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Old 12-01-2003, 11:55 AM   #110
The Barrow-Wight
Night In Wight Satin
 
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Shield

Orogarn Two tore Denimthor’s notice down from where it was nailed, folded it neatly in half and then in half again, and shoved it forcibly into one of Singéd’s saddlebags, the one overstuffed with reams of various legal documents intended for the prosecution of Skinflint. Collecting his father’s notes was an obsession of his, and he had nearly two rooms full of them back home in the Wight City. According to his therapist, each letter contructed another brick in the wall between he and the Proctor; a wall higher than the Citibank Spire. One day Orogarn Two intended to push it over on dear old dad.

The Forest of Canned Corn stood before him like the iron bars of a prison through which one small gate had been bolted. The trees formed a barrier of striped blackness that was pierced only by the gravel path before the Gaggleship and an occasional ray of sunlight that had managed to escape the tangled boughs. No creatures, large or small, crossed the trail, but the noises of something large and clumsy could be heard crashing through the underbrush deep within the wood. Perhaps it was the sneaky Ent or someone who knew his whereabouts. Orogarn Two rushed through the entrance in search of the source of the commotion.

Once beneath the murky canopy of Canned Corn, it was if he had entered a portal into another world. Looking back, he could still see his companions milling about in the bright sunshine of Muddled-mirth, but under the trees things seemed blurred and deadened, as if the forest fed on all things light and cheerful. Even sounds seemed muted, each running footstep coming back to his ears as only a muffled slap of iron-shod, blue-suede shoes against a pile of soft pillows. Psshhh Pssshh went each trod down the rocky way. How odd, he thought. Even the clamor ahead seemed much quieter before, and he hoped that he would continue to be able to follow it.

Pulling his tiny horse behind him, Orogarn Two continued deeper into the forest until he could no longer see his friends nor even see the light of the gate, and he began to suspect that he had gone further than was wise. The trail seemed to be turning leftward as he proceeded, and he soon found himself walking through a narrow defile that sloped steeply upward between rocky, moss-clad walls. The way itself had narrowed considerably so that the overfilled saddlebags made it difficult to squeeze Singéd through. Finally he came to a spot where he would have to abandon the documents or the horse.

“I’ll be back shortly, little buddy,” he said to the creature as he removed the important bags and slung them over his shoulder. “You wait here.”

The mini-Morosa merely snorted and turned away, obviously hurt at the lack of loyalty, especially considering what he had done for the Grundorian after the cliff-falling incident.

Oblivious to the feelings of others, particularly those of who he was their better, which included about everyone, Orogarn Two pressed on up the trail. It soon became even steeper, and he was forced to climb it like a ladder – hand, hand, step, step. Looking back he could still catch a glimpse of his beast of burden far below him, but the animal seemed to be walking off. Disobedient wretch, he thought, turning back to his task at hand. Not far ahead, the path leveled off, and he thought how nice it would be to take a break and maybe have a snack.

Cresting the top of the incline, Orogarn Two was surprised to find that he had climbed to a very high spot in the forest and now stood on a rocky ledge overlooking a leafy roof of trees that stretched on to the mountains. Beautiful silver and grey butterflies filled the air in a cloudy of fluttering wings. Looking down, he could see a natural earthen bowl, empty of trees and underbrush and covered in a thick carpet of dark green moss. Standing in the middle of the clearing was a bent gnarly figure, leering up at him.

The creature stood about 10 feet tall and closely resembled a dead bonzai tree that had recently been in a forest fire. Its blackened skin was flaking and peeling, and it showed signs of termite infestation. The being had huge, twelve-toed feet that were splayed out across the ground like cracks on the surface of a frozen lake, and its monstrous arms, held high above it like crosses in a cemetary, ended in hoary wooden claws. One hand held something familiar.

“My wallet!” shouted Orogarn Two, dropping his bags and drawing his sword.

Skinflint creaked a rustling laugh and waved the wallet around in circles. “Umm….ooof…..Is this what you are looking for, little manling?”

Orogarn Two looked about but could not see a safe way to decend to the Entish thief.

“Skinflint, I arrest you in the name of Grundor and her Porcelain Throne! By the power invested in me, I command you to release that wallet and give yourself up!”

The Ent tossed the leather money pouch back and forth tauntingly.

“When I get down there, I am going to use you for firewood if you don’t relinquish my property!”

“Eeeep……Errr…. let me help you down,” rumbled Skinflint.

Tree roots writhed suddenly out of the ground and tangled Orogarn Two’s legs as a branch pushed him hard from behind. The warrior quickly turned and swung his sword at his attacker, but it was too late. He plummeted from the ledge and crashed into the mossy forest floor with a dreadful crunch. His sword slipped from his fingers and he lay gasping, only barely able to look up a the wicked Ent.

Skinflint chuckled quietly and slowly turned away, walking into the forest and melting into its shady heartland.

“Oooo…… pfffft…. Good-bye little Grundorian,” came his voice through the trees.

Great roots reach out and grasped Orogarn Two’s ankles, pulling him into a gap between two ancient trees. A wind began to blow, and all of his letter and legal documents were torn from their bag and tossed in a sudden maelstrom that finally settled into a pile atop the hapless man. The only sign that he had ever been there was his silver sword laying an the ground – and his muffled pleas for aid.

“Help!” he shouted, but in Canned Corn it was little more than a quiet groan coming from the forest floor.

~ * ~ * ~

“Oh, my! What is that?” shouted Buttercup, touching her cheeks with the tips of her fingures in a dainty gesture of surprise.

“Looks like a small dog,” said Crysophylax, licking his lips and thinking of how long it had been since he had eaten.

“That’s no dog!” shouted Earnur. “That’s Singéd.”

"Where's Orogarn????" everyone gasped?

~ * ~ * ~

"Two!"
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