In a single moment of poor judgment, he stepped on a floating patch of peat and his right leg sank up to the knee into the swamp.

Ordinarily that wouldn't have bothered him much, but at this hour, after most of a day trudging through swarms of biting midges and endless pools of stinking sludge, it pushed him over the edge. With a flurry of rather excessive curses Haldaran tugged his foot free of the mud.

"Damn good thing I just tied these again," he muttered as he slumped down and scraped some greenish scum from the cracked and faded leather of his knee-high boots. Putting your foot in it was one thing, but losing footwear when you pulled it out was quite another. Especially here.

Night was falling -- or at least, it was in places where night really mattered. It was always dim here, almost too dim for Haldaran to keep his footing sure. Any sort of travel in the Swamp of Shadows was treacherous enough, but after dark, it was downright foolish.

A fool Haldaran was not, so he used what little light remained to him to find a likely spot to spend the night. As he stood up, a few strands of his long, tangled hair swung into his eyes. He hated that (though apparently not enough to cut it shorter). With another brief curse he swept it back over his shoulder. His mood was darkening with the daylight.

Slowly turning his gaze over the surroundings, he found that this particular spot was full of fairly stout trees, which usually meant fairly solid ground as well. A small pool, dark as ink, lay before him, but in the deepening gloom he caught sight of a wizened old willow leaning out over the far side. Its tumbled roots looked to Haldaran like ancient fingers grasping at the stagnant water.

Good as any at this point, he thought wearily. The tree stood a small bit closer on the right, so he began to make his careful way around the pool in that direction. As he poked and prodded the ground along the water's edge with his toes, he mused on the sorry fact that, though one must always be minding the ground, the real beauty of this place was up. Often, as he woke in the mornings, he took a few moments to stare aimlessly at the veritable tapestry of branches and vines that wove and twisted themselves ever upward before fading out of view, into the accursed darkness of the swamp. He loved trees; always had, as far back in his memory as he could reach. Perhaps that was why they left him alone.

Haldaran knew there was something strange at work in this swamp; somehow he could feel it in his bones. Beyond the shifting paths, the creaking branches, the rustling of leaves in the stale, close air -- he could sense it. He also knew he was lucky in some way -- he had never been tripped by a slithering vine or pushed into a festering pool by a mischievous tree-limb. Most of the time, he enjoyed it, welcomed it, this inexplicable presence he felt around him. It took away the ache of his long solitude. But sometimes that presence turned to terror. It was then that he wished to be far away, anywhere, away from the terrible anger that bloomed so suddenly whenever--

Stop it, he warned himself. No good getting yourself worked up now. He had reached his willow tree at last, and he promptly threw himself down at its feet, nestled between two great roots that reached out on the side away from the pool. He stripped off his muddied cloak and swung it around in front of him like a blanket, settling his back against the willow's gnarled bole.

As he sat waiting for sleep's approach, his left hand strayed to the hilt of the sword at his side. The blade itself was nothing special, forged in a nameless blacksmith's shop somewhere in the great city of Lómëdor, but the hilt was unique. Its pommel had been worked into a thick ring of steel, with an open space in the center, leaving the tang exposed. Haldaran had never seen another sword quite like it before or since, and he felt a slight twinge of pride every time he reminded himself of it. In any case, it hadn't failed him yet, and mindlessly running his fingers around the pommel had become a habit that usually calmed him.

Slowly nodding away toward his night's rest, his thoughts drifted back to the trees. His first dreams saw him striding through a forest, smiling as he passed countless curving yews and aging willows. Every now and then the trees would suddenly grow dark, twisting their limbs into cages to trap him. Light would fade, the air would seethe with heat and anger -- but just as their scratching hides and tearing fingers seemed to grind finally shut, they would retreat as swiftly as they came, leaving Haldaran lying breathless and terrified in the dirt.

A little dwarf walked on a little island surrounded by a little moat of rotten moss-juice. At a bit of a closer look, the little dwarf didn’t seem quite so little (at least not around) and the mess he was in was certainly anything but small.

Valin had been lost in the bog for over a day. His body ached and his head was sore (or maybe it was the other way around). He certainly couldn’t tell what part of him hurt worse, and he was beginning to believe this whole ordeal was a nightmare. Valin sat upon a squishy log, slipped a boot off, and blinked distantly as moss-juice poured from his boot. This whole dag swamp is black as a spire’s tip. The dwarf put his boot back on, didn’t even bother with the other, and trudged onward.

He knew there was an end to the swamp; he cringed at the thought of drinking from it. He had heard stories of what would happen if one did, and it was not to be done unless one wished to rot from inside out. But considering Valin’s predicament, he may soon be left with no choice but to find out what it was like.

Of all the hate and disdain that could plague a single heart, the dwarf had twice that amount bottled-up in him now. It curbed his hunger, but made him thirsty. All that Valin’s enemies allowed him was his sword, pack, and what he wore on his back before they sent him off into nothingness. He gripped the leather straps of his pack in each hand like a child and kicked at an orange toad, and slipped and stumbled about.

“Dag bats! Ye Blusterin’ bloots!”

Valin was sure he was mad after he spotted a figure lying on a distant island. He blinked three times and shook his beard. No. . . can’t be. . . is it a man?

The still atmosphere was dense, and Valin hoped it hadn’t clouded his mind. He squinted as he squished along, and slipped into a boggy mess. Mud and moss-juice seeped up to his chin. At this point, the tired dwarf cared little of his appearance. He pulled himself from the black muck and crawled across a few floating logs.

He hopped (or moreover skipped) onto the next closest patch of gelatinous earth. Valin’s beard was a mess now, mud and crud started to harden already. The dwarf hoped and hoped that this man had some water and knew this swamp better than he (which was certainly not saying much). For no particular reason, Valin decided to shout across his island at the man.

“Hey ya. . .” he paused, unsure what exactly to say to men, and put his hands to his beard and bellowed out, “Ye don’t happen ta know yer way ‘round here do ye?”

(OOC: I'm going to write this post as occurring sometime after dawn, because Valin seems able to spot Haldaran from a fair distance away.)

Haldaran slept more and more fitfully as the morning drew near. The dreams persisted in haunting him, and each time the clutching tree-limbs closed him in he felt less and less able to resist, as if his strength was bleeding away into the dust at his feet.

A familiar but unnerving sense of watchfulness had been urging him back towards waking life all through the early hours of the morning, but his eyes finally snapped open when he heard (or thought he heard) a voice muttering somewhere ahead of him. He couldn't be sure; the trees in his dreams had a language of their own. He lowered his eyelids a bit, feigning sleep as he searched the swamp for an answer.

Swirls of mist were slowly rising from the waters, clinging to the last hours of cool air trapped beneath the dense canopy. The swamp was always remarkably quiet at dawn -- free of the droning buzz of flying day-insects and the nearly unbearable racket of the night-crickets.

There, he thought. Could that... be a dwarf? Haldaran, veteran of this patch of muck though he was, had never even heard of a dwarf passing through, much less woken up to see one sitting on the peat pouring scum from his boots.

For a moment his surprise overwhelmed the fear stealing up around him, the strange sensation that he was about to receive a wicked blow from behind. He tried in vain to master it as he watched with half-closed eyes.

Then the dwarf looked straight at him. Haldaran fought back a start. Now the stranger was making his careful way towards him, perhaps hoping for conversation of some kind. Stopping a ways off yet, the dwarf gave a shout, inquiring as to his familiarity with the land around.

Haldaran was considering his reply (or lack thereof), still struggling with that unshakable sense of dread, when an Elf suddenly emerged from the mists and undergrowth, pausing near the dwarf and apparently scolding him for his volume.

Haldaran, opening his eyes and catching the dwarf's gaze, slowly put a finger to his lips, silently asking to remain hidden for the moment...

The disgruntled barbarian waved a hand in front of his face to to gain a moments respite from the cloud of midges that had plagued barely an hour after he had entered the swamp. Raoh was beginning to regret the decision he had made that made him trek through this god forsaken water logged patch of earth.

Raoh was one of the youngest of his clan and had yet to prove himself to his peers but had always being known to be rebellious. He refused to believe that he was not a man because some men who had more grey hairs than a moment goat said he wasn't. He had often wondered what the world outside his clan was like and to him this was the true test of a man, to face the unknown and prove its master...

And so here he was, alone with nothing but a worn old cloak to protect him from the elements and a sword passed down to him from his grandfather to protect him from anything else. As he was remembering his decision to leave his people he was forgetting to focus on the path and he let out a gasp of surprise as he went up to his thighs in bog water. "Blast" he cried out " it seems as if the land itself and not just inhabitabts seem to want to eat me. As he pulled himself out of the murky brown water something in the distance caught his eye. He saw two figures, one tall and slender and the other short. The smart thing to do was to ignore the figures and take a route around them but Raoh was intrigued and he felt that this would be his first taste of adventure on his journey into world. Grasping his sword hilt he made his way towards them.

(OOC: Jeez, thnx for ruining my fun Hald. Whatev! *takes off his night vision goggles*)

There was a lot of startling going on in the swamp betwixt a dwarf, a human, an elf, and even a barbarian; it was a very busy place. As if the swamp could not stand its uninvited guests, its dreary inhabitants (strange muck-apparitions and the like) began to clump and cluster somewhere far off in the worst parts of the swamp at the disturbance.

Had Valin not felt so lost, he may have drawn the sword on his back when the elf spoke and scared him witless; for the dwarf had never been in the company of an elf before, and her eloquent voice seemed ominous to him now. As the stubby warrior turned, he gasped at Raehonia. He was sure she was an evil elvish spirit, come to steal his mind through her harmonious tone (for that was what Valin’s rather isolated clan believed elves and their spirits did—sometimes for spite—in the middle of the night). And though it was daytime in the swamp now, it was difficult to tell the difference between day and night in such a place.

The elf that stood before Valin was so fair it would be difficult for any being to look the other way. She towered over the dwarf, and if he looked in her eyes, it would seem to him like gazing at the stars. She was sleek as a blade’s edge. As her lips danced whimsically, Valin did not listen to the words she spoke, for he feared for his life. To the poor dwarf, her speech felt as if it pulled at his conscience and tried to pry it out through his ears. He imagined a faintly glowing aura that enveloped the elf that begged him to come closer.

Valin, a victim of his own ignorance did all he could to keep from trembling. Countless tales of elf ghosts and their deadly games echoed in his mind. The spirits of elves could only be killed by magic (according to him), and Valin knew none to help him here. But they could be dealt with by other means, and according to Valin’s people, running was not one of them.

He had completely forgotten about the man in the distance now, and certainly took no notice of the approaching barbarian. Valin’s legs wobbled as he blinked and barely kept himself from backing away from Raehonia.

Had his wits been about him, Valin may have tried tossing a stone to see whether the elf would catch it or whether it would pass through her, and conclude that she was indeed anything but an evil ghost. But his mind was in a place not often visited by dwarves: a strange mixture of child-like imagination and dread. His palms were damp and his body was tense as an orc-skin drum.

At that very moment—when Valin thought he could be no more doomed—a branch as big around as an ogre, went whoosh and swept him right into a rather sticky pool of goopy, stinky goo. He fell bottom first with a great flop! It stunk of rotten insides and bone-jelly.

Valin did the only thing he knew in a situation like this one. He fought. And squirmed and splashed (and splooshed) and down and down his body sank. His face was covered in the dark goop. The stuff was like honey and sap put together in black. The dwarf struggled like a caged warg; he grunted and groaned all along. He was up to his chest in the bog trap.

What first looked to be an odd meeting with a human became a horrifying encounter with an evil elf ghost, and looked to have now become Valin’s demise by a collection of the stuff he had come to hate more than anything else in Arda: bog-juice, and of the very thickest kind.

As Raoh edged ever closer to the figures he had spyed earlier he could now make them out clearly. One of them was an elf but he was unsure as to whether it was a male or female. He had often heard stories of these mysterious creatures told around the campfire as a young lad. He was told that they were a very fair race, both genders, far surpassing the most beautiful women of his people. But he was wary as he gazed at what he could now make out to be a female. He remembered hearing that they kept to themselves and were a secretive race and Raoh was distrustful of those of such a nature. The other figure was a dwarf and he had been told they were of a different breed altogether. They were valiant warriors, skilled craftsmen and from what he had heard good drinkers...traits Raoh felt he could associate with as these were values that some of the men of his clan, including himself, swore by. From this distance he could not hear anything being said but he could tell that their focus was fixed solely on each other. He still held his sword hilt throughout this train of thought as he was still suspicious on a gathering in this mudhole but he decided to make his presence known. Just as he was about to call out something happened that made him simultaneously draw back and draw his sword in surprise.

He stood with his sword raised more in shock than anuthing else after witnessing such a bizarre sight. Before ahe could sound a greeting a tree branch broke through the haze and threw the dwarf into a mud patch. He would have laughed at the way the dwarf was struggling if it wasn't for the fact that he had just seen a tree come to life and attack someone. It was not something he was accustomed to after living in the stony hills. His gaze followed the retreating branch and through the swirling haze he could see another figure slowly raising. he could see that it was a man sized but he could not tell whether it was another elf or a man like himself. He advanced sword still raised in anticipation of another attack when he heard the elf say "Do you want out of this or not?”

This eased his mind a fraction as it seemed the elf meant no harm. He approached the seen and took a look at the struggling dwarf. He cast a slight smile and said " Well you seem that have gotten yourself into a right pickle haven't little one."

Haldaran would have been amused at the dwarf's misfortune, if not for the trees pressing in, leaning in, listening closely to the commotion of the shorter stranger struggling in the swamp. And it was getting worse.

There couldn't be someone else coming, could there? He slowly snaked his right hand toward the sword lying beside him. Can't take this much longer... he worried to himself. I'll go mad.

He was but a moment away from stealing off deeper into the swamp in an attempt to ease his trouble, when a rather large man emerged from the undergrowth in the distance. The dwarven mishap was between Haldaran and the newcomer, but a sword was clearly drawn.

Haldaran's heart jumped. He was on edge, tense, in no condition for a fight. What if the man meant the other strangers harm? Haldaran would be hard-pressed to come between him and the others in time, much less force him away.

His fear was somewhat lessened, though, when the hulk of a man spoke, jesting at the dwarf's mucky plight.

Enough of this, Haldaran thought. He was tired of games, tired of accidents, and most of all, tired of this terrible sinking feeling, pressed home to his heart by the mistrust of the trees.

"You'll be happy to know, Master Dwarf," he called, rising quickly from his hidden spot between the roots of the old willow, "the quicksand here isn't nearly deep enough to hold one even so short as you. Stop struggling! and float up on your back. Your Elf-friend will have it much easier pulling you out."

Valin was now up to his ears in the bog-juice. If he was in a state of mind capable of feeling it in his ears, the dwarf would have been in much disgust for being so deep in such a stinky concoction of the worst of nature (according to Valin at this point) was so far beyond unfortunate, it may just be indescribable.

As suddenly as he was knocked into the mess, Valin’s toes touched the bottom. His despair ceased and he calmed down quite quickly. All could do was point his face as high in the air as he could, so as to breathe. He could not hear the man, barbarian, or the elf. His breaths became very loud as the world around him was drowned out. His body was so strained to keep his head above the muck (for this hole happened to be just a bit deeper than most) that Valin was not paying attention to the others. Although the image of the elf ghost came back to him, he was much more worried about his body failing him. Every muscle he owned had been struggling on his slow descent, and now he hadn’t much strength. And he knew his calves would soon cramp; thus, the end of Valin Firekraag seemed near.

And so, because he had all together forgotten about the ranger, and was convinced that the elf was an evil spirit, Valin truly believed he was alone. He closed his eyes and thought of his mother and father. He knew he would miss them both dearly. He pictured what his bones might look like in this goo a decade or two later. The poor dwarf outstretched his arms and prepared himself for the gods. It seemed to him that his days of fighting were over.

After a few empty moments, a most peculiar thing happened. Valin’s body started to rise! Though he didn’t take notice at first. His eyes popped open and he was totally astonished as his entire body leveled on the surface. A slender hand reached out in front of him, and he grabbed on—and took no notice that the owner was the very same elf he was, moments ago, deathly afraid of. Using what little strength he had, Valin pulled his body to the edge of the muck using her hand. He rolled himself onto the much more solid earth and hung there helpless as a baby, and with barely enough strength to keep from being swallowed once more by the liquid casket of crud.

Relief at the elf's timely rescue eased Haldaran's unrest for a few moments, even enough for the hint of a smile, one more visible in his eyes than on his mouth.

"One would think he had been in danger of drowning, the way he flails," he joked. "I've seen plenty of bog-bodies here, but never a bog-dwarf."

He strode back toward the willow, collecting his cloak and sword and fastening them both back over his worn leather clothes. The tense anxiety returned to him swiftly.

He decided a drink might be in order, and pulled a fairly full water-skin from a strap at his side. He had long used up his precious mead, but Haldaran knew quite well how to find fresh water, even here where all things, even living, festered and rotted ceaselessly.

He stood quietly by the willow, regarding the strangers with an impatient glance. He hoped they would explain themselves soon, so he could be off to regain his solitude.

The dwarf lay spread out on the ground trying to regain his breath after his ordeal. He appeared much too exhausted to make a reproach to either the man, the elf or even Raoh himself. Raoh now cast a more examing gaze over his new aqquaintences. The man who was a ranger by the look of him was gathering up his things by the foot of the living tree. By his demeanour he smiled and impatient man yet by his advice to the dwarf he seemed a decent fellow although time would only tell if that assumption proved through. The elf was wiping the muck for her pale, slender hand. He was a very striking figure with burning golden eyes. Although in awe of this creature he was still wary of her.

The dwarf was a sturdy looking creature that bore markings on his face. Raoh had seen this painted on the bodies of some of the raiders that had attacked his home from time to time but they were of a different design. Although he sensed no immediate danger from the others but Raoh kept his sworddrawn but had the point touching the ground he leaned lightly upon the hilt with both hands. he did not like the uncomfortable silence in the group and so he he decided to break it. " This is as strange a meeting place as any i've ever known" he said with a sense of carefree bravado that masked his caution " I am Raoh of the northern tribes. Who might you be?" he inquired.

Valin and his violent nature had quite a different perception of those that were gathered over his sloth-like self. Since his body was worn as a flag in a thunderstorm; he felt like he just battled ten dragonlings, and lost. He imagined that Haldaran, Raehonia, and Raoh were in cahoots together (being the ill-nurtured dwarf he was), and could very well be whispering about how best to kill him. At least Valin had finally concluded that the elf was almost certainly not an evil spirit, for it was quite beyond their magic to summon beings of the natural world, much less beings with the intent of introducing themselves. Even though their tones seemed neutral, Valin pictured them waiting for him to look up at them, and when he did they would slit his throat for spite, and then divide his few belongings among them.

Then, a most concerned question was directed at Valin, and he didn’t quite know how to respond; certainly because it was the elf speaking and also because he really wasn’t sure whether his tongue still worked (for it was a muscle, and every other muscle he had felt like melted jelly). She asked if he was, “alright”, and Valin managed a bit of a huffed chuckle. Where he was from, if one dwarf asked another whether he felt “alright” it was merely another way to tell him to quit being a “wimpy-beard” and stop wasting time; for time was for killing, feasting, or drinking, and certainly not for laying on the ground like a whipped dog.

Valin sat up with considerably more ease than most anything else would have in his position (though most anything else wouldn’t have put up such a foolish fuss in the bog-juice trap). He laid his back against a mushy log covered in moss and riddled with crawly things. And he finally looked upon his new acquaintances and spoke with a fiery tone that once more upset the trees around him.

“I am Valin Firekraag and if ye mean ta kill me, like the rest o’ this dag place, ya better do it soon!” he coughed violently and then leaned back against his log once more, and presented a very dire grin, “Cause if ye mean to, and dun do it soon, I’ll cut yer legs off an’ toss ye in that dag o’ crap! And see how ye like it!” and pointed a rather plump thumb at the muck-pool nearby.

Now in most social corners of Arda, this manner of speech is not only frowned upon, but seen as quite threatening and terrible. But if one had been raised where Valin had (or had been an ogre), it would be quite clear that he was now making quite normal and friendly conversation.

Raoh was taken aback by this outburst form the recovering dwarf. He knew himself to be a gruff character during times of strain much like the time while out hunting only a few months ago. He had been hunting a stag that would have garnered him praise from the older hunters of his clan. He had climbed a tree to gain a better vantage point when the branch he was resting broke and left him hanging upside down. It was an hour before some of his clansmen came and founfd him. While they thought the sight was quite humorous he gave him a rebuff that would have made some of his elders cover their ears.

But this rebuff from the dwarf was a shock as he had been in danger of losing his life and his dignity like Raoh had. His temper flared and Raoh raised up his sword and leveled the point at the dwarf. "Where i come form little one we treat people who have done us a great service with a little respect and even more so if they are a woman. I had assumed you would be greatful but if it's a fight you want instead than i am more than willing to oblige" he said taking a combat stance, sword still leveledon the dwarf named Valin. " My sword arm is out of practice and i could use some to keep it in shape. What say you?"

After taking his swig of water and setting his back against the great willow-bole, Haldaran steeled himself, trying to remain calm in the face of imagined tree-limbs trying to close him in again.

The dwarf's rather sharp challenge, though not surprising to him, only made his struggle worse. In an effort to calm and reassure himself, Haldaran gripped his sword with both hands, his right on the hilt and his left on the scabbard. It was the only thing he could think of to stave off the constant feeling that he was about to take a nasty blow from somewhere outside his vision.

Still, the mounting tension among the other three made it difficult to even see straight. The accursed trees were pressing their uncanny attack again. When the barbarian called Raoh decided to offer battle to the dwarf, Haldaran snapped.

His mind's eye swarming with reaching, scratching branches and the unintelligible whispers of the trees, he stormed off deeper into the swamp.

“That is no way to handle this.”

Raoh was a bit perplexed by this. Surely anybody who had been insulted in such a fashion would naturally satisfaction but as he looked into Raehonias eyes he could see no anger or frustration in them, only the startling shine that emitted from them. Slowly he drew back his blade and lowered it into to his scabbard. He tore his gaze from her and settled on the surly sack of a dwarf that was resting against a log. " You're lucky ,my surly friend, that cooler heads prevailed." Raoh said in a tone that showed he was still angry "Otherwise you would be even shorter than you are now." He readied himself for the Valins retort when Raehonia spoke again in a tone of curiosity.

“What is he doing?”

Raoh turned his attention from the dwarf to the figure of the retreating ranger. He had struck Raoh as an impatient and so maybe he had somewhere to be. But the abrupt nature of his departure coupled with the fact that he gave no word, good or bad, of his departure. Maybe there was some more sinister reason to his hasty exit from this scene and this made Raoh grasp the hilt of his sword once more in fear of another attack, be it from the beasts of the swamp or the tree hoping to finish off its earlier victim. Just to be sure of the rangers intent Raoh gave out a call "Ho there man, Is it our presence or the presence some other creature that causes you to flee in such haste?"

Valin looked at Raoh’s sword as if it were a pesky gnat and adopted a very stern demeanor; with his eyebrows scrunched and his forehead compacted. He mostly ignored the barbarian’s words, yet did bother to follow the gist of it. Then, when Rhao took on an odd posture (what most would call a “stance”), Valin—having never been taught the need for any kind of combative stance—was quite amused at this. For one, Valin was very weak and fairly helpless, and if one desired to kill him now there was no need for any “dancin’ about”. Also, the dwarf was taught that it was a bit cowardly to challenge another fighter when he was not rested and ready (of which Valin was certainly not), and things that were a bit cowardly were something that Valin and his people always had time for a chuckle or two about. And so he did; Valin laughed quite heartily and smiled—figuring it probably best to die smiling rather than scowling.

“Where I come from, women take care o’ they dag selves! And if ye fought me now, trust me . . . ye’d get more sport from a one-armed hag than me! I can’t even lift my dag arms right now! But if I could, I tell ye I’d break yer dag arms in two here an’ now! ! !”

Valin paused for a brief moment, wincing a bit, as he half expected a blade to take his head—or at least his tongue. Then he continued on in his dwarvish ramblings:

“Maybe if ye grew a whisker or two ya’d know what I talk of. . .”

The dwarf watched as the elf maiden touched the barbarian’s blade. If Valin cared much for elves, he would have winced in anticipation of her losing a limb, for a hand was not to be shoved among things meant to maim and kill. But to the dwarve’s astonishment, his aggressor merely lowered the weapon and calmed himself. Normally, Valin would have considered Raoh to be a worthless coward at this. But even Valin felt the soothing tone that floated through the air from Raehonia’s delicate lips, whether it was magic or not. Valin didn’t even pester Raoh any further; he just sat there and blinked at the elf’s humbling beauty.

Valin snapped back into reality as the man dashed off into the swamp, at this the dwarf speculated aloud:

“I wonder if that dag o’ bastard is behind this blusterin’ tree actin’ up!”

He found himself thinking back to just a few moments before. He had all together forgotten about the oddity that a tree had tried to kill him! With a new conviction that bred fire in his eyes, Valin hounded at Raoh:

“Come on now! Ye got legs twice as long as he does (though it was a poor guesstimate and altogether bad judgement)! Grab em ‘afore he gets away now!” Valin shouted as he pointed a sludge-covered finger at the fleeting ranger.

For a man his size, Haldaran moved startlingly swiftly in such a tangled and treacherous land. Long years had made his eyes keen and his steps sure, two things more necessary in this swamp than either nimbleness or outright speed.

He heard but didn't listen to the call of the hulking man, too preoccupied with escape and regress. As he reached the edge of earshot, he thought he caught the dwarf ordering the other man to pursue, but it didn't concern him terribly. Let them try.

And so, as time passed and he wandered aimlessly into the reek and the muck, the feeling of angst and pressing worry gradually subsided. He was doing a dismal job of concealing his tracks, but that didn't matter. He didn't expect them to follow, and an idea had been taking root in his mind that was sure to put them off the hunt.

He knew of an old fort a few miles deeper into the swamp. Haldaran had discovered it quite a while before, rotting in a glen overgrown with a particularly tough and gangly variety of vine. Young enough to still have some of his youthful adventurous nature about him, he had crept his way carefully down to the glen floor to have a closer look.

The glen, oblong in shape, was steep and rocky on all sides but one, opening with a relatively gentle slope on its western end. The first time he had come here, Haldaran had thought it exceedingly odd, as rocky, steep hollows that weren't full of water simply do not happen in a swamp. At least not naturally.

The fort itself clung to the narrower of the three steep sides, facing the only safe approach with many tall, slim windows that seemed to gaze at a traveler with unfriendly black eyes.

It was not especially large or well built, and it had been crumbling into rubble and dust since Haldaran had found it, but something about it, about the way its turrets leaned out away at precarious angles from the cliff-wall and the way the dim light never seemed to shift so as to land on its dark grey stone... Unsettling was the only word Haldaran had ever been able to think of to describe it.

The masonry was odd, as well. It wasn't built of bricks, or even rough boulders or stones. It was, as far as he could tell, carved right out of the living rock, giving it a raw, unfinished look that was sometimes maddening to the eye. In his rather vivid imagination Haldaran pictured it emerging, inch by inch, from the cliff-wall behind, bulging its way out of the earth like some kind of sorcerous cancer.

Despite its mostly ancient and ruinous appearance, however, the great stone door in its front wall still looked as solid as ever. Not that he had ever even considered trying to open it; he hadn't survived nearly a decade of his life in the Swamp of Shadows by sticking his neck out for no good reason. The only reason he ever came near the "glen-fort" as he called it was to be certain he was alone. The place was clearly uncanny, so he generally assumed that no other living soul was likely to ever disturb him there.

He had need of solitude now. The unwelcome tension that had so recently plagued his mind was little more than a memory now, and he strode lightly down into the hollow, peering across the way at the strange fortress that assured him of peace. Finding a toppled yew tree not far from the northern cliff-wall, he set himself on the ground facing the grim, looming enigma at the far end of the glen. Haldaran leaned back against the rotting yew-wood and pulled a long pipe from his belt, satisfied with his undeniably rapid trudge through the bog. Here he should be hidden from all eyes, friendly or otherwise.

Raohs temper flaired up once again and he rounded on the dwarf." No one tells me what to do, no one. Not the elders of my village, not some random stranger and certainly not some fool of a dwarf who ends up in a hole in the ground stuggling like a child." Raoh was about to draw hiis sword again but a sharp look from the elf made him think twice about it. Of all the ones in the group she was the one he did not want to cross due to her still mysterious nature.

However Valin was right. It was very suspcious the way in which the ranger took off deeper into the swamp. A variety of possibilities crossed his mind. Maybe man was a bandit and was off to inform his cohorts of some pickings in the swamp. If that was the case they would find them to be easy pickings. Maybe he was a spy, sent to locate either Raehonia or Valin and was going back to report his findings. He knew he was no target as none save his clansmen knew he had ventured from his home. Or maybe it was fear that drove the ranger deeper into into the haze ridden swamp. Fear of the hostile branch in the vicinity or fear of an approaching evil that would cause terror in the hearts of the sturdiest of folk. Whatever the answer to these questions, Raoh was not willing to wait around and let the answer find him. He would instead seek the answer for himself from the mouth of the ranger. He had some tracking skill, learned via hunting deer in the foress below his rocky home and the wild goats above. Although a swamp was not the same he trust he could find clues if he looked. Besides Raoh was sure that Raehonia could spot the slightest hint of the rangers presence... if she came along.

"While your tone displeases me dwarf you do raise a valid point." Raoh said he a milder tone than what he first used on Valin. "No good can come of his flight and i intend to find out what caused him to flee. So...are you staying or are you coming with me?" he inquired of both of them

“What in blazes are ye dag fools standin’ about fer? Get after ‘em! I’ll be right behind both o’ yas! That lil’ bugger’s behind all o’ this weird happenin’s! I’d bet my dag legs on it if they worked right!”

Valin started off in the direction he last saw the ranger. He hobbled and gimped along as fast as his stubby, worn legs could carry him, stumbling and bumbling about as he went.

The dwarf looked quite a mess as he tripped along in the strange swamp. His whole beard was caked in mud, and stuck together in a clumpy mass. And a dwarve’s beard getting messy was something very very unfavorable; if he had time to think about it, he would be even more upset.

Valin wondered what his elders would think of his predicament. It had been only a day since he was forced away from his home, and he had already managed to make quite a fool of himself. The hobbling dwarf thought of his uncle, and wondered if he had paid for helping Valin escape the Mountain unharmed. For it was his uncle, Master Thrain that was the only dwarf who stood up for Valin, and convinced the Kreekort family to banish Valin, instead of killing him on the spot. Such was the life of a dwarf within the Mountain, they were a savage and brutal clan of barbarians known to some as the Ka’suth. The Ka’suth were so fierce they made the Duergar (dwarves of the Underdark) look like fairy-sprites. If only Valin’s father hadn’t lost to Balin Kreekort, an elder of a rival family, Valin’s family would still be in control. But his father was dead now, and his mother may have been too.

Valin snapped back to reality, sending reminiscent thoughts to the wayside. He focused on the task at hand, and continued the chase (at least as best he could).

Haldaran had finally managed to calm himself. Now he sat against the fallen yew-trunk and tried to sort out the queer events in which he had found himself this morning, smoking his pipe with a puff of thick, aromatic smoke every now and again.

There were two things that always seemed to put his mind at ease, and those were smoking and trudging through the swamp. He had, of course, already accomplished the latter, and since his rude awakening today was one of the strangest occurrences he had ever been party to, he had decided to allow himself a pipe-full of his precious but dwindling supply of pipe-weed.

Now he took some time to study his surroundings a little closer. Though few trees grew in the glen, it was thick with underbrush and a creeping, twisting coal-colored vine that choked even the strongest and most robust of the other plant life. The sickly odour of rotting vegetation swam in the air, reaching Haldaran's nose even through the strong scent from his pipe. It certainly wasn't a beautiful place, but it had an intrigue of its own simply because it was so vastly different from the rest of the swamp.

After a while of sitting and thinking distractedly, he still could find no good reason why four, four people had just happened upon each other in the middle of the swamp, and he began to worry a bit about his rather hasty departure. He was in no mood for company, and though he was sure no one without wings could have followed him closely on his path this morning, his tracks were another matter. Even a fool would have been able to read his long trail of footprints through the mud.

His better judgment told him it would be best to find a spot to hide, just in case the elf, or the barbarous-looking man, or (gods forbid) the ill-mannered dwarf should come looking for him. Haldaran used a small twig to pack the ash and remaining weed tightly into his pipe, so as not to spill any on the ground for unfriendly eyes to find. He then stood and surveyed the glen.

Most of the life here was brush-like in nature, with dense canopies that shaded and even somewhat sheltered the ground beneath them. Some were so large that, if one could slide under their snagging, talon-like branches, one would find a small open space at the heart of the plant, a little room with walls and a roof of tough, tangled wood. There, Haldaran felt, he would be concealed from all but the most prying of pursuers.

So he moved deeper into the hollow, toward its center, where he saw that many of the nameless shrubs grew tall and wide. He was careful this time to leave no sign of his passing; he stepped gingerly over fallen leaves and driftwood, avoiding moist or muddy ground at all costs. It was slow going, and his long cloak and duster became entangled with the underbrush more than a few times, but eventually he found what he was looking for.

Unstrapping his sword and cloak, he slid them under the hanging branches of his chosen brush-plant. Then, lying flat on his stomach, he rolled underneath, careful to avoid catching and tearing any of his clothing on the often sharp ends of the shrub-limbs.

Haldaran propped himself up on an elbow and assessed his state of affairs. The plant's shroud was dense, offering close cover. He doubted anyone would be able to see him here unless they walked right up and peered through the branches. He noticed suddenly that he was incredibly hungry, not having eaten anything since the afternoon or evening before.

He pulled a small packet of waybread from a pouch on his belt and broke off a piece. Munching thoughtfully on the dry but fairly sweet sustenance, he guessed that it must be about midday or even later, judging from the light and the time it had taken him to arrive here.

After a swig of water to wash down his light meal, he folded up his cloak and set it under his head like a pillow. Placing his sword within easy reach, he decided to close his eyes for a bit and perhaps regain a little of the sleep he had lost last night to the frightening dreams.

The stone fort, callous and unchanging, continued its solemn watch over the glen.

Raoh was breathing hard as he continued his steady jog deeper into the swamp. He could barely see ten paces ahead of him and in terrain in such as this, it was less than ideal weather. He kept his eyes on the marshy land and only lifted his head in a quick glance to see if the haze would clear any bit or to see if his companions were still with him. Raehonia was taking long graceful strides as if she wasn't exerting herself at all. It amazed Raoh because they were neck and neck in the chase of the ranger and e could begin to feel his sides tightening. Tracking a stag through a forest didn't call for this sort of pace so Raoh was at the same level of fitness as Raehonia. He cast a glance back over his shoulder to see if Valin still followed them. He saw a shadow in the haze but he couldn't be sure if it was his eyes paying tricks on him or if it truly was the short warrior trying to catch up to them just as fast as his stumpy legs could carry him." Come Valin, don't lag behind or you might have another encounter with the trees of this swamp" he called out as he returned his eyes to the ground hoping to find a clear path if there was any in this place.

His earlier fears were misplaced as tracking the ranger was not that difficult. The mud preserved his footprints well and it was easy going to follow them. He also watched his own footing as well as the trail because he did not want to end up waist deep in a bog hole as it would be an inconvenience and it would also give Valin a good reason to mock him. The haze began to clear and not too far ahead Raoh saw a glen and int that glen there was what appeared to be an old fort carved into the hillside. It was an ominous looking place and to Raoh, who had never seen a fort before it looked to be a hard place to enter by force, had it been in its prime as it was now clearly in a state of decay. As they neared the fort Raoh came to a halt. He leaned over, hands on his knees and tried to get in as much air as he could. The air tasted no less foul than in the swamp and Raoh had a sickly feeling in his stomach after swallowing big amounts of it. But the air wasn't the only thing that gave him that feeling in the bottom of his stomach. A new wave of uneasiness came over him. This was where the rangers tracks had led them and yet there was no sign of him. of course he could have entered the fort somehow but just looking at it sent a slight shiver down his spine. "What do you know of this place?" he said turning to Raehonia.

Valin's brisk hobble turned into a weaving gallop that became a tired trod and was now a plodding as slow as a shelled snail. He could still make out Raoh and Raehonia in the distance far ahead of him. His poor display of speed (or lacker thereof) was not entirely attributed to his over-used muscles, (if you remember his struggle in the bog-juice) though Valin would blame it entirely so. Deep down, Valin could tell there was another reason he was so slow in the swamp. There was something about the surface air, or perhaps it was just the swamp air; regardless of the reason, whatever it was, it burned his lungs and he found it difficult to breathe. Valin missed the deep tunnels of The Mountain (his home for all his life, until just yesterday). There was nothing quite like breathing in 1000-year-old air, and most dwarves were very fond of the feeling, and it made most feel entirely at home; some may even like the stagnant air deep underground more than amethysts or topaz or even deep blue sapphires. The air up where Valin was—well, it was too wet and it made him feel like his heart was sticking to his ribs.

And so he huffed and puffed his miserable way along, and when he saw that the elf and the large man had stopped Valin sighed with relief—on the inside that is. Valin, as well as most dwarves in general, were never known to sigh one bit. For dwarves, a sigh was more of an expression and not a sound, it was a frazzled look in which one would squint and frown a little. That was all the more complaint one was allowed, for most dwarves that is; for even though Valin's clan was almost completely unheard of, (even to other dwarves) it was quite peculiar how closely his mannerisms matched others of his kind. As if dwarves were made of stone themselves, not much changed about them over many many years or several hundred miles.

Now Valin could make out a structure in the distance, it was the reason they stopped. It looked like a little castle with great big stone bricks with chiseled-out corners and missing edges. Moss and other thick green plant life covered an entire side of the building. It seemed to Valin like some abandoned outpost, and he wondered if there were any abandoned tools or loot inside. He made up his mind right then and there—as many dwarves spontaneously do when treasure might be involved—that he was going to search and scour every square inch of the outpost, with or without the help of the others. There might even be trap doors! Valin thought to himself, more excited now than he'd been in quite some time; for he loved trap doors and things of the like, especially if there was a little magic involved too. The thought made the dwarf a little homesick, despite the fact that his father had been murdered there a day-and-a-half ago.

Valin finally paced up to his new acquaintances, briefly thought about killing both of them and taking their things (for Valin was raised among a most cruel and violent band of dwarves), decided against it (for he liked the two of them—Rhao and Raehonia—a bit more than he even knew himself), and stood as tall as he could, breathing as heavily as an ox driven for days without rest. The tattooed dwarf tossed his pack to the ground and hastily opened it. He pulled out a waterskin filled with ale and downed it in a wink. He overheard Raehonia whispering about something so Valin trudged in close to listen, being careful not to step into another bog-hole.

He looked up once again at the outpost as he tried to hear the elf's whispers. Two big crows with feathers black as death were perched on the top of the fort. As soon as their shifting eyes met Valins, they flew off into the distance and were gone as quick as dust in the wind. Even Valin felt a shiver run up his spine after he saw that. But his wanderlust was far from blemished. Annoyed with all the careful talk, Valin tossed his empty waterskin by his pack and shouted:

“What de dag hell are we standin' about fer? That dag human is probably findin' a nice cozy place ta hide in there while we're out here twidlin' our beards!”

Raoh was in a dilema. He felt the same as both Raehonia and Valin. The feeling of unease was steadily growing inside the pit of his stomach but he didn't want to admit it in front of the others. He was a man of the north, he had slain many picts since he first took up the sword only a few short years ago and he did not want to seem intimidated on his first venture from his homeland. However he felt a tinge of curiosity as to where the ranger had disappeared to and for all the terror it exuded, he also felt a slight tinge to explore the ominous looking foundation staring at them from the the very rock face of the slope. Well, it was either that or retreat back into the swamp and face the wrath of the trees, the beasts of the swamp or wait to see if the ranger ad his companions( if he had any) to catch up to them and and ambush them to strip them of their worldly goods. it was obvious to him what had to be done although he was loathe to do it. He let go a soft sigh and turned to address to his new comrades.

"Valin does make a point Raehonia" Raoh said in a steady voice, trying to mask to unease he felt" The Ranger could be in there picking himself a nice spot for an ambush. He could be all on his own in there or maybe he was a gang waiting for us and personally i would much prefer to spring this trap and go out fighting than being snuck up upon in that god forsaken swamp and being hunted like some beast." Anger was rising inside of him as they words cam out of his mouth. Good, he thought to himself, the fear was gone for the moment and he would prefer if it stayed that way.

" So i will go with Valin and try to find the ranger and find out what sinister purpose he has" he said staring directly at the elf" What of you Raehonia, what will you do?"