The Ranger

The forest was quiet. Nothing seemed to break the silence. Not insects nor animals, not even the wind stirred. Ancient elm and oak trees abounded with a few evergreens scattered about. The ground was far from clear, with piles of fallen branches everywhere and dozens of tiny branches obscuring the view. An observer would possibly notice the minutely incremental movement of a caterpillar on an elm branch, but the faint scuffling to the west gave away the position of the intruder. The deer bounded into view past the old man who appeared to be sleeping. Chasing the deer was a pack of very large wolves. The creatures had riders, goblins with bows. As they leapt over his position, the sleeping giant awoke.

Olaf swung upward, slicing one of the wolves clean down the middle with his axe and grappled a second wolf with his other axe arm. He caught it in a death choke tossing the rider in the process. There were four riders and wolves in all, after his initial assault there remained two wolves who circled warily while their riders shot arrows at him. He moved like a ghost, easily sidestepping the arrows despite his bulk and startling the angry monster by moving in close and absent-mindedly beheading the ugly goblin as he moved past the snapping jaws of the wolf. The other rider’s arrows thunked into the hide of the startled creature as he moved behind it. He dropped his left axe and grabbed the body of the dead goblin and heaved it at the remaining rider like a clumsy javelin. His accuracy was unmatched in the realms and the small rider was knocked to the ground.

He used his remaining axe to silence the wolf next to him and ran barreling into the last wolf as the three goblins ran away to the forest. He flicked his three handaxes effortlessly, and one after the other, three goblins fell. The first thing you would notice about Olaf the Orphanmaker was that he stood about seven feet tall and had two well-worn axes kept sharp despite decades of use and age. The next thing that you’d notice is that he was well into his fifties, but an intimidating presence none-the-less. His white hair and beard were braided, and his leather jerking had a mix of ale and mead stains as well as darker blemishes.

The old ranger swiftly ensured that none of the goblins or wolves lived. The chops of his axes against the toughened flesh of the creatures resounded loudly in the formerly dead silence of the grove. As Olaf went to retrieve his weapons, he heard a familiar sizzling pop.

“Red one, you have returned.” The grizzly veteran stated.

“Old friend, while I must say that it is good to see you again, I wish the circumstances were more benign. There are fell forces at work, and I must gather us all once again to stand against them.”

Olaf turned to consider his old traveling companion. While Olaf had aged considerably since they had last sojourned two decades ago, Vyachislav the Red looked the same as he had always had. He was a man of about forty, thin with a wispy mustache and pointed beard. His red robes were a touch fancier that the old ranger remembered, a few more trinkets adorned the wizard, and he had his little black cat Mischa curled around his shoulders, blinking lazily as usual.

“I have not seen the others in more than a decade Vlavy. I heard the Bjorn was locked up somewhere and my daughter…she does not come around any longer.” Olaf trailed off as if remembering something painful. He brightened momentarily, “At least the worst of them are dead! Especially that annoying druid.”

Vyachislav’s countenance soured a moment as he replied,” In that you are mistaken my friend, only one of us died, and he will return. For that I need the druid. Where did you hear that he died?” The magic-user caressed his familiar which made the creature stretch his hind legs spreading his little black toes.

It was Olaf’s turn to sour. “The druid, I last heard sought to clear a nest of wyverns in the Stonecoil mountains and was never heard from again. I just assumed he ended his days as fodder for baby wyverns. I guess I will have to tolerate him for a while longer, and the foul assassin as well” His grimace deepened, then he became thoughtful, continuing, “So where should we gather up then?”

The wizard gestured and a folded parchment appeared and floated to Olaf’s hand. “We will gather at the ruins of Fort Belad. The Orcs overran it a day or so past and the army has moved on. There is a small group of adventurers enroute to Kagazh to do battle, but it is our mission to end the tide of terror at its’ source – The Dead Lands.”

Olaf gave a low whistle. “That is to be an adventure old timer. Plenty of trolls out that way.”

The wizard commented, “Trolls are not the worst things to reside there. Also, I will need you to find the lizard. He is needed and avoids my scrying. I will find your daughter; she has had an…interesting career.”

Olaf smiled, “I am sure she has. She is a special little girl that one. It would be good to fight by her side again.”

Vyachislav knew better than to ask if the old man worried at all for her, he knew that he did, it was just that Olaf knew he could not change the girl’s mind and any attempt to ‘protect’ her or ‘keep her safe’ would end disastrously.

“Have we put a name to our foe yet?” puzzled Olaf.

“Nay, the identity of this enemy eludes my scrying, but have some clues. Powerful magics obscure them, leading me to believe that there are enemies and not a single foe. I know that a necromancer is involved at least, the orc ranks are bolstered by the corpses of the fallen.” The wizard conjured a few fleeting images from glowing dust motes showing the march of the orcs and the animated dead that followed them.

Again, it was Olaf’s turn to grimace. “Gods, the foul stench of that last necromancer still stains my jerkin. Ah well, another skull to mount on my mantle.”

The pair chatted a while longer, reminiscing a bit before Vyachislav remembered to collect the others. “Alas, dear Olaf, I must be off. Even with my formidable powers, I cannot delay the march of Time indefinitely.” He gestured precisely and a thin purple line appeared in the air, for which the robed man reached and pulled down, tugging a warp in space-time then stepping through. The sizzling pop sounded again signaling that he was gone.

Olaf began his long march. The Fort was a good three-hundred-mile walk. Best get started.

For a little background, this story is concocted from adventures of several of my D&D characters from over the years. I wanted to make an epic tale with these guys (and gals), I have used variants of them throughout the past 40 years of gaming so they have a LOT of history and I felt that it was time for them to look as epic as their beautiful sagas have led them to be. There will be more stories to come, probably some from their earlier careers. Not all of these characters were "good", not all of them were utterly "evil" either. Some of their actions relate that "good" and "evil" are very relative terms. I merely hope you enjoy the tales and the development of these rich personalities.