“You've been following me for at least eight miles now, you might as well show yourself.”

The woman raced through the trees, a leaf dancing among the thousands in Shadow Wood. She paused, perching upon a lone pine bough, “How could you be so confident that I do not mean to kill you?”
Cameron, clad in finely polished plates of armor, slowed to a halt. Whilst removing his burgundy hood, he turned to look over his shoulder; searching the foliage for the creature that lay in his wake. His dark hair fell softly over his pale, pure face. He was just a boy, already assigned his fate as a paladin, a warrior bound to justice and religion. “Were you one of the petty rogues who plague this black forest, you would have attacked me on sight, en masse. You are alone, merely watching me; I wonder why. Besides, attacking me would be a foolish, I am among the apex of fighters and holy men alike.”
“I wonder, where will you go when you exit the Wood, wanderer?” She was sitting tall on her hands and feet, her head cocked playfully to the side, invisible in the trees. “Oh, and I am no petty rogue. Were I not alone, you would be none the wiser, you have sensed my presence because I wanted you to.”
“You are clearly interested in me, what have I done to garner such attention?” Cameron smiled, cocksure of his wit and sinew, “Regardless, where I am headed is none of your concern. I prithee, show yourself, rogue!”
It was quiet. The woman in the treetops had fallen silent. A flock of sparrows fanned across a gap in the trees, casting fluttering shadows around Cameron's armored feet. He pulled the cloth hood back over his head. His eyes shone silvery-blue under the maroon shadow of the hood. Heavy footfalls echoed through Shadow Wood. Cameron left a trail of broken twigs and upturned leaves.
Not three paces ahead of him, something hit the ground, landing gracefully as a great eagle in a swirling cloud of pine needles and leaves. A flash of red, the glint of steel, soft shades of leather and burlap. She knelt, clad in ocher trousers, a leather corset and set of light leather armor. A pair of daggers were tucked into her belt. A bent knife, a kukri, was leather-bound to her shoulder. Her ginger hair was tied back behind her head, a single curled lock hung loose in front of her ear. Her ears, the most noticeable feature. She was an elf, her ears grew long and tapered back to points that hung well above her head. She was thin and lanky, swift and noble-looking. She stood, flicking a leaf from her hair.
Caught off-guard, Cameron stumbled backwards. As he drew his long, shining blade with a singing note, a short prayer left his young, trembling lips,
“May the only blood drawn be that of my foe
May my faith protect my body and soul
May my blade down the enemy swiftly
And deliver him to the depths below.”
He ran his shimmering fingertips down the edge of his sword, imbuing it with an otherworldly crimson glow.
The elf reached for her kukri with one hand, while the other calmly moved forward in a firm but comforting gesture, “Sheath your steel, warrior. I am not here to harm you.”
“Who in the gods' name are you, knife-ear?” Cameron locked himself into a combat-ready stance; he was nervous, scared for his life, yet intrigued, curious beyond ordinary measure. Who was this mysterious elf? Why was she following him? Why now had she ambushed him?
“I am Ferdraalil, elven ranger. I take offense to being called a knife-ear, I'm sure that you can imagine.”
“Why were you following me?”
“I was bored, this all seemed like a fun way to pass the time. Wouldn't you agree?”
Cameron waved his shining sword, it sang as it carved the air. He ran his fingers down the blade once more, capturing the fiery energy in the palm of his metal gloved hand and whispered, “Forgive me, spirits,” dispelling the magic. He sheathed the blade and began back on his way walking towards the mouth of the forest.
“Where are you going?” Ferdraalil began walking after him. As she walked, her body swung in time, keeping rhythm like a metronome.
“I told you already, it doesn't concern you.”
She had paced herself quickly and was now walking beside Cameron, “You never apologized for calling me a knife-ear.”
“I don't intend to,” he turned, smirking under his hood. Late day light was streaming across the dirt path.
“That charm you used back there, are you some sort of mage?”
“I am not,” his voice was full of the arrogance of youth, boasting with a sort of scoff, “I am, however, a paladin of the order, Rheonesus. My name is Cameron.”
“Ooh, shiny paladin. You must be on some sort of quest out here. You look young. Ooh, is this your first mission alone?” Her face shone as she spoke in giddy, rhythmic notes.
Cameron sighed, “My faith tells me that I am never alone, but yes – um, this is my first solo quest.” He scratched at a fleck of dirt on his pauldron.
“You paladins are always off raiding dungeons, slaying dragons and saving damsels in distress. What brings you through the Shadow Wood?”
“I've told you that my mission is a secret one! Why do you insist on asking again?”
Ferdraalil broke into a gallop, prancing forward before bounding into a tree ahead. She sat, cocking her head to the side, “I thought that you might like some help. Midgard is a lonely, dangerous place and everyday it gets a little bit worse. I could not imagine traveling alone.”
“You are traveling alone, foolish elf.”
“No I'm not, I'm traveling with you, paladin of Rheonesus.”
“No, you – Fine, you can follow me to Hinderheim and no further. Perhaps someone there in the city wishes to be bothered with you, I do not.”
“I will follow no one, we are traveling together. It will be dark soon, we must find shelter before leaving the Wood at daybreak.”
“I have been walking for six days without rest, Hinderheim is only another day away and time is of the essence. I refuse to be held up now.”
“Trust me, I think that you will enjoy the place that I have to show you. Besides, a great Jabberwock raids this forest by night, it kills all who stir in the darkness. There is a reason why the Wood Elves do not overnight in these parts, not a paladin nor hero of legend could stand a chance against the beast.” The slit pupils of her bright green eyes dilated when she mentioned the Jabberwock. Cameron knew of the winged beasts, the quasi-dragons, the Jabberwocks. As rare as they are deadly, Jabberwocks ruled the skies of Midgard. None had ever been killed by men, elves, dwarves or orcs and only one had ever been captured over two hundred years ago.
Ferdraalil was already disappearing into the bramble and undergrowth beyond the path. Cameron jogged to catch up, his armor clashed loudly as he trampled the flora that his newfound companion had so swiftly avoided. It was now that Cameron saw exactly how long and thin the elf was, she stood nearly a head taller than him and moved through the tangle of plants as if she were simply a crawling length of lily-white ivy.
After a few minutes of walking, tumbling and falling forward through the dense thicket, Cameron began hearing a strange sound. Something was loudly snapping, crunching as if rolling over fragile eggshells and glass. He looked down to see a large, scarlet snake, swinging it's head, vocalizing from its gut. It lunged, nearly shattering its mammoth fangs against the armor on Cameron's calf. Cameron knelt to rip the vicious thing from his heel. It wriggled in his clutched fist for a moment before striking against his wrist. He tensed his grip on the squirming monster, it ignited in ball of black smoke and fell to the ground in lumps of hissing ash.
“What was that?” called Ferdraalil from well ahead, out of sight.
“Nothing. I stopped to admire a – a toad, just a little toad, insignificant.” He lied.
“Ooh, was it one of the cute ones with the teeny tiny cross on it's back? Was it a paladin toad?” Ferdraalil was sounding giddy and youthful again, “Bring it with you, I want to see it!”
“It – just, sort of, hopped away, into the briars.”
A few hundred meters through the near-impermeable thicketed forest opened a clearing. Sitting half-buried lay an ancient-looking stone structure. Glyphs and pictographs, a long-forgotten dialect was visibly scrawled onto every intact face of the eroded and worn granite building. A flight of stairs lead up to the top of the plateau, which was lined with pillars.
A squealing, infantile voice yelled from the adjacent woods, “Oy, dem prepples koomeen! Geddins ter lootum!” A trio of short, child-like creatures came bounding from the bushes, clutching rusted short swords in their green-skinned hands. The green things charged, shouting in their offensive language. Each of these goblins was wearing nothing more than the remnants of a pair of burlap sacks. Ferdraalil drew one of the knives from her belt and with a flick of her wrist sent it flying into the forehead of one of the goblins who simply fell backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. Cameron drew his blade and issued his prayer of bloodletting. He locked his sword with one of the goblins' knifes, causing the decrepit thing to shatter. He reeled back and struck another blow, set to decapitate the goblin. The greenskin's shark-like jaws locked onto the enchanted blade as it came towards his head. The crimson-glowing blade was swung back and forth through the air, but the arrowhead teeth would not budge, the impish creature dangled, soaring right behind each swing of the sword. Ferdraalil was working with her kukri to disarm the remaining enemy. Seeing the tall, lanky elf kneel and lunge forward and pull back after each strike against the pipsqueak goblin was just as comical as Cameron's flailing sword. The elf was enjoying the game for a while, her combatant was frozen with fear, holding his sword in front of himself. She quickly grew tired and adjusted one of her swings, planting the forward edge of the massive knife into the thick skull of the goblin. Ferdraalil, having killed another foe, walked to retrieve her knife from her prior victim.
Seeing Cameron, still struggling to free the limp greenskin from his blade, she giggled softly, “Heheheh, do you – um – need help with that?”
“I am confident that this mongrel's willpower will fail him soon enough, give me time and I will mount his head on -” A knife sailed through the air, sticking into the goblin as if he were a down-stuffed pillow, he loosened his grip and fell to the ground, dead. It pained Cameron to draw the energy back from his bloodless sword once more. Upon being sheathed, the blade sang a single-note-song of disappointment. “Were they scouts for the orcs?”
“I doubt it, orcs would be foolish to leave Orc'land, especially this close to Hinderheim, the humans would send an army. Besides, the Jabberwock would raze any camp once the sun went down. Those goblins were petty looters, members of their clan come by here every once in a while.
Home, sweet home,” Ferdraalil bounded the broken, stone staircase and toppled pillars. Cameron moved forward, summiting the monument carefully, “Ferdra', this was a monastery.”
“That's strange, I always thought that it was some sort of fortress, military.”
“That is also true. For a paladin, a monastery and fortress are one in the same. Even without proper walls, our faith delivers us from harm,” he pulled back his hood upon passing the temple's threshold and beginning the journey down the crumbling spiral staircase.
The main chamber was an elegant meeting hall, the ceiling was supported by six marble pillars, laced with gold. At the front of the room stood a wide dais, and atop that, a white altar. Ancient wooden chairs and tables were scattered about. Cameron walked toward the altar, amazed to see such a holy relic. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles. Ferdraalil walked down the staircase a moment later. She sauntered to the alter, where Cameron was beginning to pray.
“Watch this,” she said, pushing at one end of the altar. The marble prism slid across the granite floor, revealing a small passageway downward into the inky black. Ferdraalil dropped one end of a nearby rope ladder into the pit, tying the other end to the altar. Climbing down the ladder, she said “I have something fun to show you.”
Before descending the ladder, Cameron began to pray,
“God or perception, Nezagog,
Give me vision through the fog
And in darkness, through the black
So I may journey, there and back,”
Cameron's eyes began glowing yellow, brighter than any of the flickering candles, “Ferdra', stand clear of the ladder!” His voice echoed down the shaft.
“Dear god of luck, Nimphetek,
From this fall, I prithee, do protect,”
Cameron reminded himself of the sometimes fickle nature of the gods and their prayers.
He pulled his hood back over his head. The glow of this eyes illuminated his entire face. A leap of faith, Cameron stepped forward, falling into the inky blackness of the inner monastery. He fell for far longer than he had anticipated. Icy air and darkness raced around his silvery armor and burgundy hood. He landed hard, sending dust, dirt and small rocks flying. For a moment, he was enveloped by both the cloud and the darkness. When the dust settled, a series of glowing green rings of light dispelled around his body.
Cameron was the only light in this place, the light from his irises bounded across the chamber, ultimately reflecting in the golden-green, cat-like eyes of the elf, Ferdraalil, “I've never bothered to relight this area. As an elf, the darkness gives me a bit of an edge should anything try to rob or attack me here.”
“This place has not seen light since before the first age of man. This was our bastion from back when your people ruled Midgard.”
“I may be an elf, but they are not my people. The elves are fragmented, broken and twisted things”
“Twisted? Man has long been envious of the High Elves and enchanted by the Wood Elves. We don't like to admit it as a race, but we spend our time of superiority looking back on those who ruled Midgard before us.”
“The High Elves are a pompous bureaucracy, they are uncaring and calculating to a fault. Their peaceful nature is mistaken for kindness and intellect. They have forgotten many things, art, love.
“The Wood Elves are forced to recede, their nomadic, spiritual ways are persecuted by all. They, my former brothers and sisters, refuse to fight for what is theirs. Always moving, always on the run.
“The elves who inhabit the place that is now called Orc'land, they have changed the most. They are evil things, they use their hand against all others. They live in an endless war. Sleeping in the den of goblins, orcs and trolls has corrupted them.”
Cameron noted, “Those 'Dark Elves' are not evil by nature. Many have become mighty paladins. They fight with the same honor and tenacity as their relatives. Some, I dare say, have even rivaled men.”
“Some have even rivaled men?” Ferdraalil's eyes grew wide as if a bit surprised by the words.
“Yes,” Cameron answered sincerely.
“Elves – rival – man?” she repeated slowly, trying to digest the meaning what Cameron had said. Cameron struck a confused look, unsure if he had misspoken or if something was wrong with his companion. “The elves will never rival humanity. The elves always were and always will be incomparable! I may not be a member of elven society, but as a race we are all the highborn heirs to this realm.”
Cameron furrowed his brow, building up to spout the most aggravated hate that he could muster. The light under his hood intensified and began to flicker intensely. He thought twice, relaxing, sighing. The light became calm again.
“I'm sorry,” he said unemotionally, holding back something that he did not understand.
“No – no, it's – it's,” she sighed, wide-eyed, “No, it's my fault. The pride of the elves runs through my veins, there's no controlling it,” her eyes were glowing brighter now, glassy, wet, “I'm so sorry,” she cried. She sighed, regaining composure. Ferdraalil turned, rubbing her large eyes with the ivory palms of her delicate hands.
“So, where are you taking me?” Cameron sounded soft as ever, he felt a previously unknown compassion. It was strange to him, he had never thought it truly possible for two members of different races to truly share any sort of emotion and his thoughts reveled in this.
“I was a Wood Elf.”
“Pardon? I don't understand. You were a Wood Elf?” The duo walked down the dark chamber corridor.
“My people, nomads, trekked through this area fifty years ago. On the night that they chose to rest in the Shadow Wood, I was born. The Jabberwock razed their caravans, it destroyed everything that they held dear. The monster killed the Shaper, it killed my parents. I was shunned, abandoned amongst the humans of Hinderheim. It was said that I was the cause of the attack. I tore the group apart, I set fire to the caravans, I killed the Shaper, killed my parents. I was not a single day old when that hell-spawned wretch tore my life apart.”
Cameron felt sorry for her, he tried to force the thought of it, caring so much for something that wasn't human out of his head but it was too much, “Be calm, there are no grudges in this place, this monastery. Now, where are you leading me?” Cameron considered calling Ferdraalil his friend, but this too he attempted to force from his thoughts.
“The armory, for tonight we behead the Jabberwock of Shadow Wood.”
Cameron nodded lazily and rubbed his eyes, all light drained from the chamber. He opened his eyes, flooding the room with light once more, “What? No, nothing we can do can kill a Jabberwock. It's as foolhardy as attempting to outwit a dragon.” To the left, a stone archway lead to the armory. The walls were a faded rust color. Dull and ancient blades crafted of bronze, iron and stone lined the left and right walls. The vibrant red carpet kicked up clouds of dust upon being stepped on. An ivory altar sat at the far end of the room, it shone wisps of smokey, bluish light. Something, a statue perhaps sat atop this holy artifact. Cameron moved to the alter, filling the air with stagnant-tasting dust. He dropped at the foot of the altar, his armor clanged loudly, ringing as a bell when it toppled to the stone floor, “Do you know what this is?” he cried, “Holiest of relics, twas lost forever. Bane of evil.” It was a shining sword that stood atop the altar, half submerged in the rock.
“It's engraved in Elvish. It says only one word, 'vorpal,' it means 'singing.'”
“By the gods, it is – The Vorpal Blade!” Cameron pulled himself onto his feet, leaning over the altar. His eyes had stopped emitting their unearthly glow. The room was alive with wisps of smoke-blue. Something was emitting the scent of stale incense.
“Quickly! Take the blade and let us slay the Jabberwock!”
“Have you forgotten my task? I wish only to travel to Hinderheim. If you want to slay the creature out of spite, take the blade yourself.”
“It is locked within the stone,” smoke swirled around Ferdraalil's shining green eyes, “surely, only a paladin can free it.”
“Ferdra', are you using me? Is this the only reason why you followed me through eight miles of the thickest forest my eyes have ever shown me? This was all for your revenge, to what ends? Did you think that the Wood Elves, your clan, would come back and, what, forgive you? We both know that it won't happen. It will never happen!” Smoke filled the room, swirling, suffocating. The sword stood alone, the only visible thing in time and space.
“I followed you because I was lost. Living in the Shadow Wood for so many years, alone save the goblins, rats, birds and the monster that had killed the only family I had ever known and forced me into such an existence, I had become lost. I forgot who I was, alone, I found you, a paladin, alone, and I joined you. I was alone, all alone at fifty years. Should I live to the healthy age of one hundred and thirty, I will have wasted nearly half of my life alone in the damned Wood. I need someone, I need a family. I would gladly die in your name if you would do the same.”
“I feel for you, elf, more than I have for a member of any race save my own. It is not terribly significant to me, but in the face of such a holy artifact and such a weighty decision to make, I would gladly put my life before yours.” Cameron reached through the cerulean haze, grabbing at the leather-bound handle of the stone-locked blade. The golden phoenix hilt seemed to sing out loud, songs of a holy ouroboros, a never ending cycle of all things, two notes back-and-forth for infinity. His steely gauntlet caught the phoenix by it's tail and instinctively locked itself there, as if ordered by the bird itself. A sharp rearward pulled cleared the room of any smoke. Cameron toppled off of the altar, clanging onto his back. He worked onto his feet, sighed a deep groan of relief and looked down onto the magnificent blade in his hand.
Cameron swung the blade twice, then parried against the cold, subterranean air. The blade vibrated and hummed with invisible power. There was no sheath no scabbard for such a weapon in all of the armory, so Cameron placed the Vorpal Blade upon it's altar. The sword, now unbound from both its tomb and the hand of its master for the first time in centuries, shook wildly as it screeched out a deafening song. Ferdraalil doubled over in pain, clasping her hands over her ears, it was of no use. Cameron fell forward, to silence the singing weapon. The sword was still, calm in his steel-masked, boyish hands. He drew his old sword, the trusty stick passed down the order of Rheonesus, placing it upon the altar, holstering the Singing Sword within the newly vacant sheath. The blade purred gently in its new home and quickly became dormant.
The armory was dark, inkiness had swallowed the room whole. Ferdra' and Cameron could smell the thick slivers of rust hanging on the walls and the mossy groves of fungi clinging to the ceiling. The smoke had cleared and Ferdraalil's eyes took in every speck of light and cast it back into this new-found world of shadows.
“Ferdra', the Jabberwock must be slain tonight, no later.”
“So, you're with me then?” she cocked her head to the side.
“As long as we make it to Hinderheim tomorrow, I will fight alongside you.”
“I'm really happy to hear that, Cameron. Quickly then, take my hand, I'll guide you through this darkness.” Cameron and Ferdra' reached toward each other. Cameron's fingertips fell softly upon Ferdraalil's perfect skin. She blushed, visible in the faint glow of her irises. The young paladin had mistakenly laid his hand upon the elf's bosom. She smiled faintly, hidden by the enveloping blackness. She snatched his hand quickly and turned, pulling him through the chamber, toward the ladder.
Cameron stuttered, “I'm – I'm – I don't – – I'm sorry!” Ferdraalil spun him round, pushing his back into the wrought iron ladder with a loud clash of metal. She slowly pushed the cowl from his head. She was looking down on him, fiery green eyes piercing the all-encompassing world of shade.
She spun him around once more, secretly shaking her head as he climbed the ladder. Cameron was confused, he did not know what to think of his mistake or the wildly erratically behaving elf. Why had she not called him out on his folly? Was she not offended? What did she intend to do at the base of the ladder? Cameron's mind cultivated the ebb and flow of such ideas throughout his long, upward climb.
Cameron was sitting in one of the wooden chairs of the meeting hall, staring blankly at the altar that stood proud in the candlelight. Ferdraalil sat, dangling her legs over the edge of a table.
“Alright,” sighed Cameron, “how do we kill it?”
“You're a paladin, you have the Singing Sword, it should come naturally to you, shouldn't it?”
“How do we lure it in close enough for me to get a stab at it?” Ferdra' and Cameron sat deep in thought for a few moments.
“What do Jabberwocks like?”
“They're naturally driven toward sources of fear,” Cameron breathed.
“Huh, a trained paladin and a careless, elven rogue. I don't suppose that you're the least bit afraid by that thing, are you?” Ferdra' smiled, “Wait, what if we set a bonfire? Get it's attention and draw it in?”
“Where will we find firewood, we don't have all night to level the forest?”
“Isn't this just a big room of firewood?” At this moment, Cameron noticed just how much dry, useless, wooden furniture was in this place. “I have to grab some things before leaving for Hinderheim, there's a clearing due East, right under the full moon. Set the firewood there and I will meet you in a few moments,” Ferdra' disappeared behind the stone monument at the head of the room.
Cameron unsheathed the Vorpal Blade and began breaking up the furniture with a mighty 'whip-crack' as the sailing blade ionized the air around itself. The furniture flew into pieces, splintering wildly, becoming scorched in a few places. Cameron then carried the wood, load after load, up the ladder and into the Eastern clearing. Crows, owls, crickets and other beasts of the night called out from the trees. Somewhere a wolf called for its brothers. Carrying the tinder was back-breaking work, but Cameron didn't mind, even after he became sore from climbing the wrought iron ladder to the surface and back. When he was complete, he climbed atop the great, jagged mound of fire wood. Sitting, alone in the darkness, he pulled the hood over his head and waited for Ferdraalil to join him in the clearing. Cameron listened closely to the whispering wind. It was just about midnight. A dim light traveled through the treetops, bobbing slightly as it bounded between branches,
“Ferdra' is that you?” called Cameron. The light grew nearer, hitting the wood stack with force. A single flaming arrow set the bonfire ablaze, Cameron slid down the shifting stack of shattered lumber, escaping the embers. He could see the elf's eyes shining across the clearing.
Cameron and Ferdraalil lie in wait, the clearing shone light into the sky. Cameron leaned against an old oak tree, burgundy cloth pulled over his slumped head. The great fire made his shining armor dance with waves, flickers and flashes of streaming, glowing, orange forms. Occasionally, he unsheathed the blade just enough to read the elvish inscription, Vorpal. Ferdra' perched in a tree, eager, grinning. Her short hair was unbound, flying wildly in fiery wisps.
Unbeknownst to the pair, two riders were quick approaching. One rode on the long, striding legs of a shadow, cursing both the darkness and the light. It's hearty, robust beard hid the scowling maw of a bloodthirsty and royal warrior, it smelled wildly of gunpowder and brimstone. The second rider's steed was crafted of icy midnight air. Sickly pale and pallor flesh slipped through the atmosphere like a mass of rotted fish. Its blood-red eyes burned like an otherworldly fire, a gaping jaw stretched and flexed, flashing fangs of onyx and obsidian luster.
A blood curdling shriek shook the boughs of the forest and fanned the massive flames of the bonfire. Cameron grabbed at the talisman that hung beside the sword at his hip, a silent prayer passed over his lips. The sleek, flying beast appeared over the trees, fanning it's massive, grotesque wings. With a single, god-like beat of it's vascular wings, the Jabberwock extinguished the fire and sent ashes and embers flying in all directions. Cameron pulled his hood over the whole of this face for a moment as the scolding embers licked at his precious suit of armor.
“Come, demon, I mean to destroy you!” bellowed Cameron with the heart of a hero at such a young age. The mighty beast fanned its bat-like wings again, easing itself onto the pile of ashes that now stood in the clearing. Having landed, it waved its long, winding, reptilian neck in the wind. It was grinning a pitch-black smile through the dead of night. It hissed and howled, each of its sounds were like boiling venom radiating through the icy emptiness of Shadow Wood. The noise made Cameron tense up, his blood began feeling like ever-expanding steam for a moment, his heart raced. He shook these feelings and charged forward, grasping for the Vorpal Blade's golden hilt. He rolled left, dodging a spout of flames from the beast's maw. He struggled to his feet and charged again, raising the Vorpal Blade in his right hand. The glowing fog surrounded the blade. Cameron swiped at the beasts waves of scorching flame. Cameron's body was enveloped by the blue fog, he could not see, the Jabberwock could not see him. The misty aura swirled forming the shapes of elven runes and dwarven tools, strange letters and heavy hammers. The fog imbued itself within Cameron and he too now was glowing with the celestial light of the Singing Sword. He was not himself. He whispered something in elvish, something he did not understand.
Cameron lifted his left hand to the dragon and echoed, “Derrin Vorpal!” A blast of shining light flew from his palm, snapping like thunder as it moved. The orb of mystic energy stunned the mighty Jabberwock which reeled backwards, swinging its massive neck like a whip, turning up the mound of ashes on which it was standing. It screeched, howling in pain, luring the paladin in. Cameron charged forward, compelled by something more than himself. He shouted again, in elvish, “Ziguraan, Daemos!” The Vorpal Blade swung at the air, whip-cracking through explosions of blue haze. The Jabberwock crept backwards until its serpent tail beat at the massive trees of the forest, its neck was curled and prepared to strike at the top of the ashy mound. Cameron reached the summit of the hill and looked down on the legendary beast, curled upon itself, cowering. He shouted, “Sevvr'n, Daemos!”
The monster's head shot forward, snapping Cameron's midsection. He fought hard, but his death-grip on the holy weapon was broken. The mythril blade fell atop the fire-stack where it screamed, shrieking and singing for the hand of its master. The blade bellowed and chimed and enraged the Jabberwock. The beast flailed, throwing Cameron's limp body through massive tree trunks and into the dirt, dragging his exposed face through briars and over stone. Fully conscious, he begged his gods for forgiveness.
Ferdraalil lept from the trees behind the Jabberwock, firing a series of arrows, which bounced off of the monster's scales before she landed atop the beast. Grabbing and riding its flailing neck, Ferdraalil stabbed away at the hideous thing. Knives lay buried deep in its flesh, the Jabberwock did not stop fighting, it did not bleed. It screamed, muffled by the bit of food in its mouth. It was injured by the Singing Sword more than anything. The all-penetrating noise made it squirm, unable to fly, disoriented, scared, bloodthirsty. It flapped its wings, galloping about the clearing. Ferdraalil wrapped her arms around the pale, cold throat of the beast and attempted only to maintain her footing on its slippery scales. She hacked away at the unbleeding, unblinking thing, its eyes still like fire. Raw flesh seemed to peel away at the edge of the kukri, but there was no serious damage. It was unbelievable. Why would the beast not die? How could Cameron die like this, sobbing, begging for mercy? He was just a boy. The blade's note continually intensified, bringing the Jabberwock greater and greater pain. It tightened its jaws, Cameron could feel his ribs, all broken or on the brink. He lost consciousness for a split second, regaining it when the Jabberwock plunged him into the ashen pile. He wheezed, his lungs ached and blood flowed up with every strained breath. Ferdraalil was beginning to become pained by her position atop the quasi-dragon's neck, she was growing too sore to fight this losing battle. She grew misty-eyed as she became weary of this one-sided fight. She regretted involving Cameron into this horrific plot. She had cared so much about this damned revenge, what would it solve?
The Jabberwock whipped at the ashes with its forked tail, sending up a cloud of black dust, further shrouding the blackness of Shadow Wood. The Jabberwock was feeding off of Cameron and Ferdraalil's fear, draining the essence from their emotion. Both were now broken.
A black mane reared from the forest, before the Jabberwock. The rider dismounted, swinging forth a robust mass of wood and metal. The monster motioned its head toward this short, stout being and eyed his beard. The Dwarf's weapon exploded, a thousand little pellets of metal and splintering hardwood shot into the beast's eye. It screamed, louder than ever, it dropped Cameron on the dirty ground beside where the Vorpal Blade sat screaming in the moonlight. The massive creature shuddered with pain, it had never known such a violent sensation, Ferdraalil fell to the ground, limp.
Cameron felt the ground for his blade, grabbing it. He shone blueish, his unearthly strength returned to him. The Jabberwock had never come so close to death in thousands of years, faced with mortal fear for the first time in its life, the monster fled, panicked and crazy. It lashed its tail about as it flew clumsily, toppling forward as fast as it could. Standing at the mouth of the clearing, smelling of gunpowder, a mighty finger rested upon the trigger of an ancient Dwarven blunderbuss.

Cameron staggered. “Who the Hel' are you?” he asked, struggling to maintain his balance whilst motioning towards the stocky mass of beard and sinew before him.
A deep voice, thick and guttural, “I'm the dwarf that saved your life. I'm the dwarf who has come to slay that elven fiend.” Ferdraalil did not stir, she remained unconscious, face down in the ashen soil. The locks of her hair that remained unhidden by the soot looked like glowing red embers of a fire that once burned excitedly.
Cameron sighed, “What have you against her, dwarf? From what she tells me, she has not left this forest in near half a decade.”
“She feeds you lies,” the rotund thing snorted, “Monthly, she raids the great market at Helmforge. She is a thief!”
“How does one, an elf no less, manage to infiltrate the dwarven capital at Helmforge? Is the city not sequestered deep into the mountains of the Dwarven Ridge to the north?”
“Aye, we are well defended,” he smiled grimly, “She has found an entrance that was created either by accident or went purposefully unmapped by the ancients who carved the city from the matterhorn,” His smile turned to a look of disgust, “We have searched tirelessly but cannot find the vehicle for her intrusion, alas I have tracked her to this place and I will not let her leave.” An icy wind whistled through the leaves and hanging foliage overhead.
Cameron cleared his throat, “I owe her a life-debt,” he lied smoothly, “she saved my life and I am sworn to escort her to a destination in Hinderheim.”
The Dwarf snorted again, “I cannot allow that, warrior. She will die here and now!” The Dwarf reached into a burlap satchel that hung by his hip, drawing forth a cylindrical cloth parcel that was stuffed tight with a fine, black powder that floated out in dusty puffs and clouds. Cameron sharply drew his blade
“May the only blood drawn be that of my foe,”
The dwarf thumbed open the blunderbuss' hammer, sparks flew as ancient gears scraped past themselves. His obsidian black mare whinnied, rearing up on its hind legs, crazed.
“May my faith protect my body and soul,”
Cameron flourished his blade, swiping, slashing and waving through the wind at his side. The horse galloped about, its eyes shone with scarlet fear and anger and craziness. The dwarf was taken off guard by his frenzied beast of burden.
“May my blade down the enemy swiftly,”
The horse was gone, vanished into the cold, nighttime air with a loud whinny and the patter of powerful hooves. Cameron readied himself to run his fingertips down the silver blade. The dwarf slid his blackened cloth pack down the barrel of the blunderbuss, it landed at the base of the weapon's chamber with a dry, flat thump which forced a stream of the foul-smelling black dust out through the mouth of the ornate weapon.
“And deliver him to the depths below.”
The Vorpal blade hung inactive in Cameron's clutched fist. The dwarf pulled sharply upon the brass trigger of his weapon, violently expelling a torrent of flame and shrapnel which instantaneously tore through the air and dirty ground, stirring tattered leaves and scorched soil. The swirling air stank of a deathly, pungent smoke. Cameron hit the ground, rolling to his side, cradling the precious blade under his breast. He could feel R'tok, the god of war, present in his mind. The deity would not reward Cameron’s prayer this time, instead he would punish Cameron for taking his name in vain. R'tok's fury grew behind Cameron's eyes. The pressure in his head was constantly expanding, existence was a blur of red wisps of light and flashes of nothingness. Cameron’s perception of the world around him was all but a furiously vivid illusion. He swung his blade blindly, locking with the dwarven shotgun. He drew back, howling in pain, gripping his forehead in agony, reeling for a sideways blow against the stout gunman. His mind was too far gone, clubbed upon the head by the carved, walnut stock of the great firearm, Cameron felt himself drift smoothly into nothingness as his body landed hard upon the cold, moist ground with a violent crash of steel plates.
The dwarf spun his blunderbuss about his head, tucking it swiftly into a worn, leather scabbard on his back. He reached to his hip, drawing forth a hatchet. It was exotic-looking, hailing from an unconventional design, extremely lightweight. The silver blade drew myriad light from the dim, pre-dawn environment. The hatchet’s natural curves and contours shone like a lamp in the dark forest.
Cameron awoke to the sharp sound of a taut bowstring being released. He was dazed, he saw fuzzy, silver shapes dash about. Was Ferdraalil on her feet again? Where was the dwarf? The snap-explosion of the blunderbuss pulled Cameron back into reality. He smelled sharp, stinking smoke and something else, wild beasts, a menagerie, a pack of wolves. Silver wolves, their eyes glowing like amber gaslights. The twang of bowstring and the banging of gunshot did nothing to harm the beasts that were flooding into the clearing. Arrows and pellet-shot bounded from steely fur and leathery hides. Ferdraalil was alerted to Cameron’s consciousness upon hearing the Vorpal blade sing from its sheath.
She gestured, alarmed, to the hazy paladin, “Behind you!”
Cameron spun to his right, swinging the blade diagonally before him. The silver swept through the air, slicing a wolf, mid-lunge, across its chest. The wolf’s wound spat crimson blood before the mighty beast collapsed, snarling in its death throes. Cameron turned back to Ferdraalil and the dwarf, spinning his blade over in his hand while pulling the hood upon his head. He jumped forward, his sword caught the neck of a wolf that had leaped for Ferdraalil’s throat. Felling the wolf, he turned to find another, midair on its path toward Ferdraalil. Cameron thrust the Vorpal blade upward into the sly beast’s ribs, suspending its half-live carcass for a few moments before pulling his blade back with such a vigor as to shower himself, Ferdraalil, the dwarf and a handful of wolves in a sizable torrent of thick, red ooze,
Sun had begun to shine back through the forest, glinting off of the parts of Cameron’s armor that were not blotted out with blood. The surviving wolves made a hasty retreat as the silver blade that had slain their compatriots was raised above Cameron’s hooded head. As sunlight hit the bodies of the downed wolves, they shimmered with golden flecks and beams of glowing light. Cameron sheathed his sword and knelt beside one of the wolves, holding it up by its neck. The wolves shook, morphing grotesquely into human forms. A bloodied, naked man lay dying in Cameron’s arms, his eyes wandered for a infinitesimal second before he gasped dryly and died from the gaping hole in his chest.
“War-wolves,” spoke the dwarf, “I assure you, someone wants us dead; a mage or sorcerer with power beyond the fathom of normal beings.”
“If someone, supernatural, is gunning for us, perhaps my contacts in Hinderheim will prove more than valuable. Let us make haste to my destination, Ferdra’,” Cameron began to walk, he could see the mouth of the forest gleaming with fresh daylight.
“Hold!” commanded the dwarf, “You, paladin, told me that you were escorting the elf to Hinderheim, that you owed her a life-debt. Now we head for your destination? You have lied to me, haven’t you paladin?”
“Aye, that I did. I lied. I am a liar for the sake of saving the seemingly innocent. You attempted to kill us both and I prevented that-”
“The war-wolves prevented that,” snorted the dwarf.
“They would have killed all three of us had Cameron not driven them back!” Ferdraalil shouted.
The dwarf sighed with a shallow grunt, “The daylight drove them back, thief.”
“Whatever the case may be,” Cameron said, “our fates are now drawn together like threads into the rope of a seafarer’s vessel. We mustn’t fray now, not before ensuring our safeties.”
“Paladin, when our safeties are ‘ensured,’ may I collect my debt from the elf?” the dwarf furrowed his wide brow.
“When we have undeniable proof that there is no magic-user set on murdering us, you may settle this business on your own,” Cameron nodded to Ferdraalil, she smiled back at him.
The dwarf agreed, “So am I bound to uphold this pact.”
The group of newfound allies walked forward and out of the forest unhindered, the lush green grasslands stretched out in all directions. Great mountains sat on the horizon to the north and south. To the east, nestled between the meeting of the mountains, sitting atop a stony plateau was the walled city of Hinderheim. Bisecting the city’s profile and wrapping around the northern plain was the Daemonfjord, whose ice-cold, crystalline waters cut through the Dwarven Ridge.
“What am I to call the dwarf whom aims to kill me?” laughed Ferdra’
The dwarf growled, “I am the thane of Helmforge. My name is for my brothers and sisters and for none that I do not love. You will call me Thane.”
“Thane of Helmforge? I had no clue that we were in the midsts of royalty,” spoke Cameron, ”Perhaps you would like to seek the baron of Hinderheim? I’m sure that he and the baroness would be enthusiastic to speak with you.”
“Nay, my goal is set before me and I do not wish to delay my return to Helmforge.”
“So be it,” sighed Ferdraalil with sneer, “you shall have my head before morning breaks, should things go accordingly.”
It was the middle of the season, Heraspriggan, the time of rebirth. The snow, ice and death brought forth by the season, Helnacht, had melted away and left nearly all of Midgard (Orc’land, Far-North and the Dwarven Ridge excluded) coated in lush, green, flowering grasses that would soon bloom to turn every field and hillside into a magnificent canvas of vibrant colors across the pleasant half of the visible spectrum. Cameron walked with long, powerful strides; knee-high in the verdant foliage. His arms were flexed, his hands resting behind his head. He leaned back, sucking in the clean air. His lungs still ached with every breath and he was still coated in filth, ash and blood, but he thought it nice to be out of Shadow Wood, it was nice to not be fighting. He pulled his hood back and grinned, his pale face and dark, wind tossed hair were drowned in the bright, early morning sunlight.