The wind wound through the mountains, screeching at every crevasse, and flicking snow from the highest most peaks. This was the Vaolosian Mountain Pass just south of the border, and through it marched two men against the wind, heavy backpack bearing and exhausted in appearance. These men were Ragnest Starkweather and Tryon Hearkdale, great friends and masters of one another, constantly sharing information and wisdom to the betterment of the other. They had been marching for little over two weeks now and had hitherto had green pastures and cloaked forests to walk through, not anymore.

The mountain pass was treacherous, with narrow paths skirting the edges of various mountains and long overburdened bridges connecting occasional points between two mountain edges so that they could continue on. There was little sun to guide their way, clouded largely by the mist of the mountains which had risen earlier that day, it was now late afternoon and both men had to find shelter fast or else suffer considerably in the biting cold.

Ragnest was sick of the crunching of snow under boot, he longed for green pastures and tavern stops once more where he could indulge and relax to sweet music and drink. But no, here he was, forced out of his own country for the protection of those he loved. Why is the world so unfair?

Tyron was just behind him, also looking considerably gloomy for the losing of his personal library and the abandonment of an early relationship that was long in the making, but his duty to Ragnest who had made Tyron a great man was far more important. He remembered clearly what Yunri (his to-be wife) had told him, Look after that Ragnest wont you, he has helped us all here and we owe that much to him. Look after yourself too, and don't get up to any mischief while you are gone!. Tyron looked blankly into the snow as he remembered the look on Yunri's face, it was filled with dread and a false hope; she thought she was fooling Tryon, but he knew what she knew, that she may not be there when he got back. At this Tyron came close to shedding a tear but stopped himself just in time as Ragnest had turned around to check on him.

"Hey" Ragnest said calmly only to be duly reminded by the blank expression on Tyron's face that he was in a loud noisy wind, Tyron had not heard him. "Hey!". This time Tyron's face lit up a little, he always admired the empathy Ragnest could display. Everything about him was empathetic, the way he spoke calmly and reassuringly, his caring eyes and calm features.

"Yes M'lord"

"Are you okay? I'm rather cold up in front but I wondered how you were faring back here!" Ragnest shouted, still struggling to be heard over the howling wind.

"I'm okay Ragnest, you know I will continue going until I fall alongside you". Tyron made himself slightly smaller, suddenly realising that maybe he was being slightly too dramatic, but he was in a dramatic environment.

"I hope not my old friend, I would rather you continued over me than die next to me! After all, you will have to keep Yunri's bed warm when you get back!" There was hope in his eyes as Ragnest said this, but Tyron could tell he was being wishful.

"Very well" Tyron responded with a slight grin. "If you would wish me to desert you in such un-forbidding circumstances to return to my lovely lady, I'm afraid you would be wishing loneliness on yourself, how I do wish to return to Yunri".

"Then why do you not, good friend" Ragnest countered with a cheerful jest in his voice; talking to his closest friend usually lifted his spirits.

"Because you can pay me some for this" mocked Tyron, followed by laughter between the two who had, since leaving home, gradually experienced a breakdown in all hierarchy of status since leaving. After all, if Tyron had said this while at home, such a statement could be punishable by death; not that Ragnest would, he understood the sanctity of life, but for other peasants and nobles for one lowly man such as Tyron to question a knight was a great crime.

"Never mind this, we must find some shelter" Tyron continued, quite lifted by his recent remark which gave him a new burst of confidence.

"Agreed, I think I saw a small cave only 5 minutes back, we shall camp there tonight until tomorrow." In saying this Tyron shot Ragnest a look as if to say, in jest, how dare you take the authority back so quickly? To this Ragnest shot a stale look back at Tyron, mocking him in jest as if to say, I'm still in charge 'wanker'.


The two men found the small cave hidden carefully in the rocks, shown only by a small gap big enough to crawl through. Inside it was rather roomy, tall enough for both men to sit up and long enough for them to lay completely outstretched. It was definitely cozy. They both lay there for a few minutes, looking curiously at the rocks and minerals exposed above them, after all they both shared the same course of academia, why not interests too?

"Feldspar, Mica, hmm, quartz, olivine maybe" remarked Tyron, trying hard to make out the minerals on the roof.

"Hmm, I don't know, it is far too dark to see anything, did you not teach me not to jump to conclusions?" Ragnest replied.

"Of course definitely, but alas, I said maybe."

A brief silence followed, interrupted once again by Tyron.

"So do you really believe we can just live off the land and found our own city, or is that just wishful thinking?".

"Of course I do, it is the only thing I have left, and I know you have a to-be wife but one day we could bring her to it if things don't get better at home. You could raise your children there without fear of slavery by a local lord, we could have a rich and bountiful life". Ragnest said this in a whisper, both because it was quiet, and also from a fear of his own idea, believing it to be of such importance that someone else might steal it.

"You are right. I too myself, do also believe we could do it Ragnest, I really do, I just sincerely hope we don't have to."

"I agree, but such is the way of the world" Replied Ragnest, a bitter sadness in his tone.

This is set in 2E.54

The calm snow whistled through the eastern realms of Phinoria- a long past Phinoria. The one realm that I describe is known as Cowcoomen, a vast estate and alone in the chalky wilderness. Upon it stand firm trees- blooming in winter and wilting in spring- as if put there by giants themselves. Below tough snow or wet ice- paving its way through the stubborn woods shimmering as it goes. Finally, above floats the set sky: mixing a hue of blue and shades of green white from it's elementary palette riding the wind.
Through this setting trudged Hauff Dype, a mellow man who spent his precious time serving winter pies and warming mead. To his downfall, the larder's stock had run low and empty was the list of souls intent on reviving it- so there he was himself. To be honest, Hauff wasn't entirely sure the type of berry he needed: only that it's blooming blue colour reminded him of good Summer. He decided to investigate the murky purple bushes to his left; approaching them with about as much caution as birds have with bugs. Luckily for Hauff, the bug did not bite and revealed the dancing Tiffany fruit he longed for. A hundred berries went into the basket.
Withdrawing from the Byzantium enclosure, a sudden thump came to Hauff's heart as a carved stone tablet came into view, lying lonely in the undergrowth, deeply longing for attention. Fortunately no berries were spilled- but nevertheless did it give a fright. Pulled by the unmissable curiosity, he laid the basket by his boot and conjured the rectangle of slate into his arms. Engraved upon lay a seal- a wizards seal (only accessible by a wizard) and scribbled in the bottom left corner like a stamp rested 'Crease'. "Crease," he muttered to himself in a gruff tone. Hauff had a lot of experience with 'Crease', in his pies, on his forehead, but most unmistakably at the end of Hempho and Mello Creases' names- residents of Cowcoomen like him. Assuming as anyone would that this slate was for them, the only wizarding family in existence, he thrust it into his basket and continued on his long, tiresome way, attempting to hold back the jealousy he had for wizarding abilities.

Ragnest slept very little that night, he was far too busy with his thoughts and plans to possibly shut it off for fear of missing a sudden burst of inspiration. Tyron slept uncomfortably beside him, occasionally grunting as he stretched out, reminding himself just how small the cave was by the sharp bursts of pain he felt from kicking solid rock. It was relatively early, and the sun, once again clouded by fog, shone dimly through the small ground-level opening at the mouth of the hole. It was time to get going.

Both Ragnest and Tyron knew far too well the people of the mountain pass were not friendly, not in any manner of meaning. They had read various explorer's accounts of travelling through the mountains, many of whom had seen horrific and barbaric practices such as cannibalism and painful execution. Therefore it was only natural for Ragnest to want to leave the hole as soon as possible for fear of being discovered unprepared, and ultimately eaten alive like many of those brave explorers who had never made it back.

"Tyron, are you awake? we must be going, we cannot linger here too long" said Ragnest, obviously quite eager to leave by the quickened tone of his voice. He realised this, and began to speak more slowly.

"Tyron?" He gave him a slight nudge and Tyron turned from facing the wall to Ragnest, his eyes struggling to adjust to the light coming in at the hole's entrance which was illuminating the space between them.

"Yes m'lord", it took Tyron a second to work out where he was again. "We are to be going then? I have everything packed from last night and we can set off at a moment's notice."

"I should have guessed. Yes we will leave now, I do not trust these mountains and neither does my gut. We will continue until sundown. Thankfully we are nearly out of the mountain pass so we may be able to return to much friendlier lands soon".

"Thank Tyche for that."

Both Ragnest and Tyron then began to struggle in the mayhem that first involved finding their packs, and then turning themselves around so that they could emerge head first. In this frenzy both were kicked more often than not, but they laughed at one another and continued in patting the floor to find their items; Ragnest did anyway, Tyron was mostly all set. Because of this Tyron was the first to emerge, leaving the dark dimly-lit hole in favour of an unnaturally bright, misty and bitterly cold morning. He looked about, squinting his eyes and holding a hand above his head to block out the sun.

Below him was a huge valley, at the bottom of which green pines stood diligently accompanying a winding river right up till the valley turned behind a mountain to the left of the hole, out of Tyron's view. He was stood on a narrow mountain path, protruding a scarce few inches from the side of the mountain. He did not realise how dangerous they had been last night as they had ran along this very same path out of desperation to escape from the cold, such desperation and a misplaced foot a few inches off could have gotten them killed. He turned around to face the hole and looked upwards at the mountain they had stayed in. It was pyramidal peak, from what Tyron could tell, and they were stood on one of the outer edges of it between two corries that seemed to act as bastions of support for the gigantic pyramid of rock.

It was beautiful, minus of course the cold and the potential for a sudden death. Tyron continued looking about him, doing his best to take in every inch of the beauty and praising himself on his earlier learned knowledge which allowed him to name various features and formations. While he was doing this Ragnest had emerged from the small opening in the side of the mountain, quite clearly flustered as he had spent so long trying to find various elements of his apparel and weaponry; despite staying up most of the night.

Like Tyron he stood for a second, admiring the harshness and beauty of the soaring mountains and deep valleys surrounding him. But, he was quicker to rouse himself to and regain his primary objective.

"Lets go, I'm sure there are a few taverns where we are going" Ragnest said merrily as he walked past Tyron and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"Very well, it would be a marvel if they could bring the tavern here though" Tyron sighed as he lumbered after Ragnest.



Four and a half hours later and both Ragnest and Tyron were still going. By this point the cold had settled into their boots and it felt as though their toes had frozen into one cumbersome foot. They were no longer high up in the mountains and had just descended down into the valley Tyron had been admiring earlier. It was no better really, the dangerous paths had simply been replaced by deeper snow on the valley floor, plus the views were not as impressive by any measure.

They were largely surrounded by tall white forest pines and so it was difficult to see too far ahead, but Ragnest knew the general direction to travel in, largely thanks to a Vaolosian sun dial gifted to him by a travelling merchant which he infrequently glanced at. It is what you would expect from any tabletop sun dial, only that it was miniature in size, handheld, and had a dark green base, on which brown numerical figures were printed and it was crowned with a straight golden wedge to measure the sun's rays. It was quite magnificent.

As they marched along, Ragnest began to muse over his thoughts. Was he doing the right thing, was he just a coward for leaving? These thoughts troubled him often, but the further away from Vaolosian lands the less intense they became, so he continued marching. He remembered the people he had left back home, distinctly one Sir Daniel Westforth, whose company he longed for and enjoyed considerably. Westforth was not like himself, he did not care much for the peasantry, nor did he take much to learning of the world and admiring its beauty. He was a warlike man, continually caught up in all the small and large revelries of the kingdom. Why then did Ragnest care so much about him, he could not quite put his finger on it, after all Westforth was as different as any man could be from himself. He also smirked as he remembered Ghaedra Joy, a simple peasant wife who was not a holder of any status or influence, but he greatly respected her strength and purpose as she worked continually to keep her family fed and clothed; she was also known throughout Pharen for being quite the bitch to her husband too.

Just then, as Ragnest sought to move onwards with his next line up of depressive thoughts, a quick and quiet crack sounded just ahead of him, the sound emanating from behind a tree. Ragnest stopped dead, only to be barged forward by Tyron who walked straight into the back of him.

"Ugh", "stop" Ragnest whispered sharply, not glancing round to look at Tyron but keeping his eyes scanning the forestry ahead of him. "I heard something, a twig, I don't think we are alone."

Both Tyron and Ragnest reached for their sword belts, laying their hands on the handles of their swords and grasping them firmly. Tyron was quite shaken, and after the sudden bump and realization that he had let his guard down, began to grow faint.

"Tryon, back-to-back, holler if you see anything, anything at all" whispered Ragnest, still scanning the forest in front of him.

"It could be nothing th... though m'lord" Tyron replied in a shaken whisper. Nonetheless he obeyed and squared up behind Ragnest to cover his back.

Just at the moment two more twig-snaps were heard, both of which came from behind and in front of Ragnest. At this both men tensed up, Ragnest half drawing his sword and expecting an imminent attack.

"Oh, Fucks sake" Ragnest muttered.

"What, what, oh..." Tyron had realised what Ragnest had. They were in a Bardeshian trap, explicitly recorded by numerous explorers. The Bardesh would deliberately snap twigs to draw their opponents back to back, and then, when the Bardesh were in position, they would fire poison darts from the side, bypassing all armour and striking straight into their victims necks. Even if their victims stood to counter this, they would simply move again to re-counter, it was hopeless.

By this point both men had sweat running down their necks and backs, despite the harshness of the temperature, and Tyron trembled, scarcely able to hold onto consciousness. They began looking frantically, to their sides, to their front, in a desperate search to find the oncoming darts and move out of the way, but no darts came. They had been standing there for what seemed a couple of seconds, but in reality was almost a minute, and they began to wonder what was keeping the mountain people so long.

Just then, Ragnest breathed a sigh of relief, "Ah, oh my, oh okay".

"What, what is it?" Inquired Tryon, a frantic tone to his voice.

"A deer my friend, nothing more" Ragnest replied quite triumphantly; after all, he had diligently stood his ground and kept his breathing expertly controlled, despite his adversary being a deer.

Tyron turned slowly, and let out his own sigh of relief after spotting the deer. "I.. It is always good to have practice" mentioned Tyron, coughing slightly to clear his throat. Ragnest turned to give him a look, not a mocking look, but a more empathetic look just to check his dear friend's well being.

"Well," Ragnest turned back to look a the deer, "I believe we have caught dinner, we deserve it at the very least". He stood for a few seconds, still staring at the deer which was only a few meters away from him. Slowly, Ragnest drew a small dagger from his pocket and launched it quickly at the deer, the oblivious deer that continued to stand in front of them foraging carelessly through the undergrowth. The dagger struck true, piercing the deer's neck, which fell with a groan into the soft snow blanketing the ground beneath it.

This is set in 2E.54

The night grew wearisome in the humble town of Cowcoomen- alone in the snowy forests. The muddy walkways abandoned and ramshackle houses jet inside. Shouting as if an attention seeker, the vast conglomeration of pine poles and planks in the center of town shed light and laughter through it's gaping cracks and windows. Within was a party, a party which had reached the brink that any party could strive for, but the night was dying. Celebrating the 18th birthday of Mello Crease and admittance for aid requests, the people of Cowcoomen were certainly happy re conciliating the fact they had a second wizard within their forests.
Pushing through the cheering crowds like an arrow on a windy day, Hempho Crease and his adoptive son, Mello, were attempting to discuss the proceeding stages of a wizards life. Have there only being two wizards in existence, it was fairly understandable no plan for training had ever been set in stone but Hempho wanted to teach Mello properly, without the hindrance he had having no classified teacher. "So tomorrow we are to start a new topic- illusions!" Hempho explained, attempting to include some giddy excitement within his voice in order to apply the same effect on Mello. "Haven't we already done that- with the detecting and disabling," Mello returned, avoiding a group of what appeared to be drunk individuals. "Yes but we are yet to..." a unnaturally excitable waiter intruded... then left a second later.
"Shall we go outside?" Mello suggested with plenty reason.
"That's probably for the best," Hempho answered, recovering a paper cup belonging to the floor. Shouting in to it, as if it were a microphone, he announced,"Party's over people! Please leave by the main exit or I will personally incinerate you!" A mixture of moaning, fright and pleasantry came over the attenders as they filed out in what only a blind man would call lines. An embarrassed giggle sounded from Mello as he analysed his father's use of the word 'incinerate'. Catching this, Hempho turned and gave Mello the quizzical look as if to say, I wasn't joking, then returned to his original position and joined the queue, followed by a slightly frightful son.

* * *

Feeling the cold frost upon his brow and sharp biting in his fingers, Mello walked away with Hempho once outside. Crunching through the thick layers of white, they turned south, proceeding through the town towards the wizard's tower- their home and base of operations. "Were you really going to incinerate a wrong-doer?" Mello asked, seriously concerned by the tone of his shivery voice. "Of course not son. It was merely a form of false motivation. Anyway, it contradicts our laws to hurt the civilians of Cowcoomen without authoritative consent, even if they have done wrong," Hempho finished ,"You're cold?" Checking his vibrating hands, Mello realised that he actually was frost bitingly cold, and guessed what his father wished him to. Holding up one of his two blue hands, as if it were a surface to write on, Mello chanted the words, "Hathr Buler Proceedo Flayom," three times over. From the deep palm of his hand ascended a rising flame, quenching any snow that fell near it. "Well done..." Hempho commented, then continued on their white way.
"So, as I said within the hall, I have prepared your next learning step. Now that people can ask for your aid rather than mine- you need to not just detect and disable illusions, but cast them." Mello's jaw dropped.
As if guided by fright, Mello proceeded," But you've only just figured out the casting part! How am I meant to learn a form of magic that you have yet mastered?" Clearly surprised by this sudden outburst, Hempho began to manufacture a way which Mello could see that it was not hopeless, and this plan began like ,"Although, in your eyes, I am Omnipotent, I am not Omniscient. But after gaining new knowledge, if you are all powerful then you are destined to learn it quickly- and that is what I believe will happen with you." Still flabbergasted, Mello counteracted ,"But how is one being omnipotent if they do not know how to be powerful?"
"But you do. You think you don't, I know that, but you do." commented Hempho ,"Let us enter the warmth of interior and I will explain more." Glad to be promised of warmth, Mello extinguished the flame still burning bright within his palm and entered the wizard tower- the looming shape which had gradually been drawing his attention throughout their conservation.
Nearly tripping as he entered, Mello greeted the dark green walls and brunette boards of home, then spied what it was he had tripped on. A slate rested helplessly upon the floor, face down as if it had been crying rivers upon lakes for hours. Hempho seemed to have completely ignored it, stepping over it as if it were a log in the woods. Closing the door with a helpful motion spell, Mello reached down and lifted the slate into his arms as if it were his child. Upon it rested the wizards seal, and to the bottom left read 'Crease'. "I wonder who brought this..." Mello wondered to himself. As if answering, Hempho turned into the room with two cups of tea and spying the stone within his hands he commented, "Hauff found it on the frozen lake under a bush. Says it was for us." Raising only his eyes from stature," How did you know?" sounded from Mello.
"He told me earlier." Hempho explained," It has an attraction spell on it".
"What?"
"An attraction spell, it draws people in and sometimes doesn't let go- depending on the strength of the caster. If you are to open it, I would be wary, who knows what could be entailed within."
Almost immediately, Mello triggered the opening spell and awaited as the seal dissipated and writing hurriedly broke out. "It's an aid request, it asks for attendance at the forest border two days from now," Mello read out," It's for me..."

(note- the news exclaiming Gawge Merle as Reformer has not yet happened)

This is set in present day

The wrath of Satin, or some over demonic beast, crashed down in heaps of accumulated water onto the village. This was Kartwhale, a poor enough settlement originally without the added sense of downpour. As said in tales, this type of rain struck before at the first days of Phraxitrania's founding but had never since been witnessed. It entails the singular drops of rain collecting into one larger capsule before striking ground causing much more damage and likely injury to the human form, or Halph man, and was commonly known as Phrax hail.

Several of the wooden huts and inhabitants once standing were gone crushed by the hail and swept away by the long traveled mountain wind. The structures remaining were used as shelter- for there was no other unless one was daring enough to sprint to the forest. Residing within the folk of Kartwhale- Halph men/women and Humans, awaiting the desired time were they should be released from their tense imprisonment. The closest hut to the forest, yet still 30 meters, housed a group of 7 men and 3 Halph men, one of which was Gawge Merle (see character sheet).

"How long are we able to wait like this?" Gawge questioned despairingly, breaking the ancient silence. He sat near the center of the room, slumped on an empty crate like a fish on open dirt, gulping every time a Phrax stream landed close. "Do you propose an alternative?" said a man shrouded in the black of his wide brimmed hat, the back half of which rested upon the rounded wall. As bashful as a brazen log, the silence crept back in, coating the walls in a thick layer of anxiety and turning the minds of the living, filling Gawge's mouth with tar.

"I have a proposal," Gawge conveyed, raising the eyes of the tiresome spectators," a way to get to the women and children and meander them to the forest."
"Lets 'ear it then!" a Halph Man called out, clearly spiking with excitement- or at least a form of relief. The man with the hat leaned forward, revealing his dark, flowing hair and dotted beard, only identifiable by the pale complexion of his skin. "We may fall at the first stage..." Gawge realised ,"But anyway, it's least a try- if this blasted hail is to go on as long as the legends tell- we'll die of dehydration before we see the back of it."

"But it's only ever been recorded once in known history- how are we to know it wasn't just a one off?" asked one of the younger men in the village, Martyn Uylle. "I believe we should wait a while longer, just to confirm the legends."
Obviously confused by the suggestion, a Halph Man and personality in the village, Tulfode Jenkyns (Toad by his friends) stabbed out ,"What? And get bludgeoned by this stinking rain, I for one am not staying here for as long as I can help it- which I'm hoping will be a brief time."
The man in the black spoke,"Although favorable to Martyn's attitude, I agree with Tulfode. We cannot prolong our time here for the storm and it's irritating fanatics could break through our walls at any one second." As the comment was roughly accepted, Toad turned sides,"Irritating... Irritating is not the word to describe our situation. Fatal, suffocating, inescapable. This is what our plight is- not irritating."
"I merely misspoke," the man returned ,"I apologize if any offence was taken."
Completely ignoring the apology, Toad continued," And to think, you only arrived here not too long than a month ago, almost as if you brought the storm with you."
"I admit, my timing was unfortunate," the man replied but then struck like a dagger that ,"If you are implying me a wizard, you've got some serious trouble on your hands. 'Cause I am not gonna take that lightly, no matter how many cherries on top!"

"Woah!" Martyn intervened," Let's just all calm down. If we wanna get outa here, we're gonna need to act soon otherwise we'll have this building on top of us. And we don't want that, do we?"
"I bet he does!" Toad snapped, clear to who he was indicating," What even is your name anyway? We're gonna need it for the announces at the gallows!"
"What are you ailed with Tulfode?" the man questioned," For you seem to be getting onto my case for what seems like no reason. And for anyone else who wants to know, it's Bayshed, I am called Bayshed." A sigh of relief echoed around the dark cylinder as the onlookers saw Toad withdraw from the argument... but he came back, "And how would you..."
"Shut up!"
Hidden from the view of the people, a burly man by the name of Jymes Frye interrupted the accusation for the benefit of all but Toad. "Lets get this over and done with," Jymes suggested, clenching his fist angrily.

"Thank you Jymes, Now we may proceed with getting the hell out of here- with the women and children too." Gawge represented and continued with his plan,"If we're gonna cross the village to the women and children then back to the forest we're gonna need mobile shelter, and I have a solution. This wood on the walls 'bout as sturdy as it gets and its likely to hold off a few of those bloody rain things." He said this knocking on a clear wall he'd gradually walked to, but held off after the second knock as if he thought it falling. "So we all carry a few each, shielding the rain, enough spare for the others in the village to use- everyone got that?" Gawge checked.
"Just one thing..." Martyn muddled over," How are we to collect these panels without ending up with a roof on top of us?" This was something Gawge clearly hadn't thought about and kicked himself for doing so for he appeared clueless. "Simple," Bayshed smirked, taking away his hat to show the true extent of his blending hair, and placing it by his side," We don't take all of them, just leave the main supports in- and even if that's not enough then, there's enough of us to carry the whole roof as a shield anyway."
"Thank you for completing my plan, Bayshed," Gawge complimented, and believing there were more than just 10 of them, he shouted at the height of his voice," Let's get this thing moving!"

Everyone leaped to their feet at once, as if they were humble dogs at the will of their master, and began pulling away at the planks at the walls and gawping at the sight before them. The dark droplets crashed down everywhere- one particular hut was taking quite a beating. 1 ft of water leveled on the completely saturated dirt, growing by the second. Taking away one of the lower panels, Gawge pulled away as a flood of water fell in, striving for the other side of the room. "Come on, get these panels off!" he encouraged and got back to work. In no time at all, they had removed all the planks- likely because there were few of them and hardly enough for everyone in the village. "How many do we have?" Gawge questioned, clearly taking charge of things. After a quick count, they resulted they had 30 odd and," How many huts excluding ours do we have left," Gawge questioned again. "Three!" Bayshed called out.
"Where's the 3rd one?" Gawge questioned, staring into the very same mist Bayshed was.
"There," Bayshed portrayed, pointing forward," Just behind that veil of mist."
"Good eye man," Jymes congratulated, spying the hut Bayshed spoke of.
"Martyn, give me, Jymes and Hayd a board," Gawge commanded," Jymes you go to the the far off hut, I'll go to the one our right and Hayd, you go for the nearest. When you get there tell them to do exactly what we have done and lift their roofs over to us, Go!" Accepting his wooden plank, Gawge abandoned the safety of the roof without a room, followed by Jymes, and then Hayd- a bearded man with dark eyes and a prudent nose. As they became more and more distant, Bayshed saw as they took their separate paths and disappeared into the blinding mist of vapor.

Bayshed took off where Gawge left off," Come on, let's get this roof off the ground shall we?" gripping a corner of the supports and tearing it away from its home. The four supports they'd left were quickly broken as the roof came onto their backs, nearly crushing them. Martyn realised what life would have been like as a turtle. Although pressured, the 4 men and 3 Halph men were able to withstand the force, an impressive feet considering 3 of them were half of a normal man. "Get this over to the forest, we can't stand like this forever." At this command, the people trapped below got to work crouching ahead further and further towards the woods. Looking up, Bayshed caught a quick glimpse of a pair of devilish blue eyes staring into him, Tulfode. "Hey, Tulfode- stay concentrated, we've still got a while to go!" Bayshed shouted over the coursing wind and racket of Phrax Hail.
"Oh sorry," Toad mocked," Was I disturbing you from your incarnations- your little spells you weave around us?!"
"I am not a Wizard, you filthy..." Bayshed shot, then stopped, lowering his head as if a way of calming.
Martyn tapped him on the shoulder lightly and suggested that," Mr Bayshed, you should look at this!" He didn't.
"Oh, go on- finish your sentence!" Toad called over, waving his hand," Filthy what, hey? Filthy what?!"
"Mr, you really should look at this" Martyn said more urgently, practically hitting him on the shoulder.
"Oh, you gonna cry? Who's gonna look after you now Gawgie and Jymesie are gone, hey?" mocked Toad, completely abandoning his post to the annoyance of the Halph man next to him," Hey, get back over here you skiver!"
"Bayshed!!" Martyn screamed.
"What?" questioned Bayshed, finally looking up. There a giant stream of Phrax Hail fell, targeted straight for the roof, it's blue sides shining evilly in the dark morning. "Get DOWN!" It struck.

The force from the blast sent the roof bashfully splintering into the ground, crushing Tulfode under the weight of it's wooden beams. Only the people on the outside were able to escape on time, but they were on the outside... Acting as fast as he could, Bayshed kicked in the roof with the hard sole of his boot and leapt within, Martyn after him. "Get a board each and run for the forests!" Bayshed called and proceeded with handing out the panels to every man still fighting. Bypassing the plank Bayshed offered him, Martyn crawled in further to the darkness and removing a piece of mangled debris met with the pale face of Tulfode, or as he knew him, Toad. It dripped mournfully with blood as the last light faded from his unhealthy eyes. "Martyn, there's nothing more we can do for him," Bayshed said turning to him and pulling his shoulder.
"I'll be safe under here for a while, may I stay and say my goodbyes?" Martyn pleaded, tears slowly dropping from his cheeks. "Very well, but don't be more than a minute!" Bayshed ordered, departing with the others into the deadly open. As Bayshed left he spied Martyn leaning to the dead Halph man's ear and thought nothing of it, but he did not hear Martyn mutter unknown words from a strange language, and did not see the ocher light spread from his palm and drain into Tulfode's soul, for if he had- he would have witnessed wizardcraft.

Sprinting as fast as a young Brynnith, Bayshed held the apparent sturdy plank above his head as he went and occasionally turned to check if Martyn or the other huts had moved yet. As he turned for the 3rd time he saw that the nearest hut had began to gradually crawl towards him and the others were following, following mother turtle. If watching from another angle, many may have found this scenario quite amusing- and what the tale it will make, but for Bayshed- that tale will only be told if everyone excluding Tulfode made it out. And luckily enough there he saw Martyn climbing away from the wreckage of the hut, but something followed. Reaching the safety of the forest undergrowth, he ignored his congratulating comrades and mentally triple back flipped as he saw a live and running Tulfode sprinting behind him- using his own legs. "How in our vengeful God's name is that possible!?" Bayshed muttered to himself, but the others heard and witnessed what he swore at.

Interrupting his confused mind, hundreds of thudding thumps came to ears as he spied a chasing stream of Phrax hail behind the fleeing man and Halph man. This was NOT nature. It targeted precisely the path Martyn took, when he turned left- it turned left, when he strove forward- it didn't stray. In Bayshed's untested calculations Martyn could probably outrun the coming storm- but not the zombie Tulfode- and following this piece of information, he ran. Not away, but at the storm- sprinting like the wind on a stallion, faster than any other man known in Mesidayn and reached the escapees by 7 seconds. When there, without hesitation or authorization, lifted Tulfode onto his shoulders, and turned the other way. From his brief vision of the forest, Bayshed could see Martyn had survived and from his brief vision of the death column chasing him, it was no more than two meters behind him- he could feel the chilling white water upon his back. Tulfode struggled as he ran- slowing his pace massively and disabling him from outrunning his possible demise- only keeping pace with it. The shrill voices of the villagers could be heard from the forest- one of the huts had arrived and were cheering him on. He wouldn't be able to make it- the column would catch him not 5 meters from his destination, but Bayshed could still save Tulfode. Reaching the 5 meter mark, the voices of his month long friends in his ears, he tossed Tulfode as hard as he could and breathed as what he thought to be Jymes catch him. This was the end. Bayshed stopped- tense as a tree in a lightning storm and waited- nothing happened.

To his greatest surprise he felt the warmth of the sun on his back, and opening his eyes he saw all his friends still there waiting in anxiety, but as soon as they saw him alive cheered- louder than rifles. He had survived, but how? Turning, Bayshed saw the column had vanished and a new day had dawned , the bright blue sky blinding his eyes, showing light upon the dead village. He had survived. Falling to his knees like a broken building, Bayshed spied as the swarms of people filed around him shouting," Bayshed! Bayshed!" or ,"We're alive!" He had survived. The shock was more great than the people had expected for Bayshed blacked out quite instantly and rested his head upon the wet grass. He had survived.