Thirty Two
Meanwhile, on route to Darkwoods
The bleak aftermath of a West Venture Company deforestation site was grim in the gray skies and rain. The Venture's logging operations had leveled ancient trees, hacking and burning the undergrowth as they expanded. Resources and money from exports was the only thing important to the destructive West Venture Company and its greedy Trade Baron.
The lands were beginning to resemble a swamp as the Golden Sun heroes' horses trotted through the wet muck that was until recently a majestic forestland.
This area was completely devoid of lucrative resources and abandoned by the loggers. The outlines of pavilion-peg marks and timber lodges were still fresh. The camp had been dismantled and moved into fresh forestland to the north leaving desolation in its wake.
"I can't believe The Tabernacle is fine with this mess," Fletcher groaned, unimpressed by the sad sight before him.
Gladius furrowed his brow, agreeing with his friend but oath-sworn as a priest of The Tabernacle and reluctant to criticize them. "Maybe the missionaries are less intrusive."
"Unlikely," Fletcher scoffed.
A tense silence fell on the heroes as they mounted up their horses- Charger and Scruffy to continue forth.
The heroes stopped briefly to regain their bearings when they reached the edge of the clearing
It had been almost a full day's journey before Gladius and Fletcher finally crossed into living Darkwoods. This wearily travelled wilderness was filled with treacherous cliffs, overgrown leafy canopies and dangerous beasts.
Very little sunlight permeated from the thick growth overhead giving the forest its apt name, the illumination instead came from the enchanted wildlife of the woods.
Nocturnal forest-dwelling elves known as The Moonsworn or simply Dark Elves called this forest home. Tensions had always been high between these cautious inhabitants and the human lumberjacks that protruded further into their home over the years.
The human loggers had set up sprawling operations and processed many of the ancient trees of Darkwoods.
Purist missionaries had for many years visited and attempted to convert the dark elf 'heathens'.
Moonsworn instead worshiped nature and their own gods, believing that a golden age of elven prosperity would return one day. The missionaries had little luck converting them but did not relent in their efforts despite the hostility it cultivated.
The two heroes carefully adhered to the trade roads. Going off road into the tangled thicket would be too hazardous for their horses. A large group of hostile dark elves would be a difficult enemy to face with just the two of them; Gladius was a member of The Tabernacle after all. Gladius knew a few of the Moonsworn personally but doubted that would keep an arrow out of his back.
The Golden Sun Order's horses trotted along the overgrown trail with little trouble, the pathway was illuminated by luminescent mushrooms and glowing budded flowers.
Gladius steed, Charger was restless. The stallion had seen battle many times and could sense danger.
It was beautiful in a haunting way, fireflies and tiny pixies danced in the cedar wood-scented breeze. None of these creatures were spared in the logging grounds, pixie soup was a favored dish among the loggers, most other wildlife had retreated to the safety of the unspoiled wilderness.
Gladius had plotted a course on their maps to make rest stops at the lumber camps that dotted Darkwoods. He hoped to avoid any contact with the more hostile dark elf 'blood-raiders'- a radicalized faction whose lands were leveled by loggers. The lumber camps were well supplied, self-sufficient colonies and friendly to the Tabernacle, but even those connections antagonized the Forest Elves.
Unfortunately, the lumber camps would sometimes without warning move to richer sources of timber when their immediate area ran low on harvestable resources.
After hours on the trails the two heroes found themselves at the edge of a massive clearing. The sprawling expanse was devoid of trees and the ground was littered with saw dust and wagon tracks.
As was the case when logging camps relocated their buildings were dismantled and carted off to their new plot to be reassembled. Very little was left behind when colonies changed location.
Not even a single hand saw had been left behind as the two heroes walked their horses through the barren flats under the wash of moonlight.
They could see the hollows and outlines of where the colony once stood and decided to make camp.
Fletcher had never travelled this far west and was very weary of hidden hazards. Their silence was all the more pronounced in this sprawled clearing.
Gladius rolled out the most recent trail map of Darkwoods proper on the stump of what must have been a mighty ancient tree; until the human loggers had recently harvested it. The sun was setting over the horizon so he lit his lantern and traced his fingers over the map.
Meanwhile Fletcher stood at the edge of the clearing to the trees on lookout. He patted his old mare, Scruffy as she waited intently next to him.
"Have you plotted our course yet, boss?" Fletcher called out to his comrade.
"We can travel between the trading posts, those areas are well travelled. I know a few of the traders." Gladius called back.
Fletcher thought he saw a shadow flickering in the distance but dismissed it as a small critter. "The men at the trade posts will be friendly to the local Dark Elves," Fletcher replied in agreement.
Gladius intended to move as swiftly as possible, he was a member of the Tabernacle after all.
Throughout the entire journey Fletcher could see the troubled look on his friend's face ever since Marin had departed with Umbra.
"You are worried about Marin, aren't you?" Fletcher inquired over the dull chirping of distant forest critters.
Gladius fiddled restlessly with a small bracelet of prayer beads in his hands. "We shouldn't have let her go off alone with that maleficus."
Fletcher sighed at his old friend's stubbornness. "Marin is more than capable of looking after herself," he shrugged.
"Besides it looks like she is inseparable with Umbra now." Fletcher mused.
Gladius stared down at his prayer beads. "Why is she so trusting? She will get herself into danger for it one day."
"If she wasn't empathetic and charitable, she wouldn't be Marin, now, would she?" Fletcher reminded the worrying paladin.
Gladius nodded. "We should keep our focus on the mission. The Plateau City Sultan is notoriously distrustful of the Tabernacle. We have to be very careful in our negotiations."
While the two heroes chatted away at their campsite a small force loomed nearby at the edge of the woods.
This land, the Forests of the Moonsworn, the children of the goddess Ileuad, also known as The Ileuadi or simply the Dark Elves was sacred to their people.
Their dwindling population and villages had strained relations with their human neighbors.
Gladius sympathized with their plight, having felt the loss of life within his own knightly order. No matter what The Tabernacle's stance on the Moonsworn was, Gladius knew taking away someone's home was wrong. He would side with his morals over his station in a heartbeat.
But The Tabernacle had muddied itself with expansion and politics.
Gladius' unorthodox friendship with Fletcher over the years had taught him to be critical of the powerful and compassionate to the outcast.
Likewise, Gladius had taught Fletcher to commit himself to the ideals of honor, duty and loyalty.
Their bond had made them better men, they both believed.
As Gladius continued to pour over the map, Charger chewed away at the forest floor, essentially as dead as straw.
Fletcher fidgeted nervously at the edge of the clearing.
He reached cautiously into his hip pocket to extract his moleskin of Blind Man's Bite- the strongest liquor he could get to keep him limber on his quest.
He kept it secret; he knew he had a drinking problem but it had become a crutch, he didn't want to disappoint his friend.
Suddenly, Scruffy neighed loudly spooked by a rustling in the bushes.
Before he could react, a Dark Elf woman had a long-hookeddagger pointed at his neck. "Don't move, human."
Fletcher froze as three more Dark Elves appeared behind him.
Their onyx skin and silver hair seemed so alien to him. The Dark Elves wore fitted leather jerkins, molded silver bodices and tall trekking boots with padded soles to stay silent in their steps.
Gladius lowered his sword traipsing towards theassailants. "Greetings friends we come in peace." Gladius explained with a disarming tone.
One of the female Dark Elves piped up, speaking in Turbulic: "Is that you, Gladius?"
Fletcher breathed in relief.
"Geally?" Gladius lit up. He hadn't expected to bump into his old friend.
The youngest Moonsworn identified the tunics the heroes wore: "Ridirean grèine òir! Golden Sun Knights," he knew enough Turbulic for half his sentence.
The others lowered their weapons and instead greeted Gladius and Fletcher as guests.
"Glad we sorted that out," Fletcher groaned tiredly.
"Bachgen da, Charger," Geally stroked Gladius' stallion. The horse comfortable around the gentle Dark Elf.
The Moonsworn led them to a campfire concealed under an invisibility ward.
The eldest Dark Elf (in his six hundreds) still watched them skeptically but motioned for them to sit regardless.
"Can we trust them?" he stroked his silver goatee quizzically as the other spoke.
"You'll need to excuse Sùilgheur, he doesn't trust humans. His town was leveled by loggers," the Dark Elf leader explained to Fletcher, her silvery eyes fixed on Gladius the whole time.
Fletcher could sense his friend's connection to the Moonsworn lady. His curiosity peaked. Why hasn't Gladius ever mentioned being friends with a Moonsworn?
Gladius furrowed his brow, leaning forward on his chausses. "Those loggers give us all a bad name. You can trust him, that's Fletcher."
Fletcher tipped his head and took a belt of his liquor to calm his nerves. Being snuck up on had irked him.
The Moonsworn woman offered Fletcher her hand. "I am Gealladh, you can call me Geally. We are scouts from . Sorry, I believe men call it Brookhaven Village."
Gladius watched the dark, silver-haired maiden intently as she spoke in perfect Turbulic translation. He was smitten all over again.
"That is Stuamachd, Luath and you have met our elder Sùilgheur"
The elder Dark Elf softened his gaze when Fletcher offered him a drink from his own flask.
The old Moonsworn took a swig of Fletcher'spotent brew and coughed.
"This tastes like horsesweat. Why do you drink this?"
The other Dark Elves laughed.
Gealladh brushed her hair behind her long-pointed ear. "He says that is the worst thing he ever tasted."
Gladius rolled his eyes, "That would be my fellow Knight's favorite- Blind Man's Piss," he frowned at Fletcher who was by now fairly tipsy.
"Close enough," Fletcher chuckled stifling a burp.
The wrinkled elder Dark Elf smirked and passedFletcher a small drinking horn. "Try this."
Fletcher took a cocky sip, gagging immediately at the sharp and bitter pinot. "Wow that is something else!"
Gladius noticed an ornate silver ring in Geally's ear, it was an intricate knot-weave framework of a noble. "When did you become a Magister?"
"No, that's my father Uaireadair Lunaris. He has run our village for close to five hundred years," Geally explained. It was unusual for a Moonsworn noblewoman to be a soldier, let alone a commander.
Gladius nodded, he admired those who buck social norms and carve their own path. He was confused why she had never mentioned her father to him.
Even as the leader of the Moonsworn scouts, Geally's hair was immaculate, tied back in complex weaves and dotted with Dark Elven jewelry.
Her smooth face disguised her age of two-hundred-and-five behind the comely beauty of a young maiden.
Her face darkened. "Knights, we are in need of aid. Our village is plagued by attacks from Wicker Beasts and their foul master.
"What the hell are Wicker Beasts?" Fletcher burped rudely.
Geally fixed her eyes on Gladius.
She explained how in the past Moonsworn were united until a sect of worshipers of the evil Elven god Drwg turned on them, killing their king before being exiled to The Northern Townships by the Ileuadi survivors.
"These are the minions of our ancient enemy- the Drwgi, creatures crafted of bramble and thorn empowered by dark sorcery that poison and corrupt everything around them."
Gladius' mind was made up. He would never refuse a call to help a friend "We will rid you of the beasts, Geally. I vow it." He mounted up on Charger.
Fletcher climbed atop Scruffy and sighed deeply.