Fable - Ask Campfire Tales: A Friendly Bet

[Ostára]

The army moved slowly. From the skies it looked like a swollen snake that wound it's way slowly through the vast Falwoods. Elves of all kinds including Aerai and Avariels, humans, dwarves, orcs - even a few giants - marched together under various colourful banners that stood out against the green foliage. Despite the various units and species that made up the army its quarry was the same; the demon Arkhivom. He sat like a spider in his dark web deep within the forest and whilst his attention for the moment was focused on his ancient enemy, the Aerai, the beings of the Falwood knew full well that should they fall the rest of the Falwood would too. Then, the rest of the world. That knowledge cast a grim feeling across the army.

Each night the slow moving snake would stop and along its length campfires sprang up. It was around these fires that the grim realities of what they marched to were put aside as friends and strangers found themselves drawn to the warmth of the fires. Every one seemed to be different; around one a person might discuss politics or the philosophy of ethics. Around another a soldier could listen to ghostly stories from across the world. Others chose to simply drink or played games that usually resulted in the grumbled exchanging of coins.

For a young Avariel, it was this part of the day that had quickly become her favourite.

Ostára took after her mother, or so her father claimed. You have a wanderers feet, child. Unable to keep still. The first few nights she had dutifully stayed by campfire presided over by The Thirteen but by the fourth night she was unable to take another discussion of the same old things. Excusing herself, she had wandered through the camp. Each night she had sought out a different fire letting her feet guide her. She'd met people from tribes or cities she had only ever read about and drunk, exchanged stories with, and even danced with many of them. Her social prowess had even led to people calling out their greetings, or inviting her to join their section, during the days march. Little Butterfly, The Thirteen had taken to calling her.

Tonight's wandering had led her to a fire where someone had set up an archery target up against a tree. People were drunkenly downing shots of silvery liquid then attempting to shoot the middle of the target. Tara found herself slowing then stopping to watch in bemusement as those by the fire cheered on the archer. This one had apparently decided shooting the bullseye blindfolded was not enough and a nervous looking dwarf stood with an apple on his head.

"Aren't you worried he's going to miss?" she asked the gathered crowd.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

"Ahh, not to worry," came his gruff reply, followed by a healthy swig of mead from a mug, "he's an Aerai. The lot of them can see with their eyes closed, I swear it..."

Filn was far from the heroic sort. He was someone who could brawl and clamour with the best of them, but fighting off bandits or raiders of the thinking sort was a short bit different from fighting monsters. Demons were far from his specialty, but there again, fighting in general was not his greatest strength. Far from it in fact, as the ways of warriorhood and battle often lead to destruction and demise. Filn, on the other hand, was at heart and in truth a builder. And it was for this that he had come. His once dear friend had come to him seeking his aid. In times past these lands proved far too dangerous to tread. With an entire army around him, he could finally find his way to the city.

His means were exactly what the Aerai people needed - magics handed down through his family. Finally, he would see them put to use.

"Come on now, shoot!"

Unlike the Avariels who had an... interesting past with the Dwarves, the Aerai had long been their friends. Given Filn's own experience with them, he had the utmost faith that the arrow would find its place - or at the very least not find the wrong place.

 

[Ezraiel]

Ezraiel heard the commotion from his own fire, well he heard a loud gruff voice really. He tended to mingle with only those he knew, though his sister encouraged him to expand his horizons. She was annoying like that, and yet he tended to at least try and listen.

With a word of dismissal, he left his companions and made for the voice that had caused quite a few to stir. A dwarf with an apple on his head? Oh no, that vantage end well.

He saw a fellow member of the 13, though, and he perked up slightly. He was familiar with her at least. The dwarf was insistent on a stranger's abilities. He watched with the interaction quietly for a moment. "Well, if they do miss, it's definitely going to hurt."

Ostára Filn Stenlager

 

[Oriane]

Oriane eventually gravitated to a campfire that boasted quite a crowd, and the familiarity of two sets of wings told her just who was in attendance. Landing gracefully from her scouting flight, she inched her way to where Ostara and Ezraiel gathered.

"Oh am I glad you found this commotion." Directed towards the younger Avariel, Ori's eyes watched on curiously at what was passing for entertainment. It seemed like child's play, but she did not voice her thoughts aloud.
"Wait until they see The Arrow in action. Don't you think she would represent us and make the Thirteen proud, Ez?" Oriane grinned and jabbed her elbow into the other Avariel's side in light jest.

 

[Ostára]

Ostára had never seen a dwarf in person until they had come to join their ancient allies. So far all she had been able to determine as that the legend of how long they could hold a grudge lived up to reality. The dwarven community that swelled the flanks of the Aerai army had not been outright hostile, but they had not made any effort to approach the Avariels and tended to make excuses to be elsewhere when one was near. So she looked a little surprised when the red head spoke and spent more of her time reminding herself not to stare than she did really focusing on the game.

She was saved by the arrival of two more members of the Thirteen and shot them both welcoming smiles. Oriane's words also caused her cheeks to heat and her wings shuffled in the nervous manner of youths. A ripple ran around the circle as people repeated the title; The Arrow? The Arrow. The Arrow.

The poor Aerai who had been lining up to shoot suddenly let go of his string with a twang and the arrow buried itself into the tree, shaving off a part of the dwarfs braid in the process. Laughter broke out amongst the group as coins swapped hands.

"I think it would be a little unfair for me to have a go," she commented, trying her best to will herself into a deep hole.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

"Now why did you go and do that," hollered Filn, begrudgingly handing over a healthy sack of coin to another dwarf who was grinning ear to ear, "ahh, take your coin."

He took another swig of his drink and then slammed the empty mug down on a barrel just near to him and then looked up at Ostára with an expectant expression. His arms crossed across his chest, and he canted his head to one side just a little. There was a little commotion around them, but none had settled on the next contestant quite yet.

"Well then, let's see it," Filn demanded with a gesture of invitation, "If that one-" he pointed to Oriane, "-is so sure, then you shoot the apple off her head," he proposed, "I'll wager you ain't got the guts."

---

Ostára | Ezraiel | Oriane ​

 

[Ezraiel]

Ezraiel was starting to feel a bit out of his element. He wasn't sure how to gauge their new allies, though he has started to become curious. It was hard not to stare at the little gruff dwarf, and taking him seriously was harder still.

Oriane had drawn near, and he took comfort in her light jests. He could count on her, she was predictable, steady. Ostara was their Arrow, and even as Oriane pointed it out, he could almost feel her embarrassment.

He almost couldn't keep up with the exchange of words. The dwarf was challenging Ostara to shoot and Apple off Oriane's head? The Sheild on him would not allow such a thing. His feathers rustled as he stood reflexively on front of Oriane. "No, she can shoot it off my head." It was his job to shield his company, and he took it very seriously.

Oriane Filn Stenlager Ostára

 

[Oriane]

Oriane rolled her eyes and danced around Ezraiel's side, crossing to where the Aerai had just vacated. "Do you doubt the precision of The Arrow, dearest Shield?" The Spear had spent the most time with the youngest Avariel, watched her from afar and did her best to ensure she felt welcomed. Ruhn was like family to Oriane, and so she felt as if it was her duty to make the Thirteen function well together.

The Harbinger grinned at the gathered crowd. "I have seen Ostara Telimectar shoot through thick coverage of clouds and strike an apple deep in the foliage of a tree. I have every bit of faith in her, even now." Her amber gaze flicked to the dwarf, gifting him a wink before grinning wider at the Shield.

"If I do not make it, you Shield Ruhn and Ostara at my behest."

Now, she nodded to the Arrow, smile spreading at her pink lips. "Nock."

Ostára Filn Stenlager Ezraiel

 

[Magdeline]

A nudge of hard elbow against soft shoulder. "Look, Triton," the young knight half-whispered to her compatriot. "Three of them, in one place,"

Triton smiled small, and rubbed the spot where Ulka's elbow had stung his flesh. "A rare sight indeed," he said.

Maggi looked about. Out of her red armor, the woman was almost diminutive, sinewy and lean. "As rare as the three of us, it would seem,"

Ulka grinned, her tusks poked happily from her smile. Got up from their tucked away spot in the camp, and approached the game and its crowd.

Maggi laughed beneath her breath.

Triton looked to the tiefling, then to Ilvisar, who sat with them still, his head bowed, a small smile on his lips.

Triton grunt, and hurried after Ulka.

The two Knights gathered about the test of skill.

"Five silvers, she makes it!" Ulka bet, excitedly.

Triton just kind of watched, with big eyes full of infatuation for the arrow.

---

Ostára Filn Stenlager Ezraiel Oriane

 

[Ostára]

"I-I don't think..."

"Really, I wouldn't want to..."

"This really isn't necessary."

Tára watched with growing dread as the others aruged amongst themselves about what she could or could not do. It wasn't that she was in doubt of her own talents - no. Even young as she was, Tára knew that she belonged in The Thirteen and was comfortable in her skills. Her issue was far more mundane. Far more typical of a young woman.

Shyness.

Everyone was staring at her. Coins were being exchanged and comments were passed as though she were not even there. About her youth, her height, even her weight. Even worse, her idol had strode over to the tree and taken up position - apple on head. Her father was going to kill her. The crowd parted as she dragged her feet forward to the spot the last elf had stood upon.

"If she's so good, I feel like we should make it further!" Someone shouted from the crowd and there were murmurings of agreement. Tára looked hopefully at the floor to swallow her whole as more of a run was cleared. She made her way back to the new allotted starting spot.

"That's too easy a shot! Here, shoot through this Angel," another of the dwarves lumbered forwarded and planted his battle axe hilt up in the ground. There was a small hole - wide enough for an arrow - where the leather wrist strap had been threaded through. "And mine!" another shouted. "Aye, and mine!" Soon a row of ten axes stood between her and Oriane and the apple on her head.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

Filn was one of good sport, and he didn't exactly harbour the same ire for the winged folk as some of his kin. He was eager to see one of them falter in their so-called greatness, but he had such reactions towards most of such spoken merit. It was only once it had been proven to him did he carry much weight in those kinds of claims.

Even still, this was far from good sport in his eyes.

"Bah," Filn growled, throwing up his hand in protest, "this is an impossible feat," he declared.

Though one might expect it, there was hardly anything diminishing in his tone. It was not from any doubt in the winged elf's talents, such was not even considered in his argument. It was simply the furthest thing from fair to him. He had nothing to say of the increased distance, but the obstacles set in her way were simply far too much for anyone - surely.

He started forward, making ready to knock the axes down from their place.

 

[Ezraiel]

Ezraiel shook his head at Oriane, she was fiersome and a sight to behold, but in this instance he was disappointed in her. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as she danced around him. "It's not that I don't trust her, Oriane. My job is to keep the Thirteen safe, you know this."

She had already moved on though, and the show got even more ridiculous. Dwarves brought their axes into the mix and one look at Tara and he could see the anxiety on her face.

A huff of irritation left him, and he nodded to the dwarf Filn as he thought to stop the ridiculous challenge as well. Ezraiel unfurled his wings as he strode up to Tara, enveloping her from the crowd to give her a moment reprieve. He smiled at her warmly, the crowd muffled for the moment.

"You don't have to prove yourself to anyone, we already know what you're capable of. This is your choice, don't feel forced." He let her have a moment to gather herself, shielding her with wings and words. After the moment was over, he tucked his wings in, and the rush of the crowd became overwhelming again. If she said no, he would back her up, but this was her decision alone.

Oriane Filn Stenlager Ostára

 

[Oriane]

Oriane's eyes narrowed as Ezraiel countered her, going as far as to block Ostara from view and speak to her alone.

This was not to prove to anyone she was capable, it was harmless fun and something to excite those that had never seen The Thirteen in action. It was no different than the race Ostara and Oriane had earlier.

There were dark times ahead. These nights where they made camp and loosened up and forget what it was they marched towards. If Ostara chose against it, Oriane would not fault her.

She was the Spear, the Harbinger.

"Shall I step away then?" Oriane challenged, raising a brow as her hands clasped behind her.

 

[Ostára]

"Aye, give o'er! If she's so special this will be nothing!"

"Yeh, fuck off Filn. Or are you a feather fucker now?"

A chorus of deep laughter broke out amongst the dwarves who had gathered now. Tára found her cheeks heating and tried to mute them out as they continued to argue about leaving the axes in places. She focused all her attention on the Avariel before her who at least physically blocked most of her field of vision.

"I..." her hands clenched and unclenched on the golden bow. She wasn't really afraid, was she? If it had just been The Thirteen she would have added more obstacles herself and laughed about it. There was just so many people... "I-I'm fine. I can do it," her wings flared briefly then settled against her back.

"Everyone, please stand back," the laughter died out and dutifully dwarf, elf and Avariel alike fell back to clear her field of vision. Her eyes met those of Oriane's for just a second and then she drew an arrow from her quiver.

Nock.

Tara let out her breath.

Draw.

Breathe in...

Loose.

And the golden arrow was off.

 

[Filn Stenlager]

He'd deflected the harsh words of his kin, letting them slide off him as easily as any empty word. He smiled a bit, actually - he hadn't been called out for his affinity for the elves in some time. He almost laughed even, the phrase catching him somewhat off-guard and oddly filling him with a sense of comradery.

"Maybe I am," he said softly, half whispering to himself. He stifled a chuckle.

Filn was near to the emplaced axes when Ostára's voice carried over the rabble. He stopped, looked to her, and then let his hand fall back to his side. He scrunched his lips into an approving frown with a furrowed brow, and then he nodded and stepped back out of the way. Another tease or two came his way, to which he raised his voice in a wordless holler and stifled the snide remarks. A dwarf was a harsh creature on its softest day, and though Filn was not by trade a warrior, he could certainly throw his weight well enough, and the others knew that.

Stone setters were just as hardy as axemen, and no one could really say different when it came to him.

He settled into place alongside the way, and waited patiently for the Avariel's attempt. He'd just made himself comfortable when the arrow was loosed.