From: gdg019@cck.coventry.ac.uk (Ridley McIntyre)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives
Subject: STORY: RED (part 1)
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: 8 Sep 1992 10:28:57 -0400
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                                    RED
                            by Ridley McIntyre

                                - Prologue -

Too much knowledge can often be a very bad thing. But to enter into the world
with little or no knowledge at all is both unfair and unwise. Thus, it is
safe to know just a smidgeon of what has been, and what could happen, and
not to throw yourself at the world which is what you humans do best. So, for
your own good if for nothing else, I have compiled some tracts from the
opening chapters of our elvish Old World Songs in the hope that you will
become enlightened to our ways quicker than most.

May Aranorm guide you all.

SpearDancer, Chief of the Kutenai, the Confederation of Saskian elf tribes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The land we know now as Arcadia was born from darkness. Within the darkness
there was Camthorm, the Makerdragon, and Camthorm breathed fire into the
darkness. The fire warmed the void and lit the sky with bright golden light.
And where the flames had travelled, he had made the earth.

>From the Makerdragon were born the Three: Aranorm who was to become the
Highdragon; Daethorm who was to become the Shadowdragon; and Rauthorm who
was to become the Renegade and Prince of the West. It was the Three who
shaped the earth, creating towers out of rock for their castles, and
ready rivers formed from their fiery breathing. And lakes formed in the
wake of their footfalls.

And once the earth was truly their playground, they lay their seeds in the
form of mighty eggs. And each egg was of a different shade or hue, or of a
different shape or texture. And from the eggs hatched the races of the
world: from Aranorm's eggs came Humans, Elves, Trolls and Ogres, from
Rauthorm's eggs came Goblins, Goatmen, Rattkinder and Lizardmen, from
Daethorm's eggs came the creatures that walk upon its face, and fly in the
skies and swim in the seas, and all living things; and more dragons were born,
known as the Pathorms, and they were able to change things to suit them with
beautiful magical powers.

This time of creation is known as the beginning of the Old World, and new
life was formed every day, and it was truly miraculous.

And in the land which we now call Arcadia, each creature was given it's
realm. And some creatures grew intelligent and civilised, and others
were content with what the Three had given them.

Then, at the time which we know as the middle of the Old World, Rauthorm
turned against her sisters, Aranorm and Daethorm, and proclaimed herself
Queen of all Arcadia. And Aranorm and Daethorm fought her, and the war
which is known as the Renegade War raged across the whole world.

When her sisters were in a position to win the war, Rauthorm lay the eggs of
demons to fight for her, and they were ordered to find and kill all the
Pathorm dragons, so that no other dragon could come after her. But the
Pathorms knew of her plan. They hid their forms and lived amongst the
races of the world, and they went unnoticed amongst the people and adopted
their ways and children were born from them, and their children became the first
of the Adepts, the Dragonmages, the only people able to perform Dragon Magic
like their transformed parents. It was the Adepts who fought against
Rauthorm's demons and won, banishing them to the center of the earth.

And at the Battle of Tears, Rauthorm was finally defeated by her sisters.
Rauthorm fled to the West, and Aranorm and Daethorm, knowing that their
time on the earth had ended, ascended into the sky, where the hot fire
of Aranorm now warms our daytimes and the icy breath of Daethorm cools
our nights, guarding over us all in Arcadia, lest Rauthorm should return.

This time is known as the end of the Old World. The time we live in now
is the Red World, where there will much strife and hardship, and the
lives of all will be fully tested.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

There the Old World Songs end and the Red World Songs begin. The Red
World has yet to end, but a verse in the Red World Songs prophecies thus:

"The world will burn when Rauthorm returns and Arcadia lives in blight; the
world will learn when Aranorm returns and yields to the dragon's might; the
New World turns with Camthorm's spurs and gives end to the long dark night."

It is the elvish belief, and the belief of some others with true vision, that
the Renegade will return to this land to destroy it. Possibly with another
army of demons. We dare not say. The only truth is that the world is a
very vulnerable target at this moment in time. The Leveran Empire, which once
ruled almost all of the human south of Arcadia, felt the Adepts to be witches,
and hunted them down to near extinction. It is highly possible, then, that if
Rauthorm were to return now, we would have no or very little magic with which
to fight her. Our only strength would be in union; a minor word, perhaps, but
one that the races and nations of Arcadia have a strong tradition of dropping
from their lexicons...

--SD.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

                                   RED
                           by Ridley McIntyre

                                  - 1 -

                           23 Daethander 1222

Dark clouds filled the sky like a black pillow across the face of Falconshire.
It was a sight which troubled even Keen's good-humoured soul.

 "A storm there will be," he said.

 The coachman took a quick glance at the advancing storm clouds and then
returned his attention to the road. Ever since they had left Carroway Head
that morning, the fidgety troll had been making inane and obvious comments.
At first, he spoke to the ogre, who had joined the troll on the roof of the
coach because he hated being caged up in the "wheeled coffin". But soon,
even the ogre tired of his stupidity and began to talk to Steiff, the
outrider who was accompanying the coach along the Falcon Road north to
Shelfield. Now, the troll, who had introduced himself gleefully as Keen
Dirqan, had only the coachman left to annoy. He sighed loudly, catching the
outrider's attention.

 "Feeling all right, Tobias?" Steiff had spent most of his life riding with
coaches and knew how easy it was for the coachman to fall asleep with his
hands on the reins.

 "That bloody troll," the coachman said. "They've made an art out of stating
the obvious."

 Keen made a clucking sound with his tongue. "A storm there will be is all
I said. Look at the sky."

 But they had entered the Westwood Forest now, and the branches of mighty
ash trees formed glorious green-brown arches over the Falcon Road, blocking
out the western sky. The best that Steiff's senses could offer was the
change from the stench of Bull Meadow cattle and sheep to the moist freshness
of fallen leaves on soil.

 Inside the coach, Aifam ran a rough, long hand through her shoulder-length
black hair and noticed the change, too. She clutched the straps of her canvas
pack so tightly that Landers, watching the elf from the opposite seat, thought
she might be daydreaming of wringing necks. Landers had noticed her straight
away at the coaching inn back at Carroway Head; pretty, but then all elves are.
She was about to throw the pack up onto the roof until she discovered that the
little baby-faced troll was going to sit up there to take in the view. Since
then, she had held onto that pack as if her life had depended on it.

 Landers had travelled all the way from Yarmovin to Temiscamin and he had
never once spoken to an elf, least of all an elf girl. He was the kind of man
that other women liked to make friends with, but nothing more. Outside, he was
a tall, handsome young man with a ruddy complexion. But inside, he was shy to
the point of seeming cold and unfriendly. But there were a couple of things
that could bring Landers to break from his shell. This elf girl seemed to be
one of them. Despite her road-roughened edges and her hard faraway stare, he
felt somehow drawn to her, as if some common ground was already there. He had
to say something to her, if only to be able to tell people he had spoken to
an elf.

 All he could think to say was, "What takes you to Shelfield?"

 To which she replied, "Mind your own business."

 After that, however, talking to her felt like river boating. Now that he
was in the boat, all he had to do was paddle.

 "I'm going to pick this man up," he said, and he pulled a piece of torn
paper that had frayed at the edges, and on which much of the writing was
obscured by a grid of wide fold-marks. He tossed it to her and it landed on
her pack.

 The vice-like grip on the pack's straps relaxed and she unfolded the notice.
The writing was large enough to read even with the fold-marks. The notice
brought a wry smile to her face; an expression too ambiguous and alien for
Landers to fully comprehend.

                                 -**-
                                REWARD

                10 Guineas for the arrest and capture of:

                            Cainan Silthorn

wanted for several incidents of banditry on the Falcon Road and escaping
                        from the King's justice.

                        Warning to the people:

If you see him, do not confront him. He is armed and considered extremely
     dangerous. Contact a watchman or warranted official immediately.

Official Warrants may be obtained through the Lord Reeve of Shelfield
                          at Westwood Castle.
                                 -**-

 The puzzle was solved when the elf girl pulled out her own sheet of muddied
paper from her breast pocket and gave it to the man. He only needed to glance
at it for a second.

 "So, you're after the same man," he said, watching her smile widen to show
a set of clean white teeth.

 She nodded. "But I might need help."

 Landers' grimy face made a smile of its own. "Me too," he said.

 A sudden noise on the roof made her jump inside. Landers noticed her face
flush and how she gripped the straps on her pack again. She looked up and
saw Landers' concern.

 "Trolls," she said with a nervous laugh through clenched teeth. "Hate the
little bastards."

 Up on the roof, all was commotion.

 Keen had seen something in the woods by the side of the road and wanted the
driver to stop so he could investigate it. But, instead, Tobias whipped with
the horse reins and the coach sped up. It was a scene which the huge, snout-
faced ogre found very funny indeed.

 Steiff also thought it was funny, but he decided to investigate anyway.
Dropping back from the coach's side and swinging his horse around, he
rode back to where Keen had seen his supposed bandit, and was still pointing.
Readying his bow, he aimed into the forest.

 But Keen's bandit and highway robber was just a wild deon, a huge cousin
of the wild boar; and, tall as two men on shoulder-top and as long as a horse
the animal may have been, but the sound of the coach had still scared it off
into the cover of the forest. The danger over, Steiff turned back for the
coach.

 Keen dropped his hand and everything went suddenly black and heavy. It was
as if the storm cloud in the west had dropped from the sky and landed on his
round, child-like little face.

 Steiff saw the situation best from far behind the coach. Something *had*
dropped from one of the trees above the coach to land on the little troll's
head. It was like a blanket, or perhaps a tarpaulin. Black and large, it had
completely engulfed the annoying rascal. Then a tall figure dropped down
after the black blanket, missed the roof of the coach completely and landed
hard on its back behind it as it travelled on up the road.

 Dazed, the figure stood up slowly. Steiff could hear the ogre calling for
coachman to stop, and the horses slowed to a gradual halt. Then the outrider
gazed into the milky white eyes under the knot of black hair that framed the
figure's cadaverous, green-skinned face.

 "Goblin," he said to himself and aimed the bow directly for the heart.

 The goblin just stood there until the coach had stopped, glaring at the
horseman with the black longbow. A glare that threatened to unnerve even
Steiff's battle-hardened heart. It was a glare from eyes without fear or pity.
Inhuman eyes unlike those of any other creature in Arcadia. Even the ogre on
the roof of the coach was more kin than this foul animal. It stood there in a
thick leather jacket, holding a thick-bladed axe in it's green hand. Tall and
muscular, larger even than Steiff, it defied his presence for a few grave
seconds.

 Steiff, though, had seen this before. He had fought against goatmen tribes
in Leveran, and rattkinder back in his homeland of Yarmovin. The goblin's
attempts to scare Steiff were fruitless, and when the coach came to a halt
behind him, and the doors began to open, it made a break for the cover of the
trees at the side of the road.

 Steiff's arrow landed home, throwing the goblin to the ground like a sack.

 Aifam unstrapped her crossbow from her pack and stepped out of the coach.
Almost casually, but with practised ease, she slid her foot into the metal
loop at the business end and cocked the machine. Placing a quarrel into
the nook along it's length, she eyed the goblin with a distaste that brought
rough bile scraping at the back of her throat.

 She saw the ogre pull a huge sword, larger than any she had seen before,
from a scabbard in amongst the packs on the roof of the coach, but she waved
a hand to him.

 "Don't bother," she said. "He's worth more alive than dead. I hear they pay
good money around here for goblin raiders."

 Finally, after what had seemed like hours of darkness and muffled noises in
amongst the packs, Keen found the end of the storm cloud, along with his twin
swords. He glanced down at the situation and it seemed under control. The
outrider was trotting his horse over to what looked like a big muscular
human who had been dead for a few weeks, lying on the floor. The shifty-
looking elf girl who wouldn't let go of her bag had got out and was pointing
a loaded crossbow at it, and the other human had also climbed out the other
door and was watching it all from the corner of the coach. The dead-looking
man's sweaty green skin was like dew-covered leathery leaves in the dawn of a
summer's morning; but his big eyes were pure white and had no warmth in them
at all.

 Keen decided it was best if he were to check the treeline for more of these
dead humans. He stuffed the twin swords into his belt at the back of his
trousers and clambered, unnoticed by the others, down the side of the coach.

 Just inside the treeline, a sudden image in the corner of his right eye made
him freeze and his skin crawled. He turned his head with such utter subtlety
that he hoped that what he thought he had just seen wouldn't notice it. It
didn't matter. He found himself staring straight up at the point of a grey
iron arrowhead; behind it was a long shaft that led straight up to a milk-
white eye.

 Keen didn't need to fill in the rest of the picture, nor did he give himself
time to. He had wanted to run away, he thought, but for some reason he found
himself diving at the goblin's legs, tugging at the twin swords in the back
of his belt. He crashed into the creatures shins, knocking it back against a
tree and the arrow it was aiming was thrown askew with a twang.

 Climbing to his feet, Keen picked up one of his swords and threw himself
at the fallen creature. The goblin snarled and kicked and the troll on it,
the blade edge of his short sword crushing the goblin's ankle. It screeched in
agony and began to fumble wildly through the pockets of it's stiffened leather
jacket until it's hands came across a dirty knife with a glinting edge to it's
blade.

 Keen stood back from the flurry of kicks and screams and the goblin took it's
chance to make a run for it. But only a few yards into the forest, the ankle
gave way and it collapsed, screeching in pain and shouting curses in a
growling language that Keen was glad he didn't know.

 As Keen threw another swipe in with one of his swords, he caught the same
leg again and tore through the green skin to find red blood underneath just
like any other creature. Something that truly surprised the troll, who was
expecting it to be green like his skin, or even clear like water. But he
was unperturbed by such thoughts and finished the creature off with a final
smashing blow into it's flailing leg which wounded it so badly that it could
remain conscious no longer, and it's red blood flowed into the autumnal earth.

 Aifam wrapped the two ends of the manacles around the bar at the back of
the coach's roof and clamped the shackles around the heavy goblin's wrists
as the ogre, who called himself Catan, held it's unconscious body upright.

 By the time she was done, climbing down from the roof, the troll, whom no
one had realised was gone, came out from the trees holding a longbow in one
hand and the severed head of a goblin in the other.

 "Something you might like I have," said the troll, and he threw the head down
in front of the elf. "More bounty for the hunter, yes?"

 Landers watched Keen as he walked away to the front of the coach, giving the
goblin's dirty knife to the ogre, and caught a gaze of hatred and mistrust in
Aifam's eyes as she spat hard into the dirt of the road.

 Climbing back inside the coach, Aifam had wrapped the head of the dead goblin
in the black blanket and tied it to the rail on the roof. She barely had time
to shut the door before Tobias the coachman urged his horses forward.

(c) Copyright Ridley McIntyre 1992
-- 
        	 **Ridley McIntyre - Ronin Ironpig**			
		     gdg019@cck.coventry.ac.uk
		 -----------------------------------
     "It'll be a cold night tonight... If it's cold." - Iain Morales