A young wizard meets up with an older, immortal, wizard and their companions and asks to join their encampment for the evening. The young wizard is a traveling bard with an easy smile and a gentle good humor. The young wizard looks down upon their new friends, for they are a fully grown bugbear, and smiles at the even younger bugbear that travels with the older wizard and begins to tell stories of travel and adventure, and offers to share an evening meal with the new friends. -- Anon Guest
Chanson Raddah had met some odd bands of adventurers, but this little clique had to be among the oddest he had encountered yet.
The Elven Wizard was almost stereotypical of their kind. A little staid, actually, with robes made for running in and practical pockets and pouches. Even the hat was rather plain, but fancy enough to scream WIZARD to any who encountered them. As was typical with Elves, it was next to impossible to determine a gender at first glance.
Mostly because the second glance took in a pair of Bugbears, one dandling the other on his knee. The grown one had mismatched eyes and more civilised clothing than the average Bugbear. It was the vines he casually wore that said Druid, and, be very careful. One large paw curled protectively around the child, who was focussed solely on the next spoonful of food.
Exactly why a large rock at the campsite had floral fabric over it was a mystery to Chanson until it spoke.
"This one trouble," said the rock. No. An Ogre. "Him too fancy. Wanting glory."
"I'm not one to start trouble because of the company anyone keeps." Company, here pronounced, a band of weirdoes and misfits that must make an interesting story that is far beneath me to hear[1].
The Elf raised an eyebrow that spoke volumes more than Chanson's pronunciation. "Indeed," they said. "I must posit that trouble may start because people chose your company."
"Must you?" challenged Chanson.
"If we're going to duel, we must introduce ourselves. Wizarding rules." The Elf stood up. "I am known far and wide as Wraithvine. Many call me immortal, though I haven't really tried to perish."
"Nobody tests it," said the Ogre. A little too late.
The bottom had already dropped out of Chanson's stomach. If only half the things he'd heard about Wraithvine were true, then his destiny at the other end of a duel with hir was going to be as a puff of smoke and a moral lesson to others.
"I do apologise," he said. Very quickly. "Adventuring tends to leave some... bad impressions of some sorts."
Only now did he see the blood and the bandage on the baby Bugbear's leg, or the fact that the clothes the little one wore were made for someone else.
There's usually four adventurers... he thought, just as the feeling of someone behind him sidled into his awareness.
At first glance, she looked like a regular Human. A young lady not quite of age, but promising to be devastating to many hearts wherever she may tread.
Then he saw the wings.
The fact that she had an armload of firewood was entirely superfluous to the aura of danger radiating from her.
She looked to Wraithvine and said, "Do we need him, Unty?"
Wraithvine the Eternal drew some sigils in the air. "Not entirely, he's learned one lesson, so there's a chance he may yet learn more. Let him learn more."
With that thin permission, Chanson made a concerted effort to learn as much as possible.
[1] There is a story, and some of it is over here.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / klyaksun]
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