Lastril walks quietly through the night, the woods closing in around him telling him that he is nearing his home, what is left of it. Gaerim, the elder Druid's pixie advisor, was right: the Orcs are being led by somebody, somebody very cunning, and probably not an Orc. Not so surprising, Lasril guesses, from the increasing number of ogres who join in the fight. But the garrison in Aladorn knows almost nothing about what is happening in the woods and the hills to the northeast. Their gaze is southwards, and northwards also but more to the northwest. The Empire is fighting against an alliance composed of the Orcs of the Grey Skull and the Wizards of the Worm, as well as Mannish states and lords to the south. The Grey Skull, Lastril guesses, are the tribe of orcs - their leaders at least like to carry skulls around on their staves, and they have a weathered, grey color to them.
But who are the Wizards of the Worm?The other thing that is worrying is that the forest no longer seems right. The trees are leafing out, the hickories and dawn redwoods and other giants of wood and bark, but there seem almost silent squeals of pain from the trees as Lastril walks under them. And the night seems deeper than normal.Suddenly, the centuar scout comes up short. There is something in the bushes ahead, and he draws his shortbow, but does not aim, and approaches cautiously. To his relief, it is his cousins, Kezzryn and Hylaeus, waiting for him. "Glad I am to find you here," the scout says. "No luck. The Empire knew we were having some orc problems, but had no idea of the magnitude of them. Unfortunately, it looks like they've got their own problems, and I think our enemies are the same. There is a tribe of orcs, or alliance of tribes, the Grey Skull. I think that is who we are up against. But there is also something else, called the Wizards of the Worm. I do not know who they are.""They are wizards. Their name should clue you on what they are about." The new voice came from above, softly, and yet arrogantly. Suddenly, one of the smaller branches above the heads of the three centuars twists as if in agony and then forms itself into the body of a pixie - Gaerim. Gaerim flutters his moth-like wings down to a lower branch, just up above Lastril's head. "Well, did you learn anything else? We knew that there was a cunning enemy leading these orcs, and I knew that the Wizards of the Worm are fighting the Empire."Listril backs up as he looks up at the pixie. He grimaces, not liking being spoken so condescendingly to - although, admittedly, something that the Fair Folk are notorious for. "I was getting to that, if you please. The Empire is fighting another enemy at the moment, but if we can hold out for a week or two, they might be able to help us. I suppose we still owe them a debt, for what Garin did for us those years ago. I'm glad we do not have to worry about the Dark One any more."Gaerim does not move, but sits quietly. "You assume, centuar. But yes, Garin - Prince Garin - has friends in high places, shall we say. But surely someone in Aladorn could have given you something..." he says pointedly."Yes, although I do not see how it will help." Listril reaches into a sack and pulls out a small wooden amulet. "He said this could help us. No soldiers to spare, but militia. I don't know what that means.""It means a summoning, of course!" answers Gearim, as he reaches down and snatches the amulet, looking at it, then hands it back to Listril, giving it far more care than the centuar had as he holds it down. Listril almost snatches it away, but holds it gingerly as he takes it.A tree creaks. Then, suddenly, everything goes utterly silent - you cannot hear anything. Listril opens his mouth momentarily, but there is nothing, not the slightest of sound. Gearim looks up in alarm, but says nothing - if it were possible to say anything.
Listril is a level 1 centuar rogue.
Gearim is a level 6 pixie transmuter.