Character Sketches 2: Millraven Finn Izzle

Millraven is the star of the only series of stories I have (Thus far) been able to knuckle down and finish.  She's also the product of a long standing funny piece of Dungeons and Dragons trivia. In the original version of the game there were no races outside of human. There was however an Elf class. This class is basically what we'd know as a Fighter/Mage dual class later on, but in the first edition was the only character capable of mixing both spells and swordplay. Millraven is an extension of this as she is racially an elf who has taken the old Elf character class.
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Millraven was born to Royal Guards Kestrel and Jackdaw Finn Izzle after the banishment of the Arikron family from the Sylvan kingdom. Loyal to a fault they agreed to follow the former royal family in to exile rather than live peacefully under the new regime. They eventually followed the former king and queen to the small town of Lynch where the displaced royalty had a modest manor. Once they were settled in Kestrel took over leadership of the city guard and Jackdaw went into horticulture. He would use a combination crossbreeding and enchanting to create hardier crops with higher yields for the local farmers.

     Both Elves were popular in the town and beyond. Their fame would entice the larger cities to send their guards to Kestrel for training and farmers and merchants would come from as far away as Hightower city to consult with Jackdaw.  Both the elves and those around them were nearly overcome with joy when Kestrel revealed she was with child. Elven pregnancies were extremely rare and both males and females had high rates of infertility. The burgeoning family received many gifts and blessings to help the new life they were bringing into the world.

      Millraven was born ( and subsequently named) in a new flour mill that Jackdaw had been building. She was a healthy, bright eyed and beautiful baby girl. She was a happy child, raised for many years in her idyllic little town without a care in the world.

      Then the revolution came. The merchants, bankers and career politicians that had taken over the Sylvan kingdom had driven it to ruin with their greed. The elves who had exiled the royal family began to look back on their former rulers with fond eyes. They found, however, that the former rulers had discovered that living without the pressure of ruling had suited them just fine. They refused to try and retake the throne. They escaped from Lynch, imploring Kestrel and Jackdaw to protect them. They were in danger, not only from the elves that were angered by their refusal to take back the throne, but also from the Sylvan council's hired assassins. They would be pursued over many thousands of miles over the next fifteen years.

   It was during this decade and a half of being a fugitive that Millraven was trained to defend herself. Her mother taught her how to wield a sword and wear armor comfortably. Her father taught her how to cast spells and look to the world around her for power and defense. Millraven was a natural at the disciplines of both fighting and magic, soon matching her teachers in both skill sets. She was also rebellious and rambunctious.

     The constant secrecy of their travels wore on her and the refusal of both her parents and the royal family to stand and fight against their attackers infuriated her.  After a few more years of wandering with the exiled royals Millraven grew tired of it all and struck out on her own to return to Lynch. Once she was there she joined the local branch of the adventurer's guild. She had no idea, however, whether she would register herself as a fighter or a wizard.

     It turns out that she need not have worried about choosing one title over another. It turns out that before Elves revealed themselves to humankind an injured hero came to Lynch to recover from his wounds. During his recovery a band of orcs attacked the small town and the hero went out of his way to put the marauding monsters down using a combination of both spells and steel. When asked who he was and how he came by his amazing abilities  the hero simply replied that he was an elf. Not knowing about other races at the time the grateful villagers assumed it was the hero's job and entered it into the class book for their guild. Thus Millraven followed in her mysterious forebearer's footsteps and became an Elf, who was also an elf.

   Millraven is now a Journeyman adventurer, working toward her master's badge. Mastery is earned by going out into the world, solving problems, exploring new paths, clearing old paths and gathering wealth and master adventurers are often hailed as heroes and allowed to begin their own guild halls as a form of semi-retirement.

     Millraven is currently travelling with the enterprising halfling scout/cleric Bran Anlace. She knows she has many years of adventuring ahead of her and hopes to build a party of stalwart companions around her as she does.

        Millraven is a full Sylvan Elf and stands exactly 5'0" tall ( About 152 centimeters) and weighs about 85 lbs. (About 35kg). She has long, charcoal black hair that falls just beyond her shoulder blades in thick, bouncy curves. She has a deep, nutty tan skin tone and the standard long, pointed ears of her race. (Hers are about 5 inches long) She has sparkling hazel eyes. She wears a grey tunic under a mithril coat and has recently taken to wearing a long black skirt with steel tassets around the hips. She carries a saber belted to her left hip, and a simple straight dagger belted to her right hip. She carries an unstrung bow and quiver of 30 arrows on her back. At this time she does not have a dedicated staff. Under her skirt she wears unbleached cotton bloomers and knee high black leather boots with steel greaves attached to the fronts.

     Millraven has a slim, but curvaceous build. Long in the leg, and with a medium sized bust. She has a strong face that often wears a friendly, but determined expression. She rarely, if ever wears cosmetics, preferring to let her natural features do the talking for her. Her current goal is to attain the rank of Master adventurer and gather a sizable nestegg toward eventually finding a life partner and starting a family of her own. She is prepared to work at this goal for decades and is in no hurry to find a permanent mate. In the meantime she is happy to find adventure, and have the companionship of those she meets through her life's journey. Wherever that may take her.

Character Sketches 1: Alias Nambrox ( A.K.A. Alias Finn Grandolg)

Hello my Niblings! This is the first post of a series that introduces some of the characters I commonly use in my writing. I figure putting these out there will help me to do at least a little writing every day and help to encourage me to actually finish stories for a change. In any event here is the character I based on my first consistent AD&D character. The half elf Bard (Bard/Rogue in 3.0 and beyond.) Alias Nambrox.
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Alias was born to the human wizard Michael Grandolg and the Elven princess in Exile Silkpetal Finn Arikron. She was, as all half elven children tend to be, both vigorous and intelligent. Her human blood gave her strength, vigor and a lust for life and her elven side gave her great intellect, an instinctive talent for magic, and a keen awareness of her environment. She was a happy child, doted on by her parents and loved by those who met her.

    Not all was well however. Her mother, who had lived most of her life as a spoiled elven princess had no marketable skills and fell easily in to deep, nearly torpor like depressive states. Her father worked hard to support his family, but saw that his wife was not up to the task of raising their daughter on her own. He began to take more and more dangerous work, hoping the higher rates of pay would allow him to save up enough to stay at home and raise Alias while still supporting the family. This plan literally blew up in his face and Alias and Silkpetal were left alone with no means of support.

    Silkpetal quickly fell into another depression. She drank through the family's savings in no time and became desperate to find more money, and more wine. She tried working, but failed at whatever task she attempted. She tried her hand at the oldest profession, but found that she could not even think about entertaining a client without becoming even more depressed and terrified. In the meantime Alias needed to be cared for and was a constant drain on Silkpetal's resources, and her patience. She finally broke one day and sold Alias to a band of travelling merchants. The Nambrox caravan.

   Surprisingly, Alias was never placed in the kind of danger one might think a pretty elven slave might be placed in. Grellbon Nambrox, the head of the caravan was a cold man, mean and ruthless as they came, but he was no villain. He never touched Alias in any harmful way and he made sure that no-one else in, or associated with his group did either. Alias was well fed and made almost comfortable as long as she performed one task. Her job was to sing the insomniac Grellbon to sleep every night.

   Every night she sang, and every night she found new ways to use and adapt her voice. She learned different songs from those in the caravan and those the caravan dealt with. She learned instruments from bards and troubadors they met along their journeys. She worked hard with both Grellbon and the other members of the caravan and soon became the darling of the group of merchants. Pocketing any coins she might find and doing extra jobs for whatever pittance the other caravaneers would give to her, she made enough to buy her own freedom in a mere 10 years. She left the group when she was set free, but she knew she'd be back. She had a goal in mind. She wanted to make enough money to buy the caravan out from under Grellbon and make them all work for her!

   Alias had learned many things on the road and seen many different kinds of people. She had discovered many years ago that farming, or learning a trade was only going to trap her. They would provide enough money for her to live, but only just that. Alias would have to follow in her father's footsteps if she was to have the success she craved. If she wanted to make a lot of money quickly she needed to risk herself for it. She needed to become an adventurer.
 
   For a while she lived simply as a bard, starving herself to save every penny she could. Eventually she found an old dwarven war-singer and she learned how to turn her voice into her ultimate tool and advantage. She learned what he had to teach quickly and was soon able to join mercenary bands as a bard and drummer. She would sing and play rousing marching songs to raise the spirits of her allies and gloomy dirges to bring terror and apathy into the hearts of her enemies. She continued to learn as she did this, picking up the fundamentals of sword play and defense and the basics of light fingered thievery from her mercenary brothers and sisters.  Using these lessons she gathered a party around her and went on series of adventures that (Partially thanks to her talent as a song-writer.) are still the stuff of legends. Using the funds gained from those adventures she was able to fulfill her dream. Though he only grudgingly did so, Grellbon Nambrox sold the caravan and all its possessions and inventory to Alias.

   Alias savored her victory and was overjoyed at her success. She would soon find even more joy however. The caravan's new magic user was a beautiful, shy and delicate woman named Merci Sparaux. Merci was honest, kind and also a hard worker. She earned every copper she made as the caravan's mage, but she also stole Alias' heart.  Alias and Merci run the caravan together now as both partners and lovers.

   Currently Alias and Merci travel with the caravan, expanding its trade routes and territories by exploring places off the beaten track that few other companies would dare to set foot. She's also grown famous for her voice, her fame as a bard opening many doors for her as she rises from the tragedy of her early life.

  Alias is a half elf and stands about 5'4" tall. ( Around 163 centimeters) She weighs 93 lbs ( Around 42 kg.) She has warm chestnut colored hair worn in a pixie cut. She is unusual for a half elf as she has freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, something only humans usually have and four inch long ears that end in sharp points. ( Half elf ears are usually only half that length and slightly rounded at the tips.) She wears a studded leather vest over a white poet shirt and tight cream color breeches with thigh high light brown leather boots. She fights with a grosse messer (german style single bladed short sword.) which she carries on a sword belt at her hip and usually travels with her guitar slung across her back.

  She is cute rather than overtly sexy, with a mischeivous face easily given to smirks and winking. Her eyes are a deep, earthy brown color and she usually wears earth tones when she uses cosmetics. Her goals in life are to make things as happy as possible for herself, Merci and the Nambrox caravan which she now considers her family. If she wished she could attempt to stage a coup amongst the forest elves on the strength of her mother's royal blood. She does not wish to do so however as she feels disdain for most elves and maintains  a violent anger toward her mother for selling her into slavery for the sake of wine. This ambivalence, combined with only the haziest recollection of her father is the reason she uses the name of her former master, who despite buying her still fed her and made sure she was cared for, rather than her original family name.

One Minute Remaining. A short writing exercise.

…1 minute remaining…

Miriam felt a drop of sweat roll down her forehead, but she could not reach up and wipe it away. She could not do much of anything with her hands right now seeing as they were both hovering over the innards of a bomb! She only had to look at it to know they could not just let the device detonate. Even getting the thing to the bomb range would have been useless. The thing had to be taken care of, disarmed, here and now. She was face-to-digital timer with a suitcase nuke.

            She considered the guts of the explosive device before her, willing her body to shiver so that her hands did not. It was chilling, the whole thing could fit in an average briefcase, yet it could level this city and lay waste to most of the countryside around it.

…45 seconds…

She needed to be ruthless with herself. She had to maintain absolute control over her every action. She could not let fear drive her. There was plenty of time if she could remain cool. The bomb was powerful, but in its own way it was not complex.  She made her eyes follow the wires, made her mind identify the components of the device, the timer, the switch, the detonator, and the payload. There were very few redundancies or false leads; the device builder was not interested in subtlety or elegance. This was all the better for her.

…30 seconds…

            She took deep, cleansing breaths, rigidly keeping them under her control, ignoring the urge to hyperventilate or even hold her breath, both of which could lead to a black out and that would be a disaster. Slowly she maneuvered her wire-cutters over to the proper leads, the wires her training and solid judgment and experience told her were vital to the operation of the device. She slipped a little, her cutters missing her intended mark. She growled inwardly as she felt the prickly shiver of cold sweat run over her body.  So much was riding on this, on her. She could not afford to make a single mistake.

…15 seconds…

            The cutters were over the right wires. Her eyes wandered the device, checking, double checking. She had to be absolutely sure; there would be no second chance. Not for her, or for anyone else within the next hundred miles or so.

…10 seconds…

            She was certain that she had identified the right wires to cut. She had remained as calm and analytical as anyone in her situation could be. She had only to make the cuts and it would all be over. She thought about all the people whose very lives balanced on this critical moment. She just had to do it.  She told her fingers to squeeze and make the cut, only to discover they would not respond to her commands. She was frozen, trapped in hesitation. If she could not shake this, everyone was doomed.

…5 seconds…

            Cut! She mentally screamed at the fingers that held the wire cutters.

…4 seconds…

            Cut Damn You!

…3 seconds…

            CUT!

…2 seconds…

            She felt her fingers move, she felt the stiff sensation that had flooded her body flee like darkness from a suddenly switched on light. She felt the wire-cutters slice through the plastic insulation and metal wire and out of the plastic insulation again. She glanced at the timer, the screen was blank. She looked at the switch, it remained un-switched.  She had made it. Just in time she had made it. Miriam rose, taking her lucky, ceramic wire cutters with her as she did. She took exactly ten steps away as the other demolitions disposal techs rushed to dismantle, disarm, and transport the separate components of the bomb away. They barely paid her any notice as they battled their own fears and concerns.  As the adrenaline and all the other chemicals and hormones she’d ignored finally wreaked their havoc on her body she fell to her knees and let it happen. She didn’t remember if she cried or shouted or screamed or simply collapsed. She stared at the beautiful cloud-filled sky for a while. She always was a pragmatist however, so she did eventually think that it was going to cost a fortune to get whatever filth was in the asphalt she was lying on out of her black dress and frilly white apron. She also remembered that her hair band was probably also out of skew and she more than likely looked a fright. When the others came to pick her up, she was still lying there, chuckling to herself about it. Some might have called her a hero, but to her it was just another day on the job.

Millraven Finn Izzle Elf for Hire : Final Chapter

The Story thus far: Millraven Finn Izzle; a beautiful sword-slinging elven wizard and her partner Brand Anlace; a plucky Halfling scout, are working to retrieve a powerful magical talisman from a group of human supremacist cultists. Having escaped capture at the cultist’s hands the two are preparing to use the confusion resulting from their escape to make one last desperate grab for the artifact.

Knights rushed by them too concerned with finding the prisoners quickly to look for them well. Millraven had to shake her head, the Knights of the Hill acted as if they were a trained, disciplined army. They were not; they were simply pathetic men and women with weapons and a mad on for their situation in life. They were a group dedicated to hate and because of that their eyes were blind.

    “Oh well” Millraven thought to herself “Works out for me.”

     She and Brand were moving ever closer to their goal: the ramshackle hut that was the only new construction in the ruin, the current resting place of The Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden.

They at least did not leave the hut unguarded, two sharp eyed men and a small patrol of about ten zombies stood between them and their goal.

     “Easy”, thought Millraven to herself, “Too damn easy.”

     She did not have time to think more on the subject however, the final goal lay ahead of her and her window of opportunity was rapidly closing. She steeled herself and whispered a throw-away prayer to whatever gods of light were listening, and with a gulp and a breath she shot forward past the guards and the zombies, or so she thought. The second her foot touched the threshold of the hut she heard the grunts and moans of more and more creatures of unlife. She felt the ground beneath her shake and tremble as she was suddenly thrown off onto her backside. Ten zombies had become fifty, they’d been buried in shallow graves and waiting for their signal to arise.

      The human guards came rushing at her along with the Zombie hordes. She parried the strike of the first, her arm ringing as the fortes of their blades met with a crash and sparks flew in the air. The two combatants were locked together, each refusing to give as they tried to overpower one another. Brand fought at her back, wielding the mace Sir Bruno had been carrying and using it to bludgeon his taller opponents' knees into soup before ending their lives with a smash to the head.

     Millraven began to sweat as she continued to test the strength of the guard she was facing off against. She had been doing well at first, but the human had the advantage, both in height and overall physical strength. Slowly but surely Millraven's blade was being forced back. She knew she could not keep this up much longer, so she stopped. She leaped backwards removing her resistance from the contest and causing the guard to pitch forward and stumble trying to make up for the sudden change in the center of gravity.  Taking advantage of the split second needed for the guard to right himself Millraven snatched the dagger out of the belt of Brand’s fallen attacker and winged it forward, striking her target directly between the eyes.

     She did not notice yet that the Halfling was nowhere to be seen, nor did she have time to care. The zombies in their slow, implacable way were pressing in on her now stepping over the corpses of the guards to get at her beautiful, succulent flesh.

      Millraven took one zombie out, then another, stabbing them between the eyes as they approached. She’d not be able to keep it up however. Not only did they outnumber her, but they were crowding her and not giving her any room in which to swing her sword.

 “Brand!” she called out, “I need you to open up some space for me!”

     There was no answer. She spared a quick glance behind her, the Halfling was gone! Had he been captured again? Or killed? She did not have time to consider those questions, but she did know the cold, sinking feeling that told her these moments of life would be her last. Just as the zombies closed over her in a huddle all she could think was “Why” as she anticipated the pain of her flesh being rent from her bones by nasty, filthy teeth.

      Only, there was no flesh rending pain at least not for Millraven.  Suddenly there was a cacophony of pained, fearful shouting and the sounds of small, soft explosions. The zombies around her crumbled to dust!

“Miss me?” Brand asked, suddenly stepping out of his own pile of zombie dust.

       Before him he held a necklace with a golden charm featuring a hexagon with a golden apple at the center; the holy symbol of the Halfling goddess. Millraven simply nodded and taking note of the zombies that were stumbling forward to take the places of their fallen brethren asked,

“Can you do it again?”

 Brand shook his head, “Twice is pushing it for me. I can hold them back though."

     He held up the symbols and the zombies backed away, snarling and snapping. “That’ll work!” Millraven said and dashed for the blue streak.

     The rest happened relatively quickly. She grabbed the box that the streak was contained in and with a glance to check the contents grabbed Brand by the back of the collar and booked it. There were a few Knights who’d been ordered to stay at their posts, but they easily fell to her blade leaving the way out of the camp wide open. After that they ran and ran, and ran not stopping until they had reached an old cabin in the middle of a copse of thick trees. It was well hidden, and dry if not terribly comfortable. It was a safe house Millraven had used before.

       After they rested a while and ate Millraven sat down with Brand to talk a bit,

    “How were you able to destroy and hold off those zombies?” she asked “I thought you were a scout and thief. No offense intended.”

    Brand nodded and smiled, “None Taken. Scouts are clerics as far as Halflings are concerned. It’s kind of like fighters who use spells are all Elves to humans, or used to be.”

       Millraven nodded sagely.

      “Lady Discord is not too picky about where the tithes come from.” Brand continued, “As long as they are gotten by our own hand and cleverness.”

Millraven then put the box containing the streak on the table,

       “So? Shall we have a look?” she asked,

         “Of course” Brand said with a laugh.

      The box lid was opened with appropriate seriousness and aplomb. The two peeked inside and were struck with awe at the contents,

“It-it’s beautiful.” Millraven whispered.

   Lying before them, studded in sapphire and diamond was a line of malediction and cursing so well crafted, so perfectly built to humiliate, belittle, and entertain that it just had to be immortalized, the blue streak of an experienced and intelligent sailor. They shut the lid and exploded into giggles.

    A short time later once the heat was off they returned to Commodore’s crossing and gave the blue streak over to the Council of Five. To be more accurate it was now the Council of Four, Brand left their services in accordance to his inborn love of wandering and finding new adventures. As they left the meeting place he turned to Millraven and spoke.

 “Hey, I know this is kind of sudden and all, but you seem to run into some pretty interesting stuff. Mind if I travel with you for a time?”

        Millraven considered this for a second and then nodded, he was useful in a fight, a good companion to talk to, and as a bonus he was kind of cute despite his lack of stature.

“You are more than welcome to join me.” She said.

     With that the two journeyed away from the town, looking for more trouble to get into.

EPILOGUE
       General Mercer sat behind the chair of her office and glowered. It had only been her years of successful service to the Hanged God that saved her from demotion and even expulsion. As it was she got a serious dressing down. She banged her fists against her desk. She would find that disgusting Elf and that upstart Halfling if the search took her a thousand years, and when she did she would make them wish they’d never crossed swords with her or the Knights. She rose and looked at the captured armor of her enemy and with a motion faster than the eye could follow she drew her sword and sliced it and the armor rack it was hanging on in half. She watched as the bisected armor clattered to the floor. She then threw her head back and laughed. The two had not seen the last of her, in fact this was just the beginning!

Millraven Finn Izzle and Brand Anlace will be back for further adventures, coming soon.

Millraven Finn Izzle Elf for Hire! Chapter Six

The story thus far: Millraven Finn Izzle and her partner Brand Anlace have been charged with the task of stealing a powerful magical artifact, The Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden from a human supremacist cult who wish to use it to erase all words for any non-human race from existence. Unfortunately the two have been captured by the enemy and are now awaiting the fate handed down to them by their merciless captors. They have separated Brand and Millraven and have begun to torture the Halfling! Now Millraven must escape and rescue her comrade as well.

As Brand was being shown the negative aspects of heat, Millraven had finished taking advantage of one of the more positive aspects, using a spell she’d heated the metal in her cell door to a state of flexibility. She then broke one of the wooden slats from her cot off and used it to create an opening wide enough for her to get through. She was through the hole in a flash and with equal speed she had drawn the guard’s short sword from his belt and run him through the neck with it. She watched in grim satisfaction as the metal blocked the wound and kept the more over dramatic bleeding to a minimum. It also blocked the air passage meaning that whatever air was in the lungs before could not be used to call for help. She stole the guard’s key ring and dagger and was moving down the hall when she heard Brand’s screams. She went a little pale imagining the kind of pain that could trigger such noises from the usually calm Halfling and began jogging toward the noise. She and he were going to do this together, no matter what!

Brand screamed, he could not help it, this was the most pain he’d ever been in his entire adult life and he’d been a part of some gruesome stuff in his time. Sir Bruno, the knight handling Brand’s “interrogation” under the behest of the eagle-faced General Mercer was an expert at using what the general referred to as “Burn Sticks” They resembled the “Hightower Candle” style fireworks that mages used to bring into town when he was a kid, but they burnt much hotter and for much longer. The general had already left the cell and Sir Bruno was not asking any questions, Brand winced as he saw the brute raise his arm again, preparing to further turn his chest into a mass of burnt and bleeding flesh. But then the Knight of the Hill’s eyes bulged out and he made a gurgling noise, a sword point made its way out of his chest from behind.

“Hey there.” Millraven greeted him as she kicked the hulking human off her stolen sword. “You look like garbage.” Brand coughed and managed to dig up a smile “Thanks” he rasped and then passed out. The darkness and absence of pain managed to be pretty comfortable.

Millraven wrapped Brand’s chest in strips of cloth torn from the cleaner parts of Sir Bruno’s Uniform grabbing the officer’s mace as well, just in case and then very gently hoisted the Halfling over her shoulder. He was lighter than she’d thought he’d be.
A stop by the medic’s room yielded a few healing potions, nothing great, but they’d get the job done, after that it was a matter of finding a secluded space. She forced Brand to swallow the potions, watching in satisfaction as his wounds healed leaving only a few scars behind she then slapped the Halfling awake. Already the knights were scrambling the word was beginning to spread through the camp, they were starting to search for the escaped prisoners. She and Brand would have to be quick if they were going to take advantage of the confusion and use it to get their hands on the Blue Streak. It would be the last chance they had.

Will Millraven and Brand be able to make effective use of the confusion? Will they finally get a hold of the Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden? Will they be able to outsmart the Knights of the Hill and get away with the prize? Find out next week in the final chapter of Millraven Finn Izzle: Elf for Hire!

Millraven Finn Izzle Elf for Hire! Chapter Five

The story thus far: Millraven Finn Izzle an elf that is also an Elf (The human name for spell slinging fighters) and her partner Brand Anlace have been charged with the task of stealing a powerful magical artifact, The Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden from a human supremacist cult who wish to use it to erase all words for any non-human race from existence. Unfortunately the two have been captured by the enemy and are now awaiting the fate handed down to them by their merciless captors. Even as the two are taken to their cells they begin wracking their minds, looking for ways to escape.

They did not bind her. They took her armor and her sword, but they did not bind her, nor did they gag her. They simply led her to an iron cell by sword-point and shoved her in. Millraven could barely keep her feet. The sight and scent of iron all around her sickened the elf to the core. She counted her blessings that they’d not thought to magically lower the temperature of the stuff as well. Cold Iron was as poisonous to Elves as Chlorine vapors were to humans. They did not take the simple precaution of making sure she could not move her hands and arms. It was a mistake many of them would not live long enough to regret.

Working past the waves of nausea and the pain in her lungs she struggled to stay upright, to stay calm and focused. She heard the guards talking as they shut and locked the cell door, “Hey Joe. You sure this is okay? We, I dunno, shouldn’t have searched her or somethin’?” The first guard asked. The second guard snorted and then replied “Nah. You saw the armor and the sword, she’s a straight fighter and not very strong. No elf sellsword is going to get themselves out of an Iron Prison. She’s harmless as a kitten.” Millraven couldn’t help but smile a bit, they didn’t know her very well at all.

A cell block away Brand was not feeling so self-assured. Almost immediately after they’d dumped him in his cell a long, tall, willowy woman with stone gray hair and a sharp, eagle-like face entered his cell flanked by two armored knights. She wore the effigy of the hanged god around her neck and a dress military uniform. Her scabbard however, was scuffed and showed that her sword had seen much use and she held her body as if she were constantly on the attack. Brand got the feeling that as she looked down at him that she was mentally separating his head from his body.

“Little brother”, she addressed Brand with the infuriating nickname humans had given his race, “You are in big trouble. You see, these men are extremely upset that you and that FILTHY elf infiltrated the camp. Now, we don’t really have a problem with Halflings so we’re going to be reasonable with you.” Brand didn’t know about Reasonableness, but he had heard that even though the Knights of the Hill hated all intelligent non-humans they tolerated halflings because like humans they had no real homeland and tended to live in lands controlled by other races. He filed the confirmation of that rumor away in his head as interesting, but currently irrelevant. The eagle faced woman continued, “We simply want to know who you’re working for. Tell us this and give us your word that you won’t attempt this foolishness again and you’ll simply be escorted out of the camp.” Brand adopted a smirk and leaned against the wall exuding a confidence he truly wasn’t feeling. “And if I don’t?” He asked. “Bruno”, the eagle-faced woman said to the beefy young guard to her right, “Show him the burn-sticks” Bruno stepped forward and pulled two, meter long sticks from next to the mace he carried on his belt, with a word the end of the sticks exploded into hissing, sparking flames “Yes General Mercer”, he said and turned to Brand backing him into a corner of the cell, “My pleasure”

What tortures is Brand about to endure? Will Millraven rescue him and get her hands on the Blue-Streak? Find out in the next exciting installment of Millraven Finn Izzle Elf for Hire!

Millraven Finn Izzle: Elf for Hire! Chapter Four

The Story thus far: After barely being allowed into the city of Commodore’s Crossing the Elf who is also an Elf, Millraven Finn Izzle has been pickpocketed, waylaid, and nearly talked to death. She’s found that the people she was originally going to work for were going to use a powerful magical artifact to take a turn toward the totalitarian, but just as she was about to celebrate the loss she was informed that another,  even more controlling and less tolerant group has taken possession of it…

            “So, if I’m understanding you correctly,” Millraven began, “You want me to go and retrieve the Blue Streak from this other, scarier group and deliver it to you at the same time I avoid the council of ministry who are, by now, wondering where the mercenary they sent for AND their precious magical artifact have gotten to. Right?”

“That would be right.” Merrybelle responded, and again Silas took over for her from there, “It is of the utmost importance that the streak be recovered. The organization that currently possesses it is, shall we say, less than savory and only their ignorance of the language of magic keeps them from using it to fulfill their foolish and evil aims.”

           “Just who are these people?” Millraven asked, “You make ‘em sound like the Knights of the Hill or something.”  Silas swallowed “That is exactly who they are.”   Millraven took a breath and clenched her fist. She felt her nails drive themselves into her palm, nearly drawing blood. She spoke through gritted teeth.

           “I’ll take the job.” She said. Silas looked a little surprised, “You don’t know all the details yet, they’re holed up in a set of ancient ruins set up with traps, monsters, and all the trimmings. “ 

“I don’t care.” Millraven replied, “The Knights of the Hill and I have a score to settle and if I can thwart their aims I will. Being able to rob them of a few members is icing on the cake.”

           “Sounds like this is personal.” Brand Anlace said, “I’ll be going in with you to deal with the traps. I need to know you aren’t going to cost us our lives.” 

Millraven glared down at the Halfling “I’m driven, not stupid.” She responded “I know when to keep my cool.”  

Brand shrugged and looked at his fellow conspirators, “I’m okay with it if you guys are. We can’t wait on this much longer anyway.” He turned to look at Millraven, “However, I see the slightest indication that your feud with the Knights is going to get in the way of grabbing the streak and you can deal with the traps yourself, you dig?”  Millraven nodded and looked grim.

The sun was setting; tomorrow they’d travel to where the Knights of the Hill were keeping the Blue Streak of Commodore Cramden.  She was already tired and not exactly appreciating the way the Halfling rogue was looking at her, as if he were attempting to size up her ability or personality.  She probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager to take the job.  She gave a mental shrug and made her way to an Inn for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Her day began early. Brand picked her up fresh from breakfast and the two began to shop for supplies. They left town with a week’s worth of provisions each and began the journey to the place the Knights of the Hill were supposedly waiting with the Blue Streak.  Together they gasped as they cleared the fog choked bowl that was Commodore’s Crossing and emerged into the bright sunlight.

Brand walked beside her, keeping up with her pace despite his lack of stature. Millraven studied him, again feeling a bit odd that he was so easy to look at. She sighed at the fact that his face wasn’t pasted on someone taller. She could not help but watch the way he moved with an easy grace and speed that spoke of years of training combined with phenomenal natural talent.  She found herself a bit envious, but also intrigued.

 For the first few miles they walked in silence. Millraven was actually kind of enjoying it, despite the dark and desperate nature of their errand, though she could feel the tension building up in her companion. The question all but visibly hung on the air. She couldn’t do anything but wait for it.  Finally he took a breath and asked.

“So what’s with you and the Knights of the Hill?” he asked, “I mean, they’re jerks and all, but you’ve obviously got something personal built up.” 

Millraven nodded and began to explain, “They took my little sister.  They lynched her for being a half elf, claimed her “human soul” would be ‘Better off that way, without the stain of Elven blood upon it.’”  

“Eep. Ms. Finn Izzle, I’m sorry.” He said, frowning “Guess I put my foot in it huh?”            Millraven shook her head sadly and spoke, “My family and I ignored the warnings.  Sure the Knights of the Hill hate any thinking creature that isn’t a human, and sure they hate human/Elf relationships most of all, but we thought because my step father was the mayor of my home town that they’d leave us alone. One of their greatest goals was the establishment of human self-rule after all and we were the only town with a human at the helm.

 We thought wrong. It was no protection. They came upon us in the night like thieves, them and their effigies of their hanged God of the Hill and they beat my stepfather to the point where he can no longer walk, kidnapped and nearly sold my mother and I to slavers and hung my little sister from a tree. She was 10 years old; young to a human, an infant by the standards of elves and half-elves.  I think they should be wiped from the planet, but because they give to charities and do positive things for pure human families they’re tolerated. Thus, when a chance to legally kick their asses for something comes along I take it. Call me Millraven by the way, please.”

 Brand nodded, “A pleasure, though I wish our meeting could have resulted from better circumstances. We had better slow down here, those ruins are supposed to be right ahead. We need to be prepared before rushing in.” Millraven nodded in agreement and then leaned against a tree, reviewing her spells. Magic was dicey for those who were entirely dedicated to its usage, Millraven had to take extra care with it, making sure her spells were duly memorized and chosen to work with the steel that she wielded alongside of mystic might. One wrong move or improperly spoken word could mean the failure and loss of a spell for the day, or it could mean spell backfire which in the worst case could cost her life.

Brand suddenly reappeared from out of nowhere. He had slipped away so quietly that Millraven hadn’t noticed he’d left. A grim look marred his handsome features. “You’ll want to take a look at this.” He said before leading her to a hill and directing her to hunker down behind some bushes at its crest. The camp was there alright, in that aspect the information the five had received was dead on. However the ruined structures were a lot more heavily guarded than they’d expected and groups of humans, zombies, and other enslaved monsters patrolled the grounds with frightening efficiency.   Even Millraven paled at the sight, but she, like Brand knew that time was limited, they would, eventually get over their distrust of the magical tongue and use the streak to erase any word that had to do with any non-human race in any language.  Once the non-human races lost their titles and words they would become non-entities and thus much easier and justifiable to destroy and humiliate.  

Millraven steeled herself and nodded to Brand. They’d have to be smart, quick, and strong, but that would be no problem for either of them. Now it was only a matter of time, when dusk approached and brought with it darkness, so would they sweep down, ready, if not eager to complete their near suicidal mission.

Will Millraven and Brand recapture the Blue Streak? Will the traps in the ruins overwhelm them?  Will the Knights of the Hill prove to be more formidable than our heroes can imagine? Find out Next week in Chapter Five of Millraven Finn Izzle, Elf for Hire!