt. As Zijana surveyed the small tent of the troll shaman, her eyes gleamed as a treasure chest full of loot sat before her. What rogue could resist such a prize?

"Careful Zijana!" warned Lion-O. "Those chest from the hordes of evil are laden with traps and twisted magicks!"

"No worries here, for you have the honor of watching one of the finest pickpockets of the Gael Serran at her best."

Lion-O shrugged and stood back her nimble hands fiddled with the levers and pulleys which comprised the trap on the chest. It was a simple fireball trap, something Zijana could have done in her sleep. A push here, a pull there and heavy kick from her boot, and the chest popped open.

Her eyes first went to several bottles of healing elixir, one of which she immediately opened and drank. The magic of the priests was strong, as the powerful blue aura surrounded her body. The welt on her head disappeared and Zijana felt like she had just slept in a kings castle.

"That always hits the spot." she said with a laugh.

Scouring through the chest again, she found a pouch of gold, and much to the delight of Lion-O, a sturdy piece of leather armor and a well tempered shield. Lion-O donned the armor and griped the shield, testing the weight and the feel of his new equipment.

"Nice fit!" Zijana said. "You look ready to take on a dragon!"

"Aye elf, I felt naked without any gear. Have you plundered enough now? It is time we must leave."

They found nothing else of interest in the chest besides cobwebs and dead bugs, so Zijana pocketed their booty and gathered her bow. Lion-O gazed into the distance, his superior night vision leading the way.

"To the village of Valeia?"

"Let us be off."

Chapter 3 - Coming Soon to a Message Board Near You!