The Dwarven Effect:

It was late, almost midnight and the two moons Morrisleb and Mannslieb waxed ominously in the sky. The two moons pale light providing the barest of vision through the thick foliage and boughs of the trees, painting everything in their dull eerie glow. Ionor the wood elf had little time to ponder the luminescence of the moons however as she followed the tracks of her quarry through the forest, this was a vital mission after all and any time she wasted was time that her homeland was put even more at risk.

Suddenly Ionor could see the shifting light of a fire in the distance and she paused momentarily, reaching back to grab the haft of one of her arrows and drawing it silently from its quiver with practiced ease. The arrows were produced in the same manner as her bow itself, the purpose grown wood supplied and crafted from the living woods by one of the dryads, a spirit of the forest given physical form.

The dryad had communed with the forest and linked her soul to the donor yew tree during the making of her bow, a symbol that she had been truly recognised as a ranger and pathfinder of Loren, the magic imbued in it linked to her own life energy in a manner that brought her comfort even now, the furthest she had ever been from her home or her brethren elves. She had been supplied with two quivers of arrows, almost fifty of the ironwood tipped barbs of death, when she had left on her mission out of her homeland of Loren and she had not yet had reason to use them until now.

It had not been a quick or easy journey, her foes staying away from the man constructed roads and instead keeping to the woods like this one as they made hastily across the realm the race of men called Bretonnia and onto the border of the self-styled 'Empire'.

As Ionor stalked closer she realised that she was approaching a small clearing in the woods of the area. Slipping behind the trees nearest the clearing she leaned out slight and confirmed that those in it certainly looked like her quarry. The half a dozen men before her, judging by the tracks she had been following, were far too relaxed in her opinion for such a murderous band of bandits and thieves.

Three of the group were presumably sleeping given the erected tents around the edge of the fire itself whilst the others kept watch, sat closely round the small camp fire eating, drinking and talking quietly. Whilst for the most part they simply looked like the other humans that Ionor had encountered in the past, Ionor could not let her respect for life stop her now, not when she was so close to succeeding.

The crime for which Ionor was tracking the group was simple; the six of them were responsible for the murder of the human sage Bartimeus and the theft of his magical amulet. The amulet was a powerful artefact and gift from the lord of Loren, the demi-god Orion himself, not that he had been present to give it in person due to his many duties, but it was still a privilege most Wood Elves would give anything to receive.

It had granted both passage through the forests wards as well as sustained health and life. This lead to the wizard living to the age of 140 before he was killed; something she was told by the older wardens was a great age for humans to achieve even as a magic wielder of their kind.

Bartimeus had been a great ally of Loren even before receiving the Forest Lord's blessing, to the point that he had been allowed to construct an earthen tower amongst the outermost glades of the southern realm of the forest. In return Bartimeus helped to protect the woodland realm from outside attack, both of magical and mundane origins, through the use of magical wards and traps that were in stark contrast to the usual magic wielded in the woodland realm.

What Ionor could not understand was how such a small group of thieves had so easily broken into the wizards tower and killing him without alerting him or his magical constructs in any way, judging by the lack of signs of combat or struggle round the wizards corpse. If that was not enough to put her on edge, another reason for her slight nervousness was that at 100 years old she was hardly the most experienced ranger available for the mission, especially given her only recent promotion to the position of pathfinder and the responsibilities that came with the position.

But the council had in their wisdom chosen to send her on this quest, to avenge Bartimeus but more importantly to retrieve the amulet before it could fall into the wrong hands, alone and without any real support for reasons that were beyond her. Cursing the elders that made up the council under her breath not for the first time, Ionor notched an arrow into her bowstring, taking a knee to prepare herself as the clearing and its denizens became fully visible to her without any remaining foliage to obscure them.

Breathing in gently, she cleared her head of her thoughts as she drew back the string, lining up her vision with the largest of the men present, the one who looked the most heavily armoured in half plate armour and sat next to a large two handed sword. He and two of the others were sat by the fire, drinking quietly, one armed with a short bow and the other seemed to be covered with daggers adorning his chest and upper legs.

With a silent prayer to the spirits of the forest to guide her, Ionor loosed her first shot. After so many practice drills her hand already going back and drawing the second arrow even as the first shaft embedded itself in the large man's neck. The dying man's face was a rictus of shock and pain that burned into her memory as he fell gurgling to the floor, his two companions jumping to their feet shouting loudly as he did so. Ionor remained calm, firing her second shot as precisely as the first, embedding itself in the dagger man's chest and sending him sprawling into the fire, screaming in pain as the embers began to ignite his clothing.

As she reached back into her quiver for the third arrow, Ionor heard the sound of movement rapidly approaching from behind her and the vibrations of the earth beneath her feet. Turning, she just caught sight of a man's angered face, his beard aglow with the firelight as his mace slammed into her chest, sending her flying into the clearing. The pain was terrible, and she was amazed she didn't pass out instantly; she knew she had at least three broken ribs from that blow.

Dazed as she was both by the blow and the impact with the floor, Ionor was unable to react quickly enough to draw a weapon as the large bearded man stomped forward, covered in furs and leathers, followed by a leaner man with chain armour and two swords drawn and ready.

The large man knocked her bow out of her weakened grasp as she tried to stand, grabbing her neck and slamming her heavily into a tree with a meaty hand, ignoring her pained scream that came unbidden from her lungs as her wounds protested the movement. He raised his mace once more, snarling furiously as he did so, obviously intending to take his revenge for the death of his two men.

As he reached the peak of his swing, there was a swishing sound followed by a meaty thud, the man in front of her pausing mid motion almost in surprise. A moment later his face transformed to that of shock, dropping her from his weakened grasp before toppling to his left, revealing a throwing axe embedded in his spine.

The bow wielding man drew back the arrow on his bow worriedly for a moment before turning and sprinting into the trees away from where the hatchet had come from, obviously not prepared to face the killer with already three casualties. Whilst the coward ran, the sword wielding man looked around warily, ignoring Ionor as she struggled to bring air back into her lungs without her ribs making her black out.

It was at that point, almost to distract herself from the pain, that Ionor noticed the presence of a girl amongst the group, a human one from the looks of it. The girl was scrawny and ill dressed, obviously trying to make herself as small as possible throughout the entire proceedings, which had worked thus far as Ionor had somehow missed her.

Ionor's focus was dragged from the girl as she heard the breaking of twigs and shuffling of leaves, an obvious sign of her saviour approaching. Out of the forest strode what could only be a dwarf, standing at about 5 foot tall but as wide as an ox at the chest, which matched the stories Ionor had heard about them having more muscle than any human blacksmith could claim to have developed. In one hand the dwarf held a halberd, one that was at least a half foot taller than him, whilst in the other he tossed another throwing axe, almost playfully as he surveyed the scene.

There was a moments silence that was only broken as Ionor tried to breath once more, only to sob in anguish as she felt one of her broken ribs scrape against itself and her lung. The sound seemed to break the standoff, the sword wielder charging towards his now visible opponent, swords twirling in a semi-decent show of skill obviously designed to intimidate and confuse his opponent. The dwarf merely scoffed in obvious disapproval, burying the hatchet in the ground next to him as he grabbed the haft of his halberd with both hands, sinking into what was obviously a well-used combat stance.

The human reached attacking distance and swung both swords overhead in a powerful slicing motion, evidently trying to kill the dwarf in a single blow so that he could then finish Ionor off before leaving.

The Dwarf simply rolled beneath the blows, coming up behind and to the left of the bandit, halberd swinging in a deadly arc that was calculated to meet the human's momentum mid strike. A moment later the bandit's head hit the forest floor, the man's body following soon after with a decisive thud even to Ionor's dwindling senses. The dwarf ignored it, already moving towards the girl and Ionor, the girl raising her arms both in surrender and to show that she was unarmed.

Nodding the dwarf turned to Ionor, whose vision was fading as the adrenaline wore off and the pain set in fully, the previous stabs of pain replaced with a sea of agony that every motion only made that much more unbearable. The last thing she saw as the light of the fire faded was the dwarfs face, set in a grim smile as he knelt next to her.