Once he had conferred with Chris White the sage, he set off for the Ladimore mountains to reach the circle of sages, otherwise known as the Naughright guild. It was a guild of wizards and sages alike, a clandestine force for light magic. It was also these wizards who could confer upon Poxig a sense of credibility as the guardian of the ORB.
While he ambled through the forest, he encountered a halfling with red hair. His pudgy face was round and red. His jerkin was down to his waist over a rustic leather overalls. Poxig never met such a scruffy looking fellow. He was armed with a bow and arrow, and so Poxig was a bit startled.
“Ho there. I thought you were a deer!”
“Yes, well I could see why you would make that distinction.”
“Your green skin blends in so well with the forest! I might have shot you by accident! You have to be more careful!”
“Yes, of course.”
“I am Theriot, my village is just east of here. We are running out of food, and so we are hunting miles from the village.”
“I know the problem of which you speak. I am on a mission to solve the evil of the earth’s rot. It is for this reason that the animals of the forest do not have food, and so they go south to forage.”
“It is not the halfling way to be disputatious. We are a kind that lives close to the land. What will become of my village if we can no longer eat the sweetroot? The saplings are dying.”
“I am the guardian of the ORB. The ORB in the hands of a light magician can solve the calamity of which you speak. But first we must find the cause of this great evil and stop it.”
Theriot’s belief had not caught up with the impending reality of this threat.
“You mean to tell me…”
“You must suspect the worst, my dear friend. Even the friends of the king are at risk.”
“Then, I will accompany you to the farther reaches of the Ladimore mountains. Past there, we will meet the destiny that Releven seeks.”
He had never heard the name of his god amongst the lips of a foreigner. It had surprised him that Releven’s fame had reached this far.
Andrew J. Wolfram 