Tale of the Divine Ursine
Sir Bear pats Cluckphrey on his ruffled feathers, assuring him that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The fair people of the Wild Wood are suffering needlessly due to the ravenous greed of the Wolflords. They must be stopped regardless of how dangerous the area where they live is. Cluckphrey agrees with Sir Bear's choice. He feels a sense of pride as he is bound by his honor and not his fear, a noble trait in a chicken.
The pair eventually enter the Crooked Hills. Named for its warped landscaping, the area seems like it has leapt out from an imaginative painting into an unassuming reality. The trees rise spindly and barren of leaves. The sky remains overcast and grey, a fate that the area has faced for some time now. Many believe it due to the sorcery of accursed witches. Sir Bear walks with trepidation while Cluckphrey’s armor rattles as he marches closely to the warm Bear. They are deep into the region now; anything could occur.
As they travel along a winding path through the hills, a strange silence permeates the area. Through the biting winds, Sir Bear can almost hear voices…calling out to him. He does not enjoy the dark aura of these lands one bit.
“I sure could go for some warm porridge right now, Sir Bear! Back at the Frogtop Inn, cozy on one of the sofa chairs…”
“Yes, anything seems better than here I must say. These Wolflords have chosen quite the odd home here.”
“And yet you have entered our home without invitation!” a booming voice shouts. Sir Bear jerks his head westward to see atop a nearby hill two Wolflords, humans garbed in dark attire riding atop massive wolves the size of horses. The wolves' eyes gleam yellow in the darkness as foam drips from their snarling teeth. The Wolflords whip their mounts with reins of silver chains, causing them to descend toward the noble pair.
The Wolflords maintain a safe distance, obviously wary of a mighty-looking Bear. One of the riders is male with a long black beard, hooded, his eyes overcast by shadows. The other, female, with heavy eyeshadow and black lipstick. Bones adorn a headdress she wears. Their skin is paler than the full moon.
“It is clear you are aware this is our territory, yet you trespass regardless!” the male Wolflord shouts.
“Mmm…Hayshar, I sure could go for some roasted chicken breast right about now.” The female cackles, licking her lips at Cluckphrey. The frightened chicken cowers behind Sir Bear's leg.
“Enough Frela. We wouldn’t want to eat our intruders before we discovered what they were doing here, would we?”
“Hmm…I really could care less,” she states, smiling cruelly at Cluckphrey.
“I believe we have gotten off on the wrong paw. I am Sir Bear and this is my squire Cluckphrey. We are here on behalf of King Glenleavale to request that a peaceful solution be reached concerning the shipments of supplies that are raided by your kin.”
Hayshar remains stoic while Frela howls with amusement. Her wolf mount barks at Cluckphrey in wanting hunger.
“Peaceful solution? Foolish Bear, we are a people bred of fear and appetite! Your kingdom has grown weak as of late. We are relieving you of items you clearly cannot defend. Does the cat bow to the lowly mouse? As it will be with the subjects of King Glenleavale, the wolflords will not submit to an inferior foe!”
“Oh Please…PLEASE Hayshar, let us EAT THEM!” Frela is practically quivering, her saddled wolf foaming.
“Perhaps we could discuss this with your leader or council Sir Hayshar? I would hate for this to come to violence,” Sir Bear answers, his muscles tightening, ready for a physical confrontation at any moment.
“The Shaman is not to be disturbed by the peons of lesser kingdoms. You will not be granted an audience, you flea-ridden ursine abomination.” His condescending tone causes Sir Bear to snarl, revealing his pearly white canines.
Frela and Hayshar’s wolf mounts slightly retreat, enraged at Sir Bear's aggressive posturing. The fur on their backs stands on end. Frela turns to her compatriot.
“Let’s end the bear and take the chicken as our own.”
“I am a man of battle Frela, but I will not throw my life away so frivolously. A Bear, no matter how foolish his allegiance, is still a daunting foe. Our best option is to head back to camp as they wander the hills.”
Frela deviously smiles.
“Tell me we will come back for my feathery friend!”
“We will. Let the phantoms have their way with these fools…” He turns back to Sir Bear.
“…I suggest you leave Sir Bear. Our land is vast and fearsome; you will not be able to survive long on your own. I hope your decision is wise, or the next time we meet may be your last.”
With that cold statement, Frela and Hayshar kick their mounts, which let loose bloodcurdling howls, rushing into the woods, quickly lost in the darkness. Cluckphrey finally stops shaking.
“They….They’re letting us go?”
“They are leaving us to die in this horrible wilderness. They don’t have much stock in our tracking abilities,” Sir Bear replies.
“But should we stray from the road to follow them? There could be unspeakable dangers off the beaten path Sir Bear!”
The pair eventually enter the Crooked Hills. Named for its warped landscaping, the area seems like it has leapt out from an imaginative painting into an unassuming reality. The trees rise spindly and barren of leaves. The sky remains overcast and grey, a fate that the area has faced for some time now. Many believe it due to the sorcery of accursed witches. Sir Bear walks with trepidation while Cluckphrey’s armor rattles as he marches closely to the warm Bear. They are deep into the region now; anything could occur.
As they travel along a winding path through the hills, a strange silence permeates the area. Through the biting winds, Sir Bear can almost hear voices…calling out to him. He does not enjoy the dark aura of these lands one bit.
“I sure could go for some warm porridge right now, Sir Bear! Back at the Frogtop Inn, cozy on one of the sofa chairs…”
“Yes, anything seems better than here I must say. These Wolflords have chosen quite the odd home here.”
“And yet you have entered our home without invitation!” a booming voice shouts. Sir Bear jerks his head westward to see atop a nearby hill two Wolflords, humans garbed in dark attire riding atop massive wolves the size of horses. The wolves' eyes gleam yellow in the darkness as foam drips from their snarling teeth. The Wolflords whip their mounts with reins of silver chains, causing them to descend toward the noble pair.
The Wolflords maintain a safe distance, obviously wary of a mighty-looking Bear. One of the riders is male with a long black beard, hooded, his eyes overcast by shadows. The other, female, with heavy eyeshadow and black lipstick. Bones adorn a headdress she wears. Their skin is paler than the full moon.
“It is clear you are aware this is our territory, yet you trespass regardless!” the male Wolflord shouts.
“Mmm…Hayshar, I sure could go for some roasted chicken breast right about now.” The female cackles, licking her lips at Cluckphrey. The frightened chicken cowers behind Sir Bear's leg.
“Enough Frela. We wouldn’t want to eat our intruders before we discovered what they were doing here, would we?”
“Hmm…I really could care less,” she states, smiling cruelly at Cluckphrey.
“I believe we have gotten off on the wrong paw. I am Sir Bear and this is my squire Cluckphrey. We are here on behalf of King Glenleavale to request that a peaceful solution be reached concerning the shipments of supplies that are raided by your kin.”
Hayshar remains stoic while Frela howls with amusement. Her wolf mount barks at Cluckphrey in wanting hunger.
“Peaceful solution? Foolish Bear, we are a people bred of fear and appetite! Your kingdom has grown weak as of late. We are relieving you of items you clearly cannot defend. Does the cat bow to the lowly mouse? As it will be with the subjects of King Glenleavale, the wolflords will not submit to an inferior foe!”
“Oh Please…PLEASE Hayshar, let us EAT THEM!” Frela is practically quivering, her saddled wolf foaming.
“Perhaps we could discuss this with your leader or council Sir Hayshar? I would hate for this to come to violence,” Sir Bear answers, his muscles tightening, ready for a physical confrontation at any moment.
“The Shaman is not to be disturbed by the peons of lesser kingdoms. You will not be granted an audience, you flea-ridden ursine abomination.” His condescending tone causes Sir Bear to snarl, revealing his pearly white canines.
Frela and Hayshar’s wolf mounts slightly retreat, enraged at Sir Bear's aggressive posturing. The fur on their backs stands on end. Frela turns to her compatriot.
“Let’s end the bear and take the chicken as our own.”
“I am a man of battle Frela, but I will not throw my life away so frivolously. A Bear, no matter how foolish his allegiance, is still a daunting foe. Our best option is to head back to camp as they wander the hills.”
Frela deviously smiles.
“Tell me we will come back for my feathery friend!”
“We will. Let the phantoms have their way with these fools…” He turns back to Sir Bear.
“…I suggest you leave Sir Bear. Our land is vast and fearsome; you will not be able to survive long on your own. I hope your decision is wise, or the next time we meet may be your last.”
With that cold statement, Frela and Hayshar kick their mounts, which let loose bloodcurdling howls, rushing into the woods, quickly lost in the darkness. Cluckphrey finally stops shaking.
“They….They’re letting us go?”
“They are leaving us to die in this horrible wilderness. They don’t have much stock in our tracking abilities,” Sir Bear replies.
“But should we stray from the road to follow them? There could be unspeakable dangers off the beaten path Sir Bear!”