"Please don't hurt me! We was hired to attack you's, but Mister Thorn didn't say why. He just said we're not to harm any half-elves. He paid in advance, and said we'd get a bonus if we killed any of you's. But he lied, said you were all easy marks, inexperienced hunters is what he said. Well, you ain't know hunters: You's them heroes of Tarogs I heard about, for sure. I mean, how many outfits can there be that's gots a mage, a lizzardman, a spectre, a couple elves, a shapeshifter and a set of high-bred brothers in it? Well, I knows when I's been double-crossed, so I ain't keen on protecting him. I'll make you a deal, than: I'll tell you what his face looks like if you let me live so I's can warn the other members of my guild to not take any more contracts out on you lot."
Maxwell looked up: "Half-elves? Why would he..." A look of horror came over Maxwell's face. He looked around quickly: "Where's Erunantian? Where's Auruiel? Dammit! The attack was probably just a distraction. Anyone who'd hire these bums to kill us must have known that they wouldn't be a match for us, but they'd serve nicely as a distraction while our foes kidnapped Eruantian and Auruiel! Micheal, quickly, do that astral-space thing of yours. We've got to find them before they get to far away!"
<And yes, Auruiel has also been kidnapped. Just so you don't think I've forgotten about her.>
Micehal said: "Right! Projecting into astral space...." And with that Micheal sat down on the forest floor and fell into a trance.
Captain Sealem said: "Tell you what, you follish little man. You tell me what your employer looks like and you'll only loose your thumbs."
The man, now scared out his wits said: "But I like my thumbs. I need my thumbs. I'm very attached to my thumbs."
Captain Sealem smiled and said: "In that case, you can keep your thumbs, I'll just cut your balls off."
The now pasty-faced man saidl "Right-o. Off with me Thumbs, then."
"Talk!" Came the reply.
"Mister Thorn is a master assassin. He's missing his nostril... It's been fused to the rest of his face. Said it was a result of an acid splash. 'E smokes Turbish cigars and drinks Quitulian brandy, exclusively. Walks with a cane, but he doesn't need it. It's just for show. And he's always dressed in black... even on the hotest day... nothing but black."
Seconds later, Micheal stood up: "Well, that was easy. Not hard to track those two. They're lit up like the sun, astraly speaking. So much mana being pumped into their abductors even an Acolite could spot them. They're being moved to the base of White Dragon Peak, being carried by a pair of humans who are magically enhanced, and they're moving really fast. The good news is that Acedia is shifted into a rat and clinging to that one, so that makes them doubly easy to track and we'll have some help when we meet them. At least I think it's her. I mean, how may human females shifted into rats can there be in this forest? I'm betting it's her. If oor good friend the Druid here will treewalk us quickly, we can be right in their path and catch them before they get away."
Thurendel said: "No time to loose, then. I'll treewalk you now and send your things along after me and the pixies pack thing up. Stand close together...
Chop-chop went the bandit's knuclkes, sceaming in pain went the bandit. "My thumbs, my beautiful thumbs!"
Captain Sealem said: "Let that be a lesson to you! You tell your fellow thieves-guild members what kind of hard-edged fighting men we are. You tell the assasin's guild that a contract on us is a sucide mission and you tell them we're not worth taking on. You hear? Now get out of hear before the pixies turn you into a tree! Go!"
Thruendel raised his staff and said: "The ballance is served" And suddenly the whole party was part of the trees and plants. It was the most bizzare experience. They could actualy feel the sap flow, the leaves move, the branches moving. It didn't hurt, but it was somewhat... unnerving. And then, an instant later, they all emerged from individual trees.
The party was now at the edge of the forest. A buffer zone of about a yard and a half of scrub-brush and smaller plants stood in irregular row between the edge of the treeline and the foothills of the Kel-Dorn Monutain Range, caped in the center by the magestic sight of White Dragon Peak itself, in all it's glory. Tall grass could bee seen covering mush of the hills, but it got quite rocky and steep after that.
Micheal stepped out of a spruce tree. "Has anyone seen my lower intestine? Because, if you have, could you ask it stop doing the tango with my stomach? Aw man, remind me not to astrally perecive when treewalking. Apparently druidic and thamutological magic don't mix. I'm gonna be sick." And with that, what little breakfast Micheal has eaten that morning came up all over his nicely-pressed tunic. He fell to his knees, wretching.
Everyone else felt fine, though.
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