Tales from the Everlands

Fingers stroked the hair one last time to be sure, Yes the Beard looked good he decided.  He was pleased with the sharply defined edge and neatly trimmed follicles, They added a certain image he was proud of.  He had certain standards to maintain after all. He turned to look out of his office window, Several dozen lights flashed in the clouds below him indicating more new arrivals to his domain.  They would be processed by one of his Rangels and put to work somewhere within his vast organization.  The Spires were lit and his will was in the process of being distributed, today looked like it was going to be a good day. With his beard primed he adjusted his robes and turned to walk towards his desk, as he did documents, files and folders started to materialize on it, Arranged in neat orderly rows, stacked for the efficiency of space and color coded for ease of inspection.  He sat in the plush leather-backed chair and shuffled it forwards into the small nook molded into the desk,

The fine bone china cups clink as the Tea and Cake trolley slowly trundles into the majestic room, One that befitted the Elven council and ten thousand years of culture and history.  High and wide, with marble alabaster columns that supported a wafer-thin lattice of Elven stained glass windows transforming sunlight into red, green and golden beams.  White Statues line the walls and at the back is a large curved balcony with red curtains gently sighing in the breeze. Two Elven warriors stand flanking the delicate archway,   At the center of the room is a wide and flat table made from rich mahogany and weyr wood oak, inlaid with marquetry of the Great War.  The thick bark had been left on as a rugged edge to the table, heavily lacquered and polished over several millennia. Along one side sat the nine members of the Elven council on their custom built chairs, some wider than others, some with higher backs for the High Elves, Others with armrests for scrolls or drinks.  Each was uniqu

The Bacon sizzled in the pan of justice, an old man stood before the stove, his shoulders wide and broad, his hair thinning and grey, trimmed short.  His chain-mail shirt was aged and had many chinks in it but it was free from rust.  He cracked an egg open on the edge of the frying pan and let the yolk break upon impact, just as he liked.  He licked his lips at the thought of this Sunday morning Breakfast.  Shuffling to one side he started to slice bread from the Loaf he picked up at Sally's Bakery in town the other day. She used to put the little seeds on the top which he liked a lot, They got caught in his beard and made a good snack for later. He gripped the Bread-knife of Truth and cut two nice wedges from the bread.  There was no need to be frugal any longer, the fields were yielding good crops again and the Farmers, Woodsmen, and City folk were happy.  Nobody was trying to blow them up, No Dragons were falling from the sky, No Goblin horde was encroaching on their walls.

The combat at Baram's Pit fights had been won.  Both in and out of the ring, Captain Jing and Chief Greywalker both defeating their opponents in the pit fights and Matise and several Interelf agents or special forces Rangers had won their sneak battles in the crowd outside the pits. Both had avoided the trap set by Admiral Baram after the fight and demolished part of his Keep during their escape.  In the aftermath of the collapsed rubble they disappeared into the night. Sneaking from shadow to shadow, lurking and waiting for search parties to pass they made their way across the city towards their own keep and sanctuary from the chaos of Luskans late night streets. As the stars twinkled overhead and the cold nor westerly wind blew in their faces, they squinted at the distant horizon and furrowed their brows in comprehension as to what they were seeing.  A black line rose from the horizon slowly enveloping the stars, stretching from north to south as if an eyelid was clo

With a flash of blue and a silent zip a hummingbird whizzes past your head and hovers over a bush with red flowers on it.  It darts from one flower to another delicately sipping nectar.  It is pleasant here, the birds sing, the sun shines and the water trickles over the irrigated rice fields.  Workers  dot the landscape here and there, some working in fields, others moving barrows full of grain and rice.  You feel well rested and healthy, each breath of air renews your very essence and being. You glance over at Butterfly, who is sat demurely on a nearby rock. She wears a long grey dress and shawl about her shoulders, as if to ward off a chill.  When none exist as far as you can tell, the air is warm and smells faintly of incense.  Her hair is tied back in a series of plaits, some interwoven with wild flowers.  She takes a deep breath before answering you. "You have been through an ordeal.  Your mind was clouded by evil magics which intended you harm.  You are safe now and

Sleeping was good, tucked up warm and toasty Gideon felt the chill of the Barracks on the tip of his nose, Just a few more minutes before he would be called to wake.  He opened his eyes slightly and gauged the time of morning from the dim light seeping through the stained glass windows.  At least an hour before the great Elven horn Heliffnirr went off and he had to get up for roll call.  He rolled over in bed and snuggled down to get a few more much needed minutes of sleep. His thoughts drifted to his old friends, where were they now?  He had tried using his Acorn to contact them, but they were either out of range or on an alternative branch twig to his Acorn.  He had considered setting off to find them several times, but the sheer depth of the Underdark had put him off immediately.  It was far too far for one Ranger to make it alone and he had neither the money nor knowledge of how to catch up to his old friends.   So instead, he had enlisted in the Elven Rangers.  It was rar