Troll Bridge (4 Dec 2001) Tom and companions meet a stranger at the edge of the Golden Woods.

On the Road
Past Pendleton, there are no more villages until one reaches the Golden Woods, and with their recent darkening, it would take a brave merchant indeed to dare them in search of the rich and exotic wares to be found in faraway lands. There are, however, farms that shiver in the clutches of winter, fields covered with a layer of frost, herds shut into their barns, and smoke wisps from their chimneys to vanish into an amazingly clear sky. There is not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the sun strikes sparks off of the branches of trees.

At dawn, Thomas set out on horseback with his friends Simon and Rachel, and a guide from the House of November, a long-winded but deferential bark-skinned fellow by the name of Abercrombie. A messenger hawk, hooded, fidgeted on Abercrombie's leather-padded shoulder, drawing the looks and admiration of some farmers heading home.

"Hope this spell o' cold won't run on too long," said the older of the two farmers, a hunch-backed and dark-skinned sort of fellow with fur curling down from the bottom of his fore-arms and thighs. "'Twas a good harvest so we'd plenty of stores, an' now that there're some as didn't think it'd be so long a winter are runnin' a mite low, there're good prices to be had, but all the same, if it weren't for that I don't like to see anyone go hungry, I'd have as soon as kept 'em against lean years."

The younger farmer sniffed at the wind and agreed. "If this keeps up, Ancient, we'll be eatin' boot leather, an' glad to have that. Well, fine lookin' hawk you have there, boys. Maybe he'll catch you some rabbit for lunch, eh?"

As the farmers were in no hurry to get home, Thomas soon passed them by, but a mile down the road, some inner thought nagged at him as he looked at where the dirt path went between two hills, lightly screened by trees and smaller bushes. What could be wrong?

Thomas' fingers tap lightly upon the saddlehorn. His brow furrows in thought, "Okay, Tom. You've learned to trust this feeling. Something is setting it off. But, what?" He nudges his horse sideways a bit and gazes toward the hills, scanning over the bushes on one side, eyes paying close attention to any shadows being cast.

Whatever is causing the feeling doesn't seem to be very close, for the brush and trees within sight don't seem to be concealing anything. But with the way the hills curve, Thomas's line of sight does not go far.

Thomas tugs lightly on the reins, getting his horse to turn sideways so he can address the others. "Okay, everyone, listen up," he says. "Something is not right here. It looks safe enough, but it doesn't feel right. You see how the path goes through those hills just ahead? That's an almost perfect ambush point. Stage people on either side, buried in the brush. Let the people get between, the assault on both sides. If they're spread wide enough, they can even close off escape in either direction. It may take longer, but I think we should go around. Opinions?"

Simon looks up at this from where he was trying to find a more comfortable seating on his horse. "You think--" He peers at the hills which seem innocuous to his eyes, shrouded in snow as they are. "You're the boss, Tom, but I hate to think what Boris's going to do to my backside going over countryside and not a nice, flat road."

"Agreed," Rachel says, reining in her mount. "It is a good spot for a trap. Yet -- who would be seeking to ambush us? Bandits? Or someone who knows of our errand?" She frowns.

"I think something's wrong. A distant, odd, sensation," Thomas replies to Simon. "We don't have to stay off the trail long, just long enough to bypass the hills lining the path. I don't like being boxed in." He then nods to Rachel and says, "Well, we aren't exactly inconspicuous out here. Not many travel with a hawk, for one. For two, we look like we might be wealthy, or at the very least off to someplace important. We go around." Thomas then nudges his horse to head off the path and to walk toward the outer side of one of the hills.

The bark-skinned fellow shrugs from atop his horse, which has another horse tethered to it for Hannah's use if-- when the foursome find the wayward daughter of November. "As they are bandits, it seems to me that they should be following one of the chief imperatives of bandits, which is to say, they may be seeking prey upon which to practice their trade; to wit, the seizure of property to sell, and life to ransom," he says dryly. It is impossible to imagine a ten-year-old who would put up for long with his speech, but perhaps this explains something of Hannah's abrupt departure.

Simon grimaces as he works this out. "Either way, it's bad news for us."

Some time passes as Tom skirts the hills, the sounds of the horses muffled by a layer of snow on the ground. It seems quiet and peaceful at first, but them Tom's trained eyes catch sight of some silhouettes up on the hilltops... There seems to be a lookout, up in the branches of a tree, and then there are three other bandits crouched low in the brush. The lookout is scanning up and down the trail, as best as Tom can make out, and the three bandits are inattentive, as they are gathered around a small fire, playing cards. They would be ineffective against a caravan with armed guards, but against farmers with their wagons in ones and twos.... At any rate, the bandits are completely oblivious to Tom's presence.

Thomas reins back a bit and motions for the others to stop and remain silent. He digs into his pack and pulls out a piece of paper and pen. Quickly, he sketches out the area, and a rough guess as to the winding of the path and distance to the bandits. He marks down the location of the lookout and the camp in detail and then jots down a guess as to how many bandits are in the area. The map is soon tucked away and Thomas motions for them to continue on until they're a safe distance from the bandits.

This action draws Abercrombie's curious look, but the tree-man is wise enough not to speak about it. Instead, the four proceed down the snowy countryside, skirting the hills until they see the trampled dirt of the path ahead of them once more. From here, the path goes past several more farms, and then crosses a bridge across a frozen river before reaching the Golden Woods, visible now as a thin line of trees along the horizon.

"Did you want to ask me something, Abercrombie?" Thomas asksas his eyes scan the tree line ahead.

"Yes, milord, I was curious as to why you had chosen to annotate a map with the location of the bandits' campsite," Abercrombie replies.

Thomas looks back for a moment and smiles. "Well, so that I can provide such information to the Houses, should they desire to clear out the bandits, of course," he replies. "In any event, should we need to send for help, we can send the map along so that any help that may follow will know what to avoid."

Abercrombie nods. "Ah. Of course. A wise precaution, milord."

The dark-haired girl shows her own approval for Thomas's thought with a smile.

Thomas turns his attention back to the road ahead, scanning over the farms they will have to pass through. "Hopefully, the farmers here will have some information before we move on," he thinks. "And one more possibility is that Hannah may have joined the bandits to survive. A very remote possibility, but should we find no evidence in the forest, we may with to backtrack to them and observe. Anyway, let's head on to the farms and ask the villagers about the forest ahead, eh?"

The farms ahead seem to be inhabited, judging from the smoke curling from their chimneys, but the doors and windows are tightly shuttered. Long and plain faces peer out through round-cut holes in the shutters at Thomas and his friends as they ride down the road.

Thomas dismounts once they reach the farmhouses and approaches the closest one. He knocks lightly on the door. "Good day my dear fellows, we are on our way to the old Keep that lies within the forest ahead. We've heard tales of dangers that lurk upon the way. If you would be so kind, would share with us any knowledge you may have of the forest with us?" he asks, smiling amiably.

"Eh? Who's asking?" a querulous old voice says, belonging to a matron who must be in her eighties.

Rachel and the others of the party wait a distance back, to make the group less intimidating to the farmhouse dweller.

"Ah, pardon my manners. The ride has apparently beaten them out of me. I am Thomas, late of House November and of the Golden Hawks. My companions are Rachel Antoine of the Golden Hawks, Abercrombie of House November, and Simon, a trusted friend. Who are you, if I may ask?" Thomas asks.

"Golden Hawks, eh? And ye'll be having one o' them fancy medallions as says you're a Golden Hawk, and not some of them nasty bandits come to trick us out o' food an' drink?" the old woman says, looking distrustful. "Haven't seen a Golden Hawk out on this road since I was a wee sprout!"

"I'm afraid I have nothing to prove what I say, milady," Thomas replies and steps away some so the woman can get a full look at him. "I left the Golden Hawks ages ago. I cannot say if Rachel would carry any such symbol of the Golden Hawks. But, you have seen a Golden Hawk before? May I ask when, and who, it was?"

The old woman shrugs. "Oh aye, it must have been half a Year ago, time and time out o' memory, an' he'd have been a messenger, sayin' as Hawksmoor'd gone and fallen out of touch. He stopped about askin' questions, if we'd seen or heard o' Golden Hawks from the woods, an' then he was on his way, with a face long as this," and she pulls a long, sad face as if to show what it was like. "Us farmers, we don't go in them woods anymore, not since those bandits sprouted up like weeds, an' they say dark things howl in them woods at night."

"Did he give his name?" Thomas asks. "And do you ever remember seeing a young lady pass by this way? It would have been some time ago."

"A young lady? Mister Thomas, two young ladies have I got in this house alone and I canna say how many o' the neighbors have sprouts o' their own," the old woman scolds. "How should I know what young lady ye mean when yer askin' after one?"

"A lady from one of the Houses. Dark hair with red edges, probably a bit wild in behavior and adventurous," Thomas explains. "It's important. We're trying to discover what became of her for Lord November."

This seems to catch the old woman's memory. "Ah! Such the precious li'l one, I remember her, 'twas when I was young, and a wild one was I." She chortles. "Aye, she stayed a little time, for that she was cold and hungry and in need o' food an' shelter, and that we had to spare, an' she'd help out about the farm. Hannah, that was her name, an' she was a tomboy like I was, always in and about everything. Aye, we used to tease the bridge troll so horribly..." She laughs. "Ach, an' look to me now, scolding my own wee ones for the same sins."

Thomas laughs softly. "Things always look different as time go by, I'm afraid. What became of Hannah?" he asks gently.

"Ah, farming was not for her, she was like one o' them horses ye're riding," the old woman says mournfully. "Too fine for hard work an' life close to the soil. She said as to how we'd been wonderful, but it was time she went on to Hawksmoor." She nods to the forest. "Like as not she went on to one o' the faraway lands the storytellers are always tellin' us about, where dragons roam free an' wild things lurk."

Thomas chuckles softly and nods. "It must run in House November. Something about the freedom of the road," Thomas thinks, then smiles. "Thank you for your time. I'm certain Lord November will be glad to learn Hannah made it this far. I wish you well, milady," Thomas says, smiling amiably. He bows slightly, then turns and heads back towards the others.

"Don't you milady me, you, I'm just a common farmwife," the old woman scolds. "Get on with ye, young lord!"

"We are all the same underneath our trappings," Thomas calls back. Once he reaches the others, he doesn't say anything immediately. Instead, he digs out another sheet of paper and jots down a map of this area, circling the farmhouse he was just at. Beside it, he notes down the things the old woman told him, and roughly when it must've been. Finally, he looks up and says, "Sorry. Wanted to get that down while it was fresh in my mind. How're you all doing? Simon, Rachel, Abercrombie?"

"I hurt all over," Simon complains. "It might have taken longer to walk, but I'm pretty sure I'd have hurt less. So did you find anything out?"

Abercrombie replies dryly, "As you have only been gone a short time in converse with the charming and loquacious locals of this province, my state of being has not greatly altered from what it was before, milord, and that is to say, I am ready to ride on."

Rachel smiles. "I am well, my lord. I've always liked to travel -- that's why I wanted to be a Hawk. Are we pressing on today?"

"Indeed we are. Sorry, Simon," Thomas replies as he mounts his steed carefully, wincing slightly as he settles back into the saddle. He says, "Hannah has been this way, albeit some time ago. The old woman remembers her well. Said she and her used to tease the troll that guarded the bridge back then. Hannah eventually left and headed on towards Hawksmoor, so onward we must go. And oh, the woman's children also tease a troll, so we'd best be alert as we approach the bridge."

The foursome move carefully down the trail, keeping an eye out, and follow the path down a slight slope to within a stone's throw of the bridge, which seems a rustic stonework thing that arches over a brook which has been completely iced over, and is perhaps twenty feet from shore to shore at its narrowest point. So far there's no sign of a troll. Some hundred feet or so away from the bridge start the first sentinels of the Golden Woods, oaks that would normally be the monarchs of any forests Thomas knows, but are here dwarfed by their greater cousins behind them. The Golden Woods have a curiously dark aspect about them, shadier than would seem possible with the sunlight reflecting off the ice-frosting of the trees.

In the distance on the other side of the bridge, a lone figure can be seen walking along the path towards the group. Not much can be seen of the figure at this distance, except that it is shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak and carries a pack slung across one shoulder. Its step is slow, weary almost, but it continues towards the bridge.

Thomas rides slightly ahead of the others and waves to the figure. "Hail, my friend. I am Thomas," Thomas calls out. "We are headed into those woods behind you. If you have come from there, may we take some of your time to learn what lies ahead?"

Thomas's voice is distant for carrying across the brook to the faraway person ... but it evidently reaches someone much closer, for there is the sound of something heavy shifting under the bridge.

The explorer pulls the reins back, bringing the horse to a halt. "Well, there's the troll," he thinks. "Let's hope it's relatively friendly."

At the sound of Thomas' voice, the cloaked figure halts. It raises its head in his direction and appears to study him for a moment. Finally, it calls back, "I have indeed come from these woods, but I am not so sure that I would recommend anyone else going into them. To where do you journey?"

Indeed, it seems as if there is a bridge troll about, and he must have been napping, for as Tom watches, twin arms covered in unkempt fur stick out of both sides of the arch of the bridge, as if someone down there were stretching out to yawn, and to match that, there is a huge intake of air that shivers the ground faintly.

"Hawksmoor," Thomas shouts back, nudging his horse to back up some distance from the bridge. "I have business there."

Rachel keeps a tight rein on her own mount, the horse growing antsy at the nearness of the troll. She lets the animal take a few steps sideways, keeping a safe distance from the bridge's guardian.

The sight of hairy arms appearing from underneath the bridge seems to have stopped the figure from advancing any further just at present. Instead, it stands where it is, appraising the situation. However, it replies guardedly, "Are you a member of the Golden Hawks, then, since Hawksmoor is what you seek?"

Simon says, "I don't mean to be a bother, Tom, but uh, you've noticed there's a troll under that bridge, right?"

Thomas glares back at Simon, saying, "Of course I've noticed. Why do you think I've been backing up?" He then turns his attention back forward, eyes on the bridge. "Was a member in times past. A long time past," he calls back. "I need to visit the old archives there. I need some old journals I left there."

The younger boy holds his hands up in an attempt to placate. "Just checking!"

Thomas glances back at the others. "I think we could cross the water directly. Let's split and each cross on separate sides of the bridge. Hopefully, it'll confuse the troll," he says to the others.

The outstretched arms curl back in under the bridge, and there is a sound audible even from this distance of scratching. "Nnyarrghh!" comes the utterance of the creature beneath the bridge, and then it pokes its grosteque head out from under the bridge, exposing a shaggy beast with sunken eye sockets and tiny, cold eyes. "Nnnaagghplh!" it exclaims, drool spattering from the tips of its long fangs against the ice where it freezes instantly. There are long claws on the end of its paws, like icicles.

"I don't like the looks of that thing," Simon mutters, though he does seem to be eyeing the brook as if to find the farthest and safest course to take. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Rachel doesn't look as convinced as Lord Thomas that the ice will support the weight of herself and her mount, but she's willing to give it a shot at his direction. She nods to Tom, and brings her horse about, riding him along the left bank, away from the bridge. About ten yards off, she tries to coax her skittish mount to try the ice.

Despite the sudden emergence of the creature from underneath the bridge, the cloaked figure starts towards it once again, rummaging in its pack as it comes closer. "Don't frighten it any more than you can avoid," it shouts quickly. "I may be able to help!"

Thomas raises up his hand and shouts to the others, "Hold up a moment, everyone. Let's see what the stranger may be able to do before we risk the ice."

Abercrombie nods. "It would seem most prudent to avoid a course of action where, should the troll prove sufficiently fast, one of us might fall to his claws, and thus provide him the toll that he evidently craves," he says soberly. The bark-skinned man shades his eyes as he looks across the bridge at the distant person.

The stranger finally reaches the other side of the bridge, albeit at a full run. Stopping near the bank of the brook, the figure holds out something in its hand towards the troll, waving it enticingly. "Now, now," the stranger croons in a soothing voice, "look what I have here for you!"

Rachel halted her mount, at the words of the tutor and the person on the opposite bank, and now waits to see if the stranger's bribe will be acceptable to the troll.

"Muuurr?" The troll turns about from the noisy strangers to the other one, then begins to shamble toward the cloaked person.

Thomas sits motionless upon his horse, his eyes locked on the stranger. "Interesting ploy," he thinks, "If this person can lure it off, we can cross over quickly and safely."

Simon looks over at Tom. "New plan?"

Thomas nods and says, "Once it gets a decent distance from the bridge, we cross. Quickly."

Now that the figure is close enough to the bridge, one can see that it is not as mysterious as it once appeared - merely a traveler in a long gray cloak, looking to be just about Thomas' height. The stranger keeps its eyes focused on the troll, but continues to wave the object in its hand. "Hungry this winter, Sir Troll? I'm sure you must be. Perhaps this would help?"

Thomas squints, trying to make out more details of this stranger.

The troll moves faster toward the stranger.... It's hard to judge how fast at this distance but it doesn't look like acomfortable speed for playing keep-away. "Mrrrg! Marf, pleeg, oot!"

Thomas taps the saddlehorn nervously. "Careful, there," he says under his breath. "That thing is faster than it looks."

In response to the new plan, Rachel's horse picks its way back along the bank to the bridge, nostrils flared and head shaking with nervousness.

Seeing that the troll is moving towards it at a faster pace, the stranger places what it had in its hand on the ground in front of it and starts to back away slowly. "That's right, it's all for you. Don't be afraid, you can have it...."

"Okay, everyone. Once it looks safe enough, I want all of you to head across quickly. I'll go last," Thomas tells the others.

With a gleeful purring, the troll pounces upon the object left in the snow! It begins crunching it up, paying no heed to the stranger's movement ... for the moment.

"Now!" Thomas says firmly. "Go!"

Simon gives Rachel a quick "After you?" look. A plaintive one, really, since he doesn't appear ready to take the lead in any feats of horsemanship.

The stranger keeps backing away, but at the same time it rummages around in its pack for another morsel to appease the beast with, just in case it finishes the first one too quickly....

Rachel needs no further encouragement. She tucks her heels into her horse and it springs forward, almost involuntarily, across the bridge. As soon as it is over, it ducks off the path, cutting an even wider berth around the already distant troll.

Abercrombie follows next, tugging on the tether to the riderless horse to urge it to follow, and then Simon manages to guide his horse into a gallop close on his heels. "Who-o-oaa!" comes a distant cry, the jester apparently trying to manage the trick of slowing downwithout going head over heel into the snow banks on the far side.

What was left in the snow for the troll doesn't last long, unfortunately, and the troll looks up again with a scattering of snow over its fur around its mouth and paws. "Marf, pleeg, oot?" it says hopefully, looking at the cloaked figure moving away slowly. It begins to move closer again.

"You're up, Tom ol' boy," Thomas mutters to himself, hands gripping the reins tightly. "I hope the stranger has some more food to distract it," he thinks, nudging his horse to approach and cross the bridge slowly and quietly.

The cloaked figure stops again as the troll moves forward, holding up the second treat in its hand. As tense as this situation is, the stranger's next words seem almost light-hearted. "One last morsel, then, and perhaps you'll allow us to be on our way, eh, Sir Troll?"

The troll perks up and springs toward the figure, almost cub-like in its enthusiasm. Unfortunately, she not having gotten very far away, this means that the troll's all but within snapping distance of the stranger before she's had a chance to finish what she was saying.

Thomas snaps the reins, accelerating the horse across the bridge. His eyes narrow and he thinks, "Better get over there now so we can defend this stranger. It's the least we can do."

Seeing the troll closing in quickly, the stranger cuts the last sentence short and tosses the last morsel over its head - where it lands on the opposite bank of the brook, well away from Thomas.

Having reined in her own horse after its dash to the far bank, Rachel wheels it about. She evidently has the same thought Tom does -- ride to the stranger's aid -- but her horse doesn't appear to want any part of the plan.

Thomas rides his horse in a wide arc to position himself such that he can ride against the troll almost head-on. He pulls the reins back slightly and slows the horse once he sees the item the figure threw arc through the air. "Wait a moment; let's see if it falls for that," he thinks.

"MARLP! OOG!" yelps the troll as it whips around and bounds after the chunk of venison jerky, its foot-claws leaving deep furrows in the ice.

Abercrombie doubles back as well, but appears to find similar trouble in getting both his own horse and the spare to cooperate. "Easy, girl!" he calls to the spare mount.

As soon as it is clear that the troll is actually in pursuit of the meat, the stranger wheels around and heads towards the others at a fast pace.

Thomas grins. "Nicely done," he says to the stranger as it approaches. He pats the horse gently on the neck and looks back at the others and says, "To the forest edge! Hopefully, if we're out of sight, it'll quickly forget us." He waves to the stranger to follow, then nudges his horse toward the woods.

There's a whinny from where Simon must have gone, and his voice cries, "Whooaa-- oof!" It seems as if he's fallen off his horse. Again. Fortunately it's just over the snow bank, and reasonably out of sight of the troll.

Laughing in response to Thomas' compliment, the stranger nods and starts after the group without hesitation.

Tom keeps heading toward the forest, hoping Simon heard the plan to go to the woods and out of sight.

"To the forest edge, Simon," Thomas says as he rides, hoping Simon will hear.

Ahead of the others, in the outskirts of the forest, a younger brown-haired fellow chases after his skittering horse's reins. Chunks of snow adhere to his cloak and sleeves, telltale evidence that he'd fallen to the ground quite recently. "Behave, Boris!" he snaps.

The troll's gleeful purring becomes more distant as Tom rides and the stranger runs after the others to the edge of the forest. Eventually, there is a very faint "Oot?" and then silence.

The Golden Woods
Normally the sight of these woods would fill a traveler's heart with awe to see the enormous golden-barked trees that stand easily twenty times a man's height, but now there is a feeling of dread about them, to see their branches weighted down with snow almost to the breaking point, ice-frosted shadowy creepers winding their ways from massive branch to branch, curtains of vines obscuring paths. It is as if darkness and age has befallen these woods, and with winter settled in, signs of life are few.

Now that the immediate danger is past, the stranger takes a moment to throw back the hood of its cloak - revealing the face of a teenaged girl. She grins up at the others. "Well now, that whole scenario took me back some years. Never thought I'd get the chance to go troll-baiting again!"

Thomas pulls the reins back and eases the horse to a stop. Carefully, he dismounts and looks around for the others. "Well, that was an adventure, I must say," he comments, grinning. He turns to the girl and bows slightly, saying, "Hannah of House November, I presume? I am Thomas, Late of the Golden Hawks and of House November."

Abercrombie blanches, the sap running from his face to leave it pale as birch. "By the Word of God! Have I let the Lord's daughter be in danger from a troll, and I raised not so much as a dirk in her defense?" He studies the young woman's face, finding quickly the resemblance in her hair and eyes, and all but falls off his horse to kneel.

At the sudden mention of her name - which she did not think Thomas had any knowledge of! - the girl stops dead in her tracks, looking at him sharply. "How ... how is it that you know my name?"

Simon blinks and gives Tom a funny look, as if wondering just the same thing.

Her horse well in hand again, Rachel brings up the rear, studying the strange girl curiously.

The girl's head now swivels in Abercrombie's direction. Her brow lowers in concentration, as if trying to piece together a long-forgotten memory....

Thomas digs into a side pouch and holds out the House November signet ring to Hannah. "Because your father asked me to find out what became of you," Thomas replies. "I apologize for startling you."

Hannah looks back to Thomas now, and the ring. At the sight of it, her expression softens. She holds out a trembling hand to take it, but looks at Thomas questioningly first, searching for some sign of permission from him to hold it.

"Go ahead," Thomas encourages, smiling.

Hannah takes it from him slowly, as if expecting it to disappear if she handles it less than carefully. She turns it over in her hand a few times, examining it, but at length she closes her fingers around it and smiles gently. "It is my father's ring," she says softly, almost to herself. "He uses it to seal his letters...." She then looks at Thomas. "I remember," she says simply, but by the look on her face, this seems to be a happy declaration for her.

Thomas nods. "It's used to impress a seal upon wax when sealing a letter," Thomas says softly. "He's been worried sick about you, Hannah. He never stopped looking for you. Where have you been?" He sifts his stance some and eases his cloak back, watching Hannah.

Trembling with emotion, Abercrombie gets up slowly. "We, ah, the Lord Explorer Thomas's foresight led us to bring a spare mount in the happy event that we discovered you inthe forest," he says, and unties the tether of the riderless horse and offers it with a bow to Hannah. "Oh, Lord November will be so overjoyed to see his daughter safe and sound back home!"

Hannah looks to Abercrombie again, but this time the light of recognition is in her eyes and she smiles at him. "I am so sorry that I did not recognize you at first, old friend, but so much time has passed...." She accepts the tether falteringly, but turns her attention back to Thomas. "I am sure that my father has been worried, as long as I have been gone! But I do have my reasons - if you will hear them before we go any further?" Her expression darkens somewhat. "I believe that there are some things about Hawksmoor that you would be interested in hearing."

"I am sure you are right," Rachel answers. She slides down from her horse, curious to hear the other woman out.

Again, Thomas nods. "Take the all time you need, Hannah. The more I know of my old outpost, the better," Thomas says. Briefly, he glances back at Simon and Rachel, then returns his attention to the now found fey.

Simon finishes dusting snow off himself and takes firm hold of Boris's reins, leading him back around. He glances over to Thomas, then grins a bit, seeing that everything is apparently well enough.

The auburn-haired girl pats the neck of the horse that was offered to her, seeming to think a bit before replying. "I do not know how long all of you have been gone from Hawksmoor Keep," she begins, "but it is not the great outpost that it once was. It is unfortunately cut off from the rest of the lands of Mirari now by the evil that has chosen to make its home here in the Woods." She frowns, thinking how best to continue.

"Fourteen Years," Thomas tells the girl. "Fourteen Years since I last saw the Keep. Since I left the Golden Hawks in the hands of Randall." He shrugs, trying to clear away an unpleasant memory and says, "Please, continue."

Rachel glances between Thomas and Hannah for a moment, as if considering something. The raven-haired girl's expression is sober, tinged with sorrow, as her eyes settle on Hannah again, listening to her tale.

Hannah shoots Thomas a strange glance at the mention of a "Randall," but she picks up the thread of the story. "I'm not sure if you have noticed it, but these Woods are darker now, more ... dangerous than in Years past. I did not know what had happened to them myself, at first, but when I reached Hawksmoor a Year ago, I learned the reason." Her eyes glint with anger. "A Dark Witch has taken up residence here. She is said to be a mistress of illusions, leading unwary travelers astray with her deceptions. To make matters even worse, bandits have followed her to the Woods, killing or robbing those she does not dispose of herself. These two evils combined have made the Woods all but impassable ... and it has served to cut off Hawksmoor Keep from those who would reach it ... or from those who would travel away from it."

Abercrombie listens with a worried face.

Thomas looks back at Rachel curiously. The look is rather short lived, as the mention of a witch taking residence at Hawksmoor draws his attention back. "A witch has taken residence in the fortress which I helped design? The fortress I said farewell to all those I knew and cared for?" Thomas asks, his eyes narrowing. He takes in a deep breath, looking back to the others. "I think I must continue on. You'll have to help Hannah get home to her father without me. Good thing I made those maps. They'll help bypass the dangers we uncovered on the way." He shakes his head and looks back to Hannah, expression pained. "I apologize; I shouldn't interrupt you like that. How did you escape? What happened?"

Abercrombie nods, about to say something, before hearing the Lord Explorer apologize for interrupting.

Rachel sets her jaw, but doesn't comment yet, waiting to see what Hannah will add to her story.

Hannah looks at each of the others in turn. "This is why I could not return to my father. Once I reached the Keep a Year ago - and the way was not easy, even for a lone traveler such as myself who took great pains not to be noticed - the Explorers did not wish for me to risk my life again in going back to tell others of our situation." Her gaze settles on Thomas. "You can take comfort in this, at least - the witch has not been able to get into the Keep. She hides in the surrounding Woods, instead - with some of the brigands possibly guarding her."

Tom nods quietly. "Good. How did you finally make it out? Sneak past?" he asks.

Hannah's eyes sparkle a bit at the mention of sneaking past people. "Aye, that I did. Though there are many dangers in these Woods, I was willing to risk them again in order to find help for those of us in the Keep."

The bark-skinned fellow opens and closes his mouth a few times. "Milady, it goes beyond luck and into the realm of miracle that you have both arrived in and left Hawksmoor Keep in the face of such dangers!" he bursts out. "Milord Explorer, I beg you, let us all return to Lord November, and there, he may raise an army of such soldiers against whom no witch nor bandits might stand. You should not risk your own safety in an ill-advised adventure!"

"It goes beyond luck or miracle, yes," Rachel says, her voice steely. "It speaks of skill and talent."

Thomas walks back to his horse and unstraps the longsword from the saddle. Quickly, he straps the scabbard to the belt around his waist, securing it in place. "I always swore I'd never leave anyone behind, Abercrombie. It is my duty to go to their aid. If Hannah was willing to risk her life to go for help, I most certainly cannot turn my back on them. No one said anyone had to follow me," Thomas explains firmly, then looks back to Hannah. "How many are still in the keep? Who are they?" he asks.

Ever since the mention of a "Randall" and the phrase "fourteen years ago," Hannah has gazed at Thomas in a quietly wondering way, but now she speaks again. "Four of the Golden Hawks and twenty soldiers of the Royal Guard still remain there, living off the land as best they can," she says. "But perhaps I can suggest an alternate plan for clearing the Woods of the evil it hides ... Lord Explorer Thomas, founder of the Golden Hawks?"

"Indeed," Thomas says firmly with a nod, "That is why I must go to their aid." He pauses and considers Hannah's statement. He glances at the others, then back to Hannah. "Since you are much more familiar with the current area and events than I, I am most certainly willing to hear your plan, Hannah."

Hannah's jaw drops at Thomas' off-handed acknowledgement of her challenge as to his identity, but she manages to recover. "So you really are the Lord Explorer?" she asks softly. "Capable of finding things, as the legends tell?"

"It really does run in the House, doesn't it?" Thomas asks Simon and Elinor. He turns to face Hannah again and nods. "You father is just as disbelieving. As much as I was, in fact. Fourteen Years of being trapped in the mortal realm with shattered memories made me just as suspicious of myself. Jack surely did something horrible to me." He pauses, then says firmly, "I am the Lord Explorer, founder of the Golden Hawks. And though the stories might exaggerate it, yes, I am capable of finding nearly anything."

Simon nods wisely. "Even stray kittens," he quips.

Hannah offers a quick, lop-sided grin to Simon in response to that statement, but sobers once again. "Then if Lord Explorer you be," she says, just as firmly, "finding the Dark Witch's lair should not be beyond you. Once found, her enchantments could be ended - once and for all."

"Understood," Thomas says, looking serious. "This will be dangerous. No one has to travel with me. If you wish to return to House November, I'll duplicate my maps I made along the way so you can get back fairly safely. Of course, if all of you insist on going, we can still send word back to House November with the hawk, informing him of the situation and provide maps we have thus far."

Abercrombie says somberly, "My first responsibility is to see Lady Hannah to her father's side safely, milord Explorer. He would never forgive me should I allow her to be exposed to additional risks and hazards."

Rachel chuckles. "Do you honestly think you can get rid of me so easily, my lord?" she asks Thomas, teasingly.

"Hey, we're in this together," Simon assures Tom.

"Hannah can decide for herself. She survived out here for a Year without you," Thomas tells Abercrombie.

The bark-skinned man rustles unhappily.

"I am determined to come with you, as well," Hannah says. Looking over at Abercrombie, she adds, "Whatever my friend here might wish for me, I have no desire to leave my task half-finished."

Thomas turns to the other two and grins, saying, "Now if I was trying to get rid of you, I'd tell you I was going to do something extremely dull." His expression turns serious after a short laugh and he says, "All right. We continue on. Together, we'll liberate Hawksmoor Keep, then see Hannah safely back to her father. I suggest we settle down and plan. Hannah, if you would, please go over what you know about the location of the bandits. Also, if you can draw a map that leads back to the Keep, as well as any areas here you know." As Thomas finishes speaking, he can't help but grin rakishly and say, "Just like old times, really. Impossible situations and the unknown."

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.