Lugh fired another shot, this time at a figure toward the middle of the pack of creatures, hunched, but standing upright.  They were bestial in aspect, but they carried weapons like a hunter-gatherer might own where stone and bone and sinew were far more available than metal.

Lugh glided, firing as he went, but there were too many monsters, too few arrows, and not enough time.  Oatie grabbed and fired stones as fast as she could whirl them to speed, but it was no use.  Lugh howled his frustration and fired his last arrow.  He flung his bow away and ripped his short sword from the scabbard at his side.  Screaming, Lugh sprinted toward the tightening  mob of shambling creatures.

The big brute nearest Oatie swung his stone axe as Lugh’s last arrow took him high in the chest.  Oatie stomped down on the end of her spear levering it up to take another beast in the guts.  She flung her sling, stone and all at another while ducking a third spear thrust and grasping her own spear with both hands to wrench it free of the carcass impaled on it.

Creatures, likely the smallest and most fearful, had heard Lugh’s challenge and were turning, some dropping their weapons and fleeing toward the brush, but the knot of the fiercest washed over Oatie and she disappeared under the press.

The squatty, fanged, and fur draped creatures that turned toward his challenge melted away from his fury.  Stunned or dead creatures remained, Lugh disregarded them for the moment.  The larger creatures struggled to untangle themselves.  The creature closest to Lugh’s charge fell back gurgling with a sword thrust through its throat. Another reached for him and lost its hand.  Those that could, scattered leaving two brutes, the one with Oatie’s spear through it and, rising weakly, with a bloody axe in its fists, was the monster with Lugh’s own arrow jutting from its chest.

Beneath the impaled corpse, the side of her head a mass of blood lay Oatie.  With a renewed howl of rage, Lugh launched himself at Oatie’s wounded murderer.

Lugh had not slept, but he felt refreshed after his night under the stars. I wonder if Oatie will be there when I get back.  I wonder if she’s stolen what I have of value and gone?  Lugh wasn’t very concerned about that possibility.  There’s no way she could carry it all, besides I could run her to ground in half a day anyway, he thought as he slipped silently through the young trees toward the campsite.

There was no sign of Oatie  save the remains of a neat hearth and his backpack, packed and sitting with breakfast atop it and his other things neatly arranged.  Ah see?  All is forgiven.  Still, Lugh sniffed the biscuit before taking a bite.  No need to risk a poisoning with carelessness.  But it was as he suspected, perfectly safe and delicious.

Lugh could not help whistling a little tune as he shouldered his pack, and followed the path he and Oatie had been traveling.  He took the precaution of looking for sign that she had indeed continued ahead and there on the path he saw her tread, here a scuff where she turned back to see if he followed, there a careless step in a low moist spot at the edge of the path.  Lugh was well satisfied that Oatie was apologizing in her own way and making it impossible for him to miss her trail.  Good and good, I’ll just let her stew for awhile and close the distance in the afternoon when she will be missing me most, he thought to himself.

The day was warm, too warm, thought Lugh and his pack heavy, too heavy, she’s put all the pots in my pack so I guess I’m paying for my breakfast anyhow, Lugh fumed.  Yet again he tied his bow atop the pack instead of carrying it along with his belted short, leaf-bladed, sword.  Having his hands free let him ease the strain on his shoulders.

Then, when he was thinking far more of a stopping for a break than of catching Oatie, he saw her, rounding the next ridge.  He stepped off the trail into the undergrowth and watched as she gazed back the way she had come. Looking for me, no doubt, and only a few minutes ahead now.  When Oatie turned back to her way and walked out of sight Lugh redoubled his pace to close the distance, perhaps she’ll have lunch too, when I catch her, he thought.

Soon he was puffing and sweating under the weight of the pack and the climb to the turn around the ridge where he’d seen Oatie not an hour before.  His legs ached as did his back and he all but groaned his relief as he topped the rise and looked down into the vale below.  And there she is, and stopped in the shade too.  I needn’t have hurried, she’s given up the chase as it is, thought Lugh.

Below, he saw Oatie, fiddling with her pack.  Where she kneeled seemed heavily wooded and so an odd place for her to do her Norfolk sphere planting, but she had her sling in hand.  Likely she just needs an excuse to let me catch her, Lugh surmised.  He started to move into the undergrowth the better to watch and go unseen.

Oatie began to whirl her sling and only then did Lugh see dark figures begin to rise from the undergrowth to his right and down the hill.  She released and there was a howl from one of the creatures separating from the woods and bramble.  Oatie bent and snatched up another stone.  There, laid over the top of her piled stones, Lugh noticed her copper dagger spear, fixed and ready.

Lugh dumped his pack and tore into it to free himself of the burden and retrieve the things he needed.  Long training for hunting and war made stringing his bow a matter of a moment.  He shrugged his quiver loosely over a shoulder and drew out an arrow even as he glided down the  hill toward attack directed at his friend.  He watched as Oatie released another bullet from her sling to smack loudly into one of the foe.  The thing didn’t even howl as it crumpled and fell to the ground, that’s my girl, thought Lugh.  He took aim at the fur covered back of of one of the monsters and released.  Confident of his skill, he was already reaching for another arrow as the first shaft sped toward its target.

Iamerge heard greetings and apologies as Corinthians entered the refectory.  In any case, the discussions were no-longer going on and Iamerge felt foolish listening at the door with naught to hear.  Iamerge glanced around nervously, this is madness, he thought and followed old Corinthians into the refectory.

Gospels was already leaping to assist the older monk as he began to gather food and the pain mendicants.  Iamerge noticed that the new abbot was concentrating his attention on Rhaury UiBirlinn, and then, with a start, he noticed that Rhaury was watching him.  Their eyes locked for a moment, UiBirlinn’s face was a mask of cautious appraisal.  Iamerge turned to offer his help to Corinthians.  He glanced over at Gospels, but there was nothing he could read from that man, only earnestness on top of helpfulness, which covered much more below the surface, but that was deep water that Gospels kept to himself behind his dauntless smile.

Before he quite knew what was happening Iamerge was loaded with teapots, salve jars, and bread baskets.  Burdened he found himself following Gospels out the door with Corinthians in tow.  Rhaury and the Abbot had their heads together again, talking intensely, but in tones too low to hear.  There goes my best chance to talk to Rhaury about my investment, Iamerge thought.  Worse yet, he began to suffer a sinking feeling that perhaps his investment, and his arrangement to retrieve it with Roderick UiBirlinn, had been long forgotten by the man’s son.

It was all Iamerge could do to pour soup and pass the monks mendicants and bandages.  His heart was not in it. Corinthians took a hand in the feeding and nursing, and Gospels was his usual bustle of kindness and efficient service.  It was easy to step aside and let those who cared to serve do so.  It was not long before Iamerge, disappointed by another missed chance to speak to UiBirlinn, slipped out the door to sulk.

“Defend yourself if you can little fox.  I’ll make you famous,” shouted Fer Ulli, Champion of the Airgialla.

“You’ll never know the tenth part of my fame,” said CuRuada hefting his spear in an overhand grip and limbering his shield arm.

“Oh? Why is that?” scoffed Fer Ulli wading through the ford.

“You’ll not know anything beyond today.” CuRuada crouched as the big man came splashing toward him.

Fer Ulli drove his heavy headed spear hard toward CuRuada’s legs, hoping to wound him, but CuRuada knocked it away easily even as his spear dug a furrow in Fer Ulli’s shield.  The two men traded blows, each catching and diverting the other’s blows as they churned the water of the ford to brown mud.

Fer Ulli was the older of the two by far, so as the battle continued, and he could not get his spear past the boy’s shield to wound him, the shrewd champion attacked less and sought to conserve his strength for an opening.  Using his bulk he worked CuRuada into a deeper place in the ford, hampering his movements.  Fer Ulli feinted weakly with his spear and CuRuada struck it aside with more power than was needed.  Fer Ulli seemed to follow that weak jab, staggering and exposing his side.  CuRuada lunged and his spearhead grated along the rings of the champion’s mail.  Suddenly CuRuada was reeling from a shield edge smashed against his head on the way to striking his arm and carrying away his spear with his balance.

Fer Ulli pressed his advantage, thrusting again and again, but CuRuada’s momentary unbalance was gone.  Now with his short sword in hand, CuRuada began to press the older man.  Fer Ulli should have had an advantage in range with his spear, but CuRuada, angered now, seemed able to slip past Fer Ulli’s guard at will and his sword cuts were telling.

Worse yet, as Fer Ulli’s strength ebbed with each cut, flowing away like his blood on the river, CuRuada seemed to strengthen and his anger seemed to grow. 

To look on him now was a fearsome thing.  Where Fer Ulli had struck the young man was a deep bruise that had nearly closed his eye, but around the purple his face was almost as dark a red as the purple of the bruise.  While one eye squinted the other gaped wide with madness.  The boys hair stood on end like his name sake, and he now moved with animal quickness.

Gasping, Fer Ulli tried his best to defend himself.  CuRuada’s attacks seemed more like the maddened onslaught of a rabid animal than a warrior.  Then, for a moment, CuRuada seemed to slip and Fer Ulli tried to gather the last of his reserves.  He let his shield drop low and reared back to attempt a fight finishing thrust.  Too late, for CuRuada was already erupting from the water.  The feat was the Salmon Leap and last thing Fer Ulli ever saw was the arching body of his nemesis above him before the edge of CuRuada’s shield tore his shoulder from it’s socket and his sword found its way down beside his neck, through muscle and bone to find his heart.

It was at the end of his Twentieth Form.  Buuluchk had a bit of small change left after his Paladin training.  It was not much, but it came to his mind that he might be entitled to some sort of gift, a present to himself.

The Auction House held nothing of real benefit for the pittance he had, so he wandered out toward the gates of the city of Ironforge with his few coppers in hand.  The coins jingled pleasingly, perhaps they are better in my hand than gone for all and good, thought Buuluchk.  Call it a down payment on my future, the wee bit I’ll need for some future purchase.  But Buuluchk did not put them away as he walked out the massive gateway and into the icy air.

“Hey there, paladin.  Might I have a word with you?”

The dirty ragbag was a dwarf, perhaps, but he smelled more like a murlock than a man to Buuluchk.  “Is it a bit of drink you’re needing?  You’d do better to work than beg,” began Buuluchk condescendingly. The dirty man reddened, building toward rage at the slander.

“That was unkind and untrue, I’m a stonemason, and I work hard every day.  Likely harder than the likes of you, an adventurer who knows nothing of what normal men do.” The man turned away and walked on toward the gates.

Buuluchk instantly regretted his harsh words, “See here sir, I’ve wronged you, no doubt.  I apologize.  You must admit you look the part of a beggar, but I had no right to condescend.  I’ve had great good fortune.”  The coins rang in his hand and now he knew what to do with them, “See here, I’m off to make more, I’m well acquainted with work.  I dig metal from the earth and take the pelts of the beasts that fall to me.  Still, I think you can use this far better than me.”  And with that Buuluchk pressed the coins into the mans hand, “There is an inn just inside the gate where you can get a beer and a bath and likely your clothes clean in the bargain.  Go with the gods, friend.”

The man stared down at the coins, but as Buuluchk began to turn, feeling good about the kindness he’d shown, he saw that the man was growing more angry, not less.  “Oh I see, you’ll make me the beggar you’ve accused me of being.”

Buuluchk blinked non-plused as he turned back, “See you friend, I mean you only good.”  One hand went out, opened in friendship, but Buuluchk’s other hand felt for his axe.

The man dug inside his filthy garment and brought out a wrapped package, “You keep calling me friend, but you’d make me a beggar.  Well, be a friend, and for your slander I put a geas on you, that you be a friend to me, to Garglan the Stonemason, and when you learn this thing’s provenance and it’s purpose, you bring word to me, for I work every day and have no time for adventures.  This thing I found at my work preparing a foundation for the bridge I am making.  My curiosity has been on me, I look at it in my tent, I look at it each time I stop my labors, I puzzle, and wonder ’til it drives me half mad.  Be it on you now, slanderous pompous paladin. You figure it out and when you do, if you do, you will tell me.  Garglan, son of  Harglan, the Stone Mason.” and then with a sneer, “friend.”

With no more word than that Garglan, son of  Harglan, the Stone Mason marched off down the hill from the gates of Ironforge.

With nothing to say nor anyone to say it to, and now with a mystery in hand, Buuluchk unwrapped the package to see what fate had delivered him.  Fate and Garglan, son of  Harglan, the Stone Mason, Buuluchk thought.

It was heavy and hard, metal for sure, but worked in a way that made it look organic, as if it had grown into the broken form he now held.  It was not whole, of that Buuluchk was certain, though little else. 

Two figures seemed swathed in the organic network of metal, both bodies without heads.  They seemed of the same stuff as the viney coverings, and yet, looking at it, one could easily judge them separate from parts that were clothing, and parts that were something other, and then the parts that seemed to be the flesh of two tall beings.  It was missing much of what looked to be a background that seemed to almost be a language of some kind.  The clothing seemed missing, especially around the heads and shoulders which were largely missing.

All was hinted at and yet baldly obvious when taken as a whole, but as Buuluchk looked closer he was startled to note that it all seemed one in texture and color and material.

“Hey dolt, get out of the gate. Will you stand there all day, you dunderhead.  You’re holding up progress!” shouted a dwarf driving a cart.  Buuluchk had no idea how long he’d stood in the gate, but as soon as he had stepped out of the way of the carter he went back to examining the artifact.  What a curiously marvelous thing, he thought.  What have you brought me Garglan, son of  Harglan.