Friends,
   I must put to paper the events of the last several weeks as best as I can recall them. I cannot explain much of what has happened, nor can I recollect it entirely. I feel as if I've been living underwater and only now broken the surface. So bear with this imperfect recollection and witness this strange tale.

   I found myself sitting, on a root, my back against the trunk of that selfsame tree. I was aware of only the interplay of sunlight and shadow in the pond in front of me. It lay at the base of a small cliff, and a rivulet of water splashed cheerily down the black cragginess like rain on an old dwarfs face. The water spashed in the pond, and due to the particular angle of sunlight, it seemed a universe of stars lay open before me. I became aware, slowly, of a black dog, playing in the spray, trying to catch the drops as they flew. The pup bore patches of missing fur, but seemed otherwise whole and hale. Another creature shared this wonderment of light and nature with me as well. A beaver swam in the pond. It did rolls and spins, dove and leapt. I became aware of something in my hand. It took a moment to recognize it. It was my crossbow, or what was left of it. The limbs were gone, only the stock remained. It seems battered and stained.

   A cold lightning shot thru me. I looked for my weapons. My sword lay nearby, the blade shattered. On my belt hung the remains of my axe. My dagger was gone. The pup looked up as I started. The beaver swam to edge of the pond and climbed out. Only the calming effect of that sweet artesia prevented my screaming. Images flooded my mind now, smoke, horses, blood, screaming. I remember the rage that poured thru me, occulting all reason. A woman and a child had been running. Pursuing them were things on horseback. The things had scales, and fangs and maces and spears. They intended the woman and the child no good, that much was obvious.

   I had been hunting, an so I had my crossbow loaded and to hand. I hardly thought about what I did as I did it. The smoothe walnut stock snapped to my shoulder, my head tilting slightly bringing my cheek to rest against the smoothness. At the same time, my left hand pulled the foregrip toward me pushing the stock into my shoulder, my left elbow rested against my chest. My index finger squeezed the trigger. The quarrel left the bow and flew to its target. My memory of that monent is quite vivid, I watched somehow disconnected as the bolt sunk into the scaly leg. The horse reared, throwing its rider off and the pursuit into confusion.

   All six riders were halted momentarily, and four were unhorsed. The one I had shot roared in anger, defiance or pain, I know not which. The two who were not unhoursed made as if to continue the pursuit. But the woman had halted. The child was now some distance away, crying. Thw womans eyes glowed, her hands became to bright to look at as she thrust them forward toward the riders. A shock wave of light blasted toward the two who had stopped, perhaps now unsure of the game they played. If they had any regrets, they were not to trouble them long however. The blast caught the formost full on and ripped flesh from bone and set what was left on fire. The blast had been well aimed and took the rider completly off the saddle. The first horse bolted for the woods without looking back. The second rider caught part of the blast and perhaps the worse fate, as only his left side, leg, arm, hip, shoulder and entrails were ripped and burned, leaving him in horrible agony as well as mortally wounded. Again, the horse got away, though I cannot say if it were burnt at all or not. The woman fell to the ground, steam rising from her exausted body. I could not tell if she lived, nor would I know for many days.

   The four remaining creatures began to move toward the woman. I sent another crossbow bolt into another one of them. He shreiked and fell. As they rushed me I had not time to reload or to draw another weapon. I used my beautiful crossbow as a club, smashing those ugly faces, leaving a bowlimb in side of one of the monsters heads, the other bowlimb in a stomach, or at least the middle, as I am not sure if these creatures of my nightmares bestiary boasted such normal organs as stomachs. I then used the remaining piece to beat and bludgeon. I took a grievous wound at this time, that would trouble me later and for many days. but three of my foes were down by my hand, two by the womans, and the last was also wounded.

   I was now in full battle rage and knew this last one would not last long. I grabbed my axe, drawing it in a thrusting move to bring the surmounting spike to bear without having to swing the weapon. The point sunk into the middle just below the ribs and elicited a strange cry that I must assume was the deathcall of these fiends. This I cut short when I swung my axe, removing the head of this foul affrontery to life.

   I was dangerous to life and limb now myself and was not able to reason yet. Thus the answering cry the death call had raised did not set my teeth on edge, nor chill my spine. Instead I bellowed the cry of the Islandin D'Skye dwarves and waited. Insanely I stood my ground while the horses bore down on me. I surely would have died had not a singularly bizarre event occured, that must needs be different, save that my memory be damaged. I saw the riders approach, sparks like fire from the hooves. My sword I gripped with both hands and held aloft and toward the sky beside my right shoulder. Behind me an apparition wreathed in mist shot by. I swear as best I can recall that a beaver like creature, in a strange saddle, on a strong horse, carried a pointed tree trunk like a lance before it. The beaver crashed into the line of horsemen if such they could be called, the trunk smashing the foremost, undoubtedly killing him outright. His body was lifted from its saddle and smashed into a second rider unhorsing him. My strange ally then wheeled, and charged again, riding down the luckless brigand who had fallen. By now the attackers/pursuers were mostly afoot and ready with spear to fight my horsed ally. I had not remained idle during this while. I crashed into the group, my sword a blur of bloody intent. I parried spear thrusts with moves motivated by survival and propelled by the rage. I ripped into their ranks, giving and getting wound after wound. Though I dealt more than I recieved, I was near to swooning. What I saw next must be a product of that giddy delirium.

   A black dog flew over my shoulder and fastened his teeth on the throat of the thing I faced. They went down in a flurry of animal fury. A shrill war cry broke out on my left. I turned to see a little blonde girl swing a deadly sword, removing the arm of a foeman. Though of but one edge, the wickedly sharp blade was marvelously quick in the girls expert hands. Only when she ran one of them thru did she slow, as the blade was wedged. One of the foe, still a horse then tried to run her down. Once more into the breach I leapt. I drove my sword deeply into the rider, though I took a mighty impact from the horse. My sword twisted and fell with him, the blade shattering as the horse crushed his fallen rider in falling as well. Axe in hand, I caught the remaining horseman a solid blow on his armor, wounding him, but finishing my axe as well. Now unweaponed, I scanned the the ground for something to use. I saw my crossbow stock, and picked it up, looking for an enemy. The dog finished the one I'd wounded and then there was silence.

   I swooned. I awoke later, I know not when, and made my way to the Inn. I saw Vaerina, who sent me to find a healer. I remember my outer wounds being healed, but the damage from the rage and the blow to my head were to trouble me again. Days and nights passed in a fog. I found myself in front of that beautiful pond.

   The beaver had climbed out of the pond. Before my eyes she began to transform into that selfsame young girl who had wielded the sword so well. The dog, too I recognized. Were these two really my comrades in arms? Or had my fevered imagination merely woven them into the fabric of my memory? Yet here they were.

   The girl walked up to me laughing. "So you wake, friend Mark." her eyes sparking, her words like water falling in a pond. She held a crystal before my eyes and looked into them. "Almost healed" she said. I discovered that I could not speak, nor did I have the energy to move. Yet I worried not. "Would you like some fruit?" she asked. She took a sword from its sheath. I recognized it as that self same blade, that the girl had employed. I have since heard her call it a Quetana. Deftly she sliced some fruit a melon of some kind. Its flavor was sweet. The black dog licked my face.

   I slept. I dreamt. And here I am. Finally I am whole and rested. Although It is hard to believe the events I remember, they ring true. The girl told me the woman (a brave sorceress) survived the encounter with her daughter, but has left this land for another for the while. I believe I owe a great deal to the girl who is none other than our own swordgurl If The descriptions I've heard of her are correct. Prior to this I had met her only once, when I fell from the Inns 2nd floor porch. That she is also the WereBeaver is a marvel in itself. The black doggy as well deserves whatever awards can be rendered him.

   I will need new weapons. Perhaps Jaraxle can help me in this. To you my friends, I can only offer my apologies in whatever of the House business I have missed. Thankyou for your patience and understanding,

Your brother,
Markangle ZynD'Aire
Dwarf Warrior Poet.

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