(Day 12, somewhere in the forests)

As the sun broke over the horizon, sending its warming rays shooting through the trees to light up the forest, the tent flap was opened and a figure stepped out. It was the same every morning at this exact time: long years of training and campaigning had ingrained the practice into his grizzled body until it was merely reflex to rise with the morning sun.

Such a practice was also ingrained in the rest of the men, although it had to be occasionally enforced with extra duties. They did it not by personal choice, but out of respect, admiration and, in some cases, fear of their leader. Indeed, his almost seven foot frame of lean muscle was enough to cause anyone to think twice before questioning an order; As it should be within such a group.

The man tied his shoulder length hair back into a rough pony-tail and began walking slowly through the camp, a personal inspection that the men had come to recognise as a characteristic of his leadership. A quiet word here, a stern glance there: nothing overly dictatorial or officious; just enough to let everyone know who was leader and why.

"Sir, the reports came in last night, as you ordered."

"And?"

"It's as you expected. They gather not far from the dragonrider's den, perhaps gathering for an attack." The leader grunted.

"I don't think perhaps has anything to do with it. They will attack and soon. If we are to be in position, we may have to move quicker than we first thought." He turned and looked at his companion, his comfort in the presence of the leader indicating his status as second in command. "Have the men ready. We are to be moving by the time the sun reaches it's zenith."

"Yes sir." The leader turned from his retreating companion, gazing at the rising sun as he ran a hand over his battle-scarred face and through his grey hair. The smell of battle was already in the air: you could almost taste it on the breeze. 

Soon men would bleed and dragons would die.

****

No more than an hours flight from Norwall Warren, a body of humans move silently through the forests, undetected and undisturbed. In fact, several dragon patrols have overflown them and yet reported nothing, exactly what was intended to happen.

"Their patrol routes are fairly routine and easily avoided," the second reported to his leader. "The others will be harder to avoid, as they move often and have in their ranks some excellent trackers. However, all our forces will be in position by sundown."

"Good." The leader leant back against a tree, feeling the outline of the weapon slung around his neck as it pressed against his back, the laminated wood and polished steel smooth against his tunic. "This is the last group in this area, thus we must be thorough in our efforts. The dragonriders were lax in not dealing with them properly the last time, so our task is made the more difficult."

"Will there be any variation to the usual plan?" The leader shook his head.

"No, I foresee no reason to change it. If the men are positioned properly, the operation will proceed smoothly and the targets eliminated as planned."

"And the warren? Do we worry about collateral damage?" The leader lapsed into thoughtful silence for a minute, aware of the inquisitive ears close by who were waiting for an answer.

"We will warn them in the usual way, but if they do not heed the warning then accidents cannot be helped."

"I must confess," the second said, "I have never been able to fully understand the dragonriders. I know they are different in their approach, but." The leader chuckled and clapped his second softly on the shoulder.

"You are not alone in that quest for knowledge my friend," he advised. "Indeed, there are many amongst us who don't fully understand what we fight for. Perhaps after this is over I may be able to show you the warren and you can see for yourself."

"If they don't end up wanting to kill us afterwards," the second observed.

"Hazards of our occupation," the leader replied, standing back up. "Enough talk. It's time to move."

Soon men would bleed and dragons would die.

****

(Day 13, not far from the warren)

"Everyone is in position?"

"As you ordered. The men have their assigned targets and will eliminate them on command. We also have the advance team set up close enough to the warren so if they attack sooner than expected, we can track those we missed."

"Good," the leader nodded. "It is time to get ready then. Assemble the ground attack force and take command." The second nodded.

"As you wish sir."

"Remember, the success of your mission is critical," the leader reminded him. "Our attack on their camp is designed to disorientate. The dragonriders from the warren will still be attacked: it is not our aim to do their work for them. We simply do what we must do." The second nodded, his face set.

"It is our duty. They will not survive."

As they other left, the leader sighed and unslung the weapon from his shoulder, lifting a pot of oil from his pack and in a familiar process, began oiling the wood. It was something he always did before a battle, a ritual that both calmed and prepared his mind for the carnage ahead. The fighting was never silent nor swift; the injured screams of a dying dragon or human sometimes lingered for days, in the mind if not the air and if one wasn't careful, they would eventually creep their way into a man's mind, curling around his thoughts until he was driven crazy by the ghosts of those who had died.

No, it was never a good omen to dwell on those passed, human or not. That's why he spent time oiling his personal weapon. It was his way of exorcising the personal demons that may have followed him. Indeed, it was a rumour among the men that the weapon itself contained the essence of those it had taken life from, as if the wood and metal were alive, seeking to draw the life of others into itself.

Perhaps that's why the name was so appropriate. Ithacus. Soul Drinker.

Soon men would bleed and dragons would die.

****

NRPG: No-one knows these people are in the area, nor will they until the appointed time.

           These events will become more apparent in the near future. 



Submitted by

                        Michael Turek



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]


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