Meanwhile, travelling south along the northeast side of Fleetwood Forest…

A well-dressed, pale man sat in a carriage, utterly bored, resting his chin on his fist. He was well dressed, obviously a noble judging from his petticoats and high shoes. His white powdered hair was long, perfectly primped and tied back with large curls of it at the side of his head. Sitting across from him was a small, frightened looking woman, similarly painted up. She sat utterly straight, overly stiff, trying to be perfect for her lord. A large bruise was purpling on the side of her face as she strained to keep a smile plastered there. The mark contained several deeper points, where the duke’s insignia, the hare, was slowly fading into her skin. The duke looked at her and frowned, rubbing the ring on his middle finger with the opal hare. Then his face broke into a smile as he looked at her.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Earl Bedwyr to his young concubine across the carriage, “We’ll soon be out of these rat-infested woods, and back into a palace befitting one such as myself.” He continued stroking the rabbit emblem on his ring. It always reminded him of just how great he was. She continued to smile at him, unflinching. ‘As it should be,’ He thought to himself. Her hair was strewn all about her face, loose from the tight bun tied behind her head. All this peasant living wasn’t helping her either. “Reminding her of home” or some such nonsense she’d said. He’d simply “fixed her thinking”. Unfortunately, now she had that bruise on her face… No matter. She usurped him at every opportunity anyway; she needed the punishment.

It really was quite exhausting having to visit these tiny villages. The poor fools could barely scrape up a three-course meal for him and this bitch! Letting out a long sigh, Earl Bedwyr reflected on this whole damn trip. ‘Though none of it really matters, reflected the Earl. Soon enough we’ll be back to fucking on my enormous down bed in The Citadel.’

Suddenly, the woman cleared her throat and started to speak, “Milord,” she squeaked, “I’ve heard tell of robbers on this road of late…” She was uneasy, her eyes shifting nervously about, finally coming to rest on the Earl.

He smiled reassuringly at her, and rubbed her painted cheek with a thumb. But at that moment his eyes narrowed, and his smile turned to a snarl. He then removed his thumb and backhanded her other cheek, throwing her sideways into the carriage wall. “I’ve told you before not to question me Alayaya!” he screamed. He sat there seething for a moment, breathing through clenched teeth, then remembered himself. He patted his hair, assuring himself he was still the image of a noble. His anger sated, he smiled at Alayaya again, “I am weary, my dear… Fetch me the grapes if you would” Obediently, she dipped her head and reached into the icebox underneath the seat to retrieve them. She held them out over his mouth as began to pluck them off the stem.

Just then, the carriage cut short, jerking Earl Bedwyr onto the opposite bench and Alayaya into the door before they came to a complete stop. Outraged, he moved to get out the door. She tried to scramble out of his way, but was a second too slow. He hit her again, harder this time, with the palm of his hand. He screamed at her, “Why must you always make me hit you?!” She scurried away, just fast enough to satisfy him, but he was still fuming over the delay. He slammed open the door, and prepared to scold the two fools driving. But as he turned towards them, he was shocked to see four heavily armed men blocking the way.

Each man was completely different from the last. One was an enormous Darkskin, so you could tell he was from the northern Islands somewhere. He carried a long dirk freely in one hand, too short to be a sword, too long to be a knife. He had a large hole where his right ear should have been.

The second was a short, stout man with a mace as big as his head resting on his shoulder. He wore a dirty white beret on top of a great shock of curly black hair that connected down along his face to an enormous beard that hung down to his fair-sized belly.

The third man was very thin, but incredibly tall. He had to be close to 8 feet tall! He held in each hand a long, curving scimitar with a careless grace that showed he was skilled with those blades.

The last man was even stranger then the previous three of them. He wore full armour, too finely polished for a brigand like the other three. His helm’s visor was a great bear’s face, fangs bared and snarling. He had a great sword strapped to his back, and judging from the size of the scabbard, it was over five feet long!

But Earl Bedwyr didn’t see any of this. All he saw was four ruffians wasting his time. “Out of our way!” he shouted at the four men, “I am Earl Bedwyr of TOWNNAME, and I command you to MOVE!” He didn’t even realize his own stupidity.

The Bear-Helmed man stepped forward from the four. “SILENCE!” he roared in a gigantic raspy voice. It was a startling voice; in it’s sheer volume as well as the sound of it. It gave you the impression that he speaking directly to you, no matter where he was at the time. He continued speaking to the small group they had captured, “We’re callin’ the SHOTS now!” As he shouted, an arrow flitted past his head from the south side and into the smaller driver’s chest. He slumped forward on the bench, and the horses started whickering at the sight and smell of blood oozing from the wound around the arrow.

The Earl’s eyes slowly widened as they landed upon the fresh corpse of his driver. “Y-y-you… killed…” The Earl stammered, not quite able to finish his thought. As he finally began to register the situation, he started to back-pedal away from the criminals and tripped on a stone, landing unceremoniously on his royal ass. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. ‘And where did that arrow come from?’ The Earl wondered. He scrambled to get into his carriage, never realizing the utter futility of such a move. Even so, the tall man sped over, grabbed the Earl’s collar, and threw him sprawling in front of the horses. Desperate to put as much space between him and the highwaymen, the Earl crawled away on all fours, and went right in between the horses. The horses snorted and reared at this odd intrusion, until the thin man calmed them with a word. He then pulled up the Earl by his shirt, and slammed him onto the driver’s bench, next to the remaining man.

“We can’t have you being harmed yet, can we?” the man said, more to himself then to the Earl. He grinned at them with enormous white teeth. The Earl didn’t know why, but that smile frightened him more then anything else that had happened that day.

“Nice and easy there Tarin,” said the bear-helm, “We wouldn’t want to spoil him before we get our gold!” He laughed with his comrades as the Earl cowered. But then Earl Bedwyr saw his chance.

“You’re right you know, I have lots and lots of gold, there’s no need for violence here!” All the men were looking at him, ‘Perfect’ thought the Earl. “In fact, you’d best—” the Darkskin slammed a mailed fist into his chest, throwing him violently into the carriage wall. He couldn’t believe that they were doing this to him… But the pain in his chest was quite convincing. He shrank back as he tried to regain his thoughts. He needed some other bargaining chip, something he could use immediately… “The…*cough* …girl…” The four all looked up at the same moment at that.

Slowly, the tall man spoke, “What did you say?” The Earl knew he had his bargaining chip this time.

“There’s a girl in my carriage, and a pretty one at that!” The bear-helmed one stood for a moment, seemingly thinking over this new development.

“Well, we’d best go fetch her then!” he said jovially. Upon seeing the look on the remaining driver’s face, his voice came again from behind the snarling bear’s visage, “We’ll give her a royal welcome!” and he shared a laugh with the short bearded man. The leader nodded at the two remaining bandits, the tall one and the Darkskin, and each went to a side of the carriage. A moment later, there was a high-pitched scream from the carriage.

As they went, a shadow flitted through the shadows, watching this situation unfold.

The two bandits came back quite quickly, each tightly gripping one of the girl’s arms as she thrashed about, fruitlessly trying to break the powerful grips latched onto her arms. The Darkskin turned to the forest on the south side of the road and shouted, “Both of you get turns too! Come on out!” From that section of forest came a skinny young man carrying an enormous yew bow slung over his shoulder. His face was young, but his lips were turned up in a sneer that showed he was as cocky as the others seemed to be. Like a pack of wolves unmet by any other predators, they preyed on the sheep of the world, uncontested in their hounding.

He turned to the north side of the road as well, and shouted again “Come on you old dog! We hit the jackpot!” He waited a moment, and seeing no sign of his fifth comrade, spoke to the other four. “I always thought he liked boys,” and they all laughed together. Alayaya whimpered softly as she lay between them, and the bearded one gave her a stiff toe in the ribs. From the way she crumpled around the boot, the watcher judged the man was wearing greaves under the leather showing on his feet.

The watcher flitted through another set of shadows traveling unseen towards them. The bearded men spoke up then, “I’ve gotta piss,” he said loudly, “You three break her in for me!” He began to walk towards the north side of the road, where the other archer supposedly still waited. As he walked, the tall one whipped out a scimitar with blinding speed and snapped the flat against the remaining driver’s hand, slapping it away from the dagger he had been reaching for on the thin one’s belt. The man yelped and shrank back onto the bench, next to the Earl, (who hadn’t moved from that spot) clutching his hurt hand. The thin one’s lips curled up, exposing his teeth like an animal, and sheathed his scimitar with a frightening finality.

Just then a loud grunt came from the woods. “I told you not to eat that stringy little rabbit!” shouted the voice behind the bear’s helm. “Go and fetch the old one,” he said to the smaller archer. He seemed to lose some of his cockiness when given an order by the leader. He ran into the trees and disappeared from view quickly in the thick brush.

Tarin, the Darkskin, chose that moment to pipe up. He turned to their other prisoner, Alayaya. “As for you, lass” he said as he smiled that bone chilling smile, “Time for us to have some fun.” He reached down, and began unlacing his breeches. But before a moment of this had passed, a sound ripped through the air, stopping him cold.

It was a freakishly loud, blood-curdling scream.

Tarin’s hands went to his dirk, and he drew it slowly from it’s sheath. The tall one’s scimitars were already out. But the leader remained stoic. His gaze rested on the woods, where the scream had originated. “It seems we have company.” He said flatly. An arrow zipped out through the foliage. *Thwip* The Bear-Helmed one didn’t move as it breezed by the side of his helmet.

“Why are those idiots firing at us!?” Tarin shouted to no one in particular.

“They are dead, along with Vincent.” Said the leader coolly. ‘So’ thought the shadow, ‘The scruffy corpse’s name was Vincent’. Bear-Helm scanned the forest, searching for any sign of the man who was killing his comrades. As he searched, he heard something big brush through the trees behind them, and out onto the road. He wheeled about, but too late. The turn had brought him face-to-face with the shadow.

In front of him stood a Dire wolf, the size of a draft horse, and reputed to be twice as strong. He thought today was a good day to test the merits of that reputation. The wolf’s fur was a pale grey, from neck to tail, almost the colour of snow. But its face was another matter… Its face was a patchwork of black, green and red fur, making the wolf almost seem to be wearing a tribal mask from one of the northern tribes. It didn’t move, and neither did anyone else. It merely waited for the bandit’s to make their first move.

The thin one charged, whipping his scimitars from side to side, clashing the blade’s together. As he reached the wolf, he brought both arms out to the side, preparing to cleave the wolf’s head from its body. But before he could perform the killing stroke, the wolf turned and kicked out like a mule. Its paws connected with the man’s head, and he careened off to the side! Then he lay very still.

The wolf stood still for a moment then. Without warning, it turned back towards the bandits and ran towards them! It leapt at the bear-helm, slamming him to his back, but Tarin ran and tackled the wolf’s side, throwing it sideways off of his leader. Bear-helm bounded away from the pair as they rolled around on the road, and reached behind him to grab the hilt of the Great Sword strapped to his back. He pulled it out with a grunt, and as he brought it to bear in front of him, the wolf pushed out of the tangle with the Darkskin. It came to a stop a few feet off, and shot a stare at the wagon over the leader’s shoulder. An instant later, a large *BANG* sounded behind the fighters, accompanied by a vivid flash of light! It drew their attention for an instant, and they turned towards it.

That instant was enough.

When the men realized their vulnerability, they turned back towards the wolf as quickly as they could. But what stood before them was no wolf, but a well built man on all fours in its stead. His face was painted with the same macabre cover as the wolf’s had been, and he was coated with weaponry. His eyes were a shocking silvery-grey that seemed almost to glow as he stared at them. The man slowly picked himself up, his expression never changing, his eyes never leaving the leaders. That stare shattered reality, and tethered them together across it. Bear-helm felt like his soul was being drawn forth for examination by this silent anomaly.

Without saying a word, he swept his right hand up in a great arc above his head. As he finished the movement, great creeping vines shot from the earth and entwined the limp body of the thin man, wrapping around his entire body. They lifted him up, suspending him in the air. Another gesture, and a pit opened beneath Tarin. He fell into the newly opened hole with a shout, and it sealed up around him, leaving only his head exposed. Both twisted and turned, but fruitlessly. They were trapped.

The Bear-Helmed man turned towards Tarin, paused, turned towards the vines containing the tall man, and readied his sword in front of him. Then he charged at the man.

He swung his sword at the masked man with a slice that would have cleaved him from collarbone to hip, but this numinous figure tilted to the side and the sword slid harmlessly by him. He reached behind him as he bent, and pulled out a Bo staff, seemingly made of mahogany. The pole whistled through the air, and rang out against the bear-helm, leaving a fair sized dent on the side. The sword slashed out again, horizontally from the ground in an attempt to cut out the smaller man’s knees. But the druid leapt into the air, avoiding the sword altogether. As the robber completed his swing, the druid shot his staff out low, following the same arc the sword had followed a moment before, to sweep his opponent’s legs out from under him. But the bandit kicked out with one leg, stopping the staff’s momentum cold. Instead of stopping though, the druid used the momentum of the kick to start a turn the other way, and he brought the staff across to once again land a blow on the man’s fearsome helm.

The sword came again, unslowed by the strikes to his head. He shot it straight ahead, the blade horizontal, trying to stab his opponent’s unprotected gut. But the enigma that was the druid leapt straight up into the air, landing lightly upon the outstretched sword in the hands of his adversary, holding his staff tightly in one hand. Behind the fearsome bear on his helm, the man smiled, despite his disadvantage. He held the man up for a moment, unwavering, to show the strength behind the sword, then whipped it out the side as quick as a flash in an attempt to throw his lithe opponent to the ground. But the druid whipped his arms forward from behind his back and revolved completely, landing on his feet with his staff held horizontally in front of him.

They each paused in respect for their opponent’s skill, then returned seamlessly to the battle. The bandit took the offensive again, slashing diagonally and breezing by the druid’s ribs. He then powered the sword up on the backhand with a slashing thrust towards his foe’s face. The druid let it hum by him, and then locked his staff with the swords long cross guard, immobilizing both weapons for the moment. He adjusted the angle of his staff, and it slid along its length, slowly pushing the combatant’s faces closer together. When they were mere inches apart, he changed the angle once again to stop himself and lock eyes with the bandit’s leader.

As he stared into his opponent’s eyes, his face melted away revealing the snarling visage of a Dire wolf, still painted in the tribal mask. Then the wolf’s face melted away in turn, giving way for his human face once more. He spun out of the lock-up, throwing Bear-helm off balance long enough for him to slam the butt of his staff right between the eyes of the snarling bear. The man fell to his knees in a heap.

Before the man could regain his senses, the druid whipped his staff in front of the bandit’s neck horizontally. He then pulled each of the man’s arms over the staff. The druid reached into a pouch on his belt, and pulled out a thin blue chord. He tied one end to each wrist, and looped it around the bandit’s neck in between his hands. If he tried to force his way out, he’d choke himself to death.

With all three men incapacitated, the druid stopped for a moment, as if collecting himself. But his expression never changed. He turned to where the great creeper vines held the thin man captive, and deliberately walked over to him. The trapped man attempted to lash out at his captor, but the vines held him tight. At that moment, the thin man knew what his fate would be.

As the druid stood before the doomed man, he pulled a scimitar from the small of his back with intent. It was a glorious weapon, entirely black with the exception of one large emerald set in the tang. It appeared razor-sharp, and it was. So sharp in fact, that it passed through armour and wood as easily as flesh. He lifted it up in one hand, and pointed it unwaveringly at the tall man’s face. Once again, the druid locked that uncanny stare on the man. Then he spoke in a loud, carrying voice.

“For the crimes of burglary, attempted rape, attempted murder the death of an innocent man, I judge you CONDEMNED!” He spoke the last word with such hatred, such venom, that even the trees wanted to back away from the sheer death in his voice. He slowly began to draw the sword across his own throat in a clear sign of judgment. As he moved his arm out to the side, so too did the vines move the trapped man’s arm to an outstretched position in time with the druids. In a futile attempt to save himself, the man released the scimitar in his own hand, but more vines sprang forth and lashed it to his arm as it fell. As he realised the inevitable, he began to plead with the man before him. But the man could not hear him, so filled with righteousness was he.

With slow inexorable certainty, the druid brought the sword to his own throat, as did the vines with the captive. And he spoke for the last time to the prisoner in a cold calculating tone, “May whatever gods you meet in the next life have mercy upon your eternal soul.” And the vines jerked the man’s arm with the scimitar deep into the flesh of his throat as he let out a long scream that slowly trailed into a gurgle as blood foamed from the wound at his neck. The vines uncoiled and returned to the ground, and the man’s body collapsed onto the earth, lifeless. The druid stooped down next to the man he had killed, and scraped up some earth from the road’s surface. He muttered a few inaudible words, and sprinkled the soil onto the man’s forehead, then closed the man’s eyes.

The executioner’s head dipped, then he turned his gaze to where the Darkskin remained trapped in the pit. When that gaze fell on him, the trapped man let out a scream, and began thrashing about wildly, trying to free himself like an animal caught in a snare. He continued to slam his head about, and there was an audible *crack* and his head lolled to the side at a funny angle. Finally, the druid turned to his last captive, the unconscious man held in place with the staff. He walked back over to the where the unconscious man lay on it’s knees, and wasted no time in his judgment. He stepped behind him, reached around his head, and snapped his neck coolly. He untied his rope, picked up his staff, and watched as the body leaned to the side, then toppled to the ground. Once again he went down next to the body, and took some soil in his hand. He whispered into the after life, then scattered the earth onto his kill’s forehead.

The three people who had been prisoners mere moments before had continued to watch in a stupor as this went on, shocked at the scene in front of them. But now this broke somewhat, and they began to recover. But the druid didn’t notice this now. He stood up again, and turned to walk away from the carnage of the road. He took several steps, then the girl he had rescued shouted after him. “Wait!” she called out. She moved to chase after her rescuer, but the Earl grabbed her elbow, stopping her in he tracks.

“I will speak to him!” the Bedwyr growled, it was quite obvious that he was the Earl Bedwyr once more, ruler of his domain. “He’d rather speak to a Earl then some foolish girl!” Quite obvious indeed… The druid turned back, calmly watching the Earl speak. There was no hint of emotion on his face now, his face a mask in every sense. The Earl approached his rescuer, with thoughts of compensation.

“So my friend, what would you like for this noble service? Gold? You’ll want a reward of course, but what would you like? The druid merely stood, stoic. “Women then?” the Earl pressed, “Merely come with us, and you shall have as many as you could ever want!” The Earl leaned in slightly, waiting for an answer from the druid.

“No.” he said then.

“So it is gold you want! Just come along with- ” but the druid cut him off.

“I don’t need your gold.” He spoke with a tone of finality. He turned again to leave, and started away. Once again Alayaya called out to him in gratitude.

“Thank you sir!” The Earl slapped her in the face, throwing her to the ground.

“You’re making me look bad in front of that man! Now hold your tongue you foolish girl, lest it be removed instead!” His rage was evident, and he pulled back a fist, preparing to hit her harder now. But as he reared back, a muscled fist grabbed his forearm and stopped him cold. The Earl looked back over his shoulder, once again the helpless coward. The druid snarled, his lips pulling back over his teeth, exposing them like an animal.

“Since you offered…” he said to the Earl. He reached down to his belt, and tore off a purse of money. The man who had been his rescuer a moment before pulled a knife from a sheath on his forearm. He turned the Earl around, putting them eye-to-eye. “You deserve this as much as they did…” said the man as the unspeakable rage once again filled his voice. He plunged the knife viciously into the Earl’s eye, killing him in his righteous anger.

He let the corpse fall to the ground, and stooped down once again. After placing the anointment on the Earl’s corpse, he finally turned and walked away, leaving the knife in Earl Bedwyr’s eye socket, and two frightened and thankful commoners huddled on the coach’s bench.

He entered the forest, and was gone from sight in the blink of an eye.