Treetop Racers

404MoTrRa

The sounds of evening bird song rang out across the canopy and brought the day to an end across the houses. The people of Bramblewall had planned this race for over a year and the Treetop racers were already removing the saddles up their companions after a day of test flights through the course. Twig, a forest gnome of no real renown watched the last of the racers feed their giant bird mounts and disappear inside for the night.

This was her signal to prepare her own fine steed. As she scurried back inside her treetop house the prospect of falling hundreds of feet no longer worried her as the bridges wobbled from her passage. She had been watching the racers and timing them and their laps – it had been her job for many years after all. She had studied the rules and guides around the race for years. One hundred loops of the forest over four days and nights. Mounts must fly and live in the trees, must not breathe fire and must not be carnivorous. Most people had giant birds that fed from fruit, seeds or nectar from some of the giant flower species that grew from giant creeper vines amongst the trees.

But she had found a loophole. Not all herbivorous creatures in the forest who lived in trees were birds. She entered her treehouse and quickly gathered her things. A pair of riding goggles that had cost her a pretty bag of coin, riding leathers and furs as well as a sack full of fruit. Moving to the trapdoor; something that only her treehouse had, she lifted the hatch and entered a balcony area under her house that was surrounded by thatching, vines and thick foliage. There her mount and racing companion waited patiently. A giant fruit bat.

Larger than some of the birds that took place in the race her small stature made her weight manageable for the creature. She knew that during the daylight her bat, Honeysuckle, would be slower than the other avian mounts. But she had an advantage that they did not, she could fly at night. Feeding the giant bat the bag of fruit she readied the custom saddle and harness that would enable her to stay bound to the bat during the flight. Due to the small amount of weight it would be carrying it wouldn’t have to stop for much during the daylight and she calculated, a guess really, that during the night Honeysuckle would be faster than most of the daylight flying birds.

Having sated the bats hunger she climbed onto its back, giving it a good scratch and talking to it. She had found the bat injured as a pup, abandoned on the forest floor and had raised it openly first. But now she trained with it in secret as she knew how the others would react. But this was her year. She would no longer tally results and count the laps of Alkerion, the elven rider who flew on Jesper, a magnificent giant hummingbird. Jesper was easily the biggest giant hummingbird that had been seen, a mixture of selective breeding and elven magic allegedly – but all of it was legal according to the rule book. But The stamina of Honeysuckle would easily leave Jesper far behind in the rankings.

With a final pat Twig urged the bat to take flight and within seconds she was soaring through the evening along the course – the special gemstone in the goggles enabled her to see the forest in a grey light, colours stripped from the world around her but she was able to see the trail markers.

Within an hour she had completed two laps of the course and was half way through the next. She was timing herself on a small gnomish trinket and she couldn’t suppress her smile. She was at least half again as fast as many of the other riders. This would be a piece of cake as long as Honeysuckle’s stamina held up she had a strong chance to be the next winner of the Treetop Race.

However, on a lower treehouse in the main centre of Bramblewall a human watched the bat complete its laps. Looking up with a similar tinted pair of goggles the middle aged man took similar notes on the speed of the bat.

“Uh, King sir? I came as you requested and looked into the ruling as you wanted.” a stammering voice said from behind. King knew that his associate was there and was approaching, he prided himself on knowing what went on in this city when it came to the races. “It doesn’t specify that the racer has to be a bird, but I don’t know why that matters. There isn’t another creature as fast as the birds that fly here that won’t eat them or the riders.” the boy said.

“Interesting that you say that. Not another animal that doesn’t fly as fast as the birds.” King said slowly. “Make sure that I have no plans or other engagements tomorrow at lunch, I have a potential client to go talk to.” he said as he watched the bat complete the third lap in the same time it would take half the birds to complete two at most. “Interesting indeed.”

Guarding Prisoners

403MoGuPr

“The guards seemed relaxed as they lounged in the bench-booths of the Musty Oak and waited for the last of their ales to arrive. The coin flowed freely from their hands as they paid for their meals and boasted of their exploits to any who would listen, and many who cared not to. But the adventure, the wealth and the way that they spoke of their job made being idle and completing little jobs for little merchants sound utterly pitiful.

As they watched the guards enjoyed the comforts of being well paid and looked at their, in comparison, meagre meal before them. “Now now, don’t look too disheartened. Just so happens I know the boss of that crew and he is in need of some more men for a job.” the innkeeper said as he passed along a pint of ale, the first shouts of “Ales on me!” came from one of the younger guards at the table.

“If you are interested, Boris is sitting by himself over there,” he pointed to the quieter side of the he inn at a large man. “He is studying for the job.” the innkeeper chuckled and shook his head.

The job. This wasn’t exactly what they had in mind but the pay was significantly disproportionate to the work itself. The job was simple: transport two wagons filled with prisoners by road to some remote prison and deliver them to a man called Pensevtil. The prisoners were bound but sat quietly as they travelled in the well made wagons. The wagons were barred but constructed of ironbound hard wood that looked like it could contain an owlbear.

As they moved down the road the guards joked crudely and made fun of the prisoners but they were not cruel. The head guard, Boris, scouted the roads and was always looking forward. When he thought something was not quite right or needed further investigation he would bark out an order and one or two guards would immediately fall into line and move to investigate.

“The men respect Boris,” the company’s cook would say when watching one such order being given. “Boris is rarely surprised nor wrong when it comes to trouble and the boys have learnt to listen to the old vet. They say he commanded an army once but he won’t say why he isn’t still.” Cookie was an odd half-elf. He definitely got more of his human parents appearance but despite being quite ugly, he was tall and lanky with slightly pointed ears.

The men came back reporting nothing again but something near the road itself stood out to the party. Broken brush, several somethings had passed through here and they had broken some of the bracken that grew just under the trees. There were also signs of the passage of creatures further into the trees and they found fresh signs of the creatures. Whatever they were there were a few and they were nearby. Boris seemed pleased at the discovery and ordered the guards to be more alert which caused them to grumble but obey quickly and efficiently. One of the prisoners was staring into the woods when the party walked near the wagon, a look of fear and apprehension was clear on its face.

“It’s coming.” is all he muttered when they drew near and when they looked at the other prisoners all of them had the same haunted look.