Jake and the Opals

The hem of her skirts, already worn from several days of journey, snagged upon broken stone as she wound her way in search of the orc. The sorceress was not prone to panic, her confidence even in this dread place was still strong that she could win herself free should it be needed. The puzzle of why the mists of Avalon could not reach into this land still eluded her, but even the trek back to the edges of this land worried her less than the fear she held for her friend orc.

Though she had been wrapped tight in her study of the obelisks and their tales of the past, the sorceress was certain that had Jake run into trouble she would have heard some sound of battle. The thought of what else might have overtaken the orc concerned her greatly. The obelisks had suggested darker things than just mere animated skeletons wandering this land of decay and death. Mayhap one of those nefarious creatures had come upon the orc unawares.

Morgan's brow creased in worry. She knew of the orc's dislike and distrust of things magic, and she worried that, had he crossed some thing of magic, he might already be beyond her ability to aid. All these thoughts ran through Morgan's mind as she searched for some sign of Jake. Resting for a moment, the sorceress gasped as she saw a familiar blade at the edge of her sight. Rushing forward, Morgan scrambled through the broken stone to discover a small pile of discarded wood, brittle and withered, as all things seemed to be in this land. Beside the forgotten wood lay the same glittering silver blade that the orc had wielded since entering this forbidding land. That the orc, who distrusted magic as much as he did, had carried the blade was an impressive sign of just how much the orc feared the denizens of this place. That it now lay here, discarded, worried Morgan beyond any fear she had previously held. For the orc to have given up a weapon was surely a dire omen.

The sorceress was not a hunter, but she brought what skills the druids had taught her to bear as she sought some sign of what had transpired. There was no sign of blood, so the orc had not been wounded in some battle, though it did not mean that some battle had not taken place. The sword lay not feet from the pile of wood, and the fact that it was not wildly scattered about suggested to the sorceress that a battle had not occurred. Nay, in truth it looked as if the sword and wood had both been dropped carelessly. Here, a place in the dust and dirt looked as if the orc had rested. And then she saw hint of a footstep, preserved in the dust of crumbling stone a few feet beyond.

What could have caught the orc's curiousity such that it would make him leave the sword behind and traverse on? What could have made him leave without coming back for her? Morgan fretted as she searched for more footprints. The decaying stone left little sign of the orc's passing. Finally she found small signs of footprints, both the size and stride of her companion orc. Nearly a straight line from where he had rested before. Morgan's gaze swept to the horizon, searching for some sign that the orc might still be near. Alas, even during the height of the day, the gray shadowed sky made for poor visibility. Here at the edge of night, as true dark fast approached, Morgan despaired as she could not see more than a scant distance.

Making her mind, the sorceress swept back and retrieved the forgotten elven blade. As she took up the blade, the sorceress risked a small magic. Summoning forth her will, she whispered quiet words in a language long forgotten by men. Ancient words, empowered by her will, took shape in the palm of her empty hand. She strained as the land itself seemed to resist her. The dark air seemed to grow colder suddenly and she could feel the power being sucked from her. Still she strove, if the land would not provide the power she needed, she would draw it from within herself. Giving up part of her own essence, the sorceress conjured her will into being. A tiny light, like the softest of flames, yet without the warmth of flame, began to burn in her palm. Its flames licked out, pushing away the darkness. With a faint azure color, the ball of incandescent magefire took on the darkness and made it retreat.

Softly, the sorceress blew upon the fire and sent it floating out before her. The faerie light floated forward, moving in the direction Morgan thought the orc traveled. The sorceress quickly followed; aided by the soft light, her footsteps were more sure. She felt drained, though not dangerously, by the effort required to effect her magic. Another riddle of this land to be solved. Was the land so dead that even the mana that sustained most of her magic failed here? Was this why the mists of Avalon could not reach its tendrils into this land? The Lady protect her, thought Morgan as she followed the wisp of light. Truly this land held dangers she had not anticipated.

Elven blade secure within her grasp, the sorceress followed after the trail of the orc. Upon occasion, she would see a footstep in the broken earth which reassured her the orc had not changed course. While the path did not change, it worried her greatly at what call had brought the orc to leave her. The thought chilled her. Had he fallen prey to some magic summoning? Was he even now headed into some trap that would bring down his doom, or worse? Morgan stumbled upon a stone as she let herself become distracted. The light continued to float ahead of her, moving as she moved and pausing as she forced herself out of her reverie. This was no land to allow her head to become distanced from her surroundings.

Gazing forward the sorceress realized that the orc's path was leading deeper into the land he had called Gothmordra. Closer to whatever mystery awaited at its center. Closer to the reason for their quest. The thought chilled her to the marrow of her bones. She feared she had led the orc to his own bane.

The sorceress steeled herself and redoubled her pace, seeking to catch the orc before it was too late. The faerie light flickered before her, doing battle with the darkness. She could only hope that the light which aided her journey did not also attract the attentions of the denizens of this land.