The Farmer's Dilemma

The sun shone brightly as the companions traveled along the Old Trade Road, the spring air was crisp and full of the sounds of song birds. Days ago, the rolling plains and dark forests had given away to vast swaths of farmlands and they had passed many more travelers and caravans since then. They were nearly upon their destination, once the sun passed slightly beyond mid-sky, they would reach Cillimar. They were mostly quiet now, weary from days of travel and eager to reach their destination, they reserved their pleasantries for passing caravans who seemed to look upon them with fear and suspicion of banditry more often then not.

The dirt road beneath their horse's feet began to curve east and as they came around the bend they saw a small gathering of people in the middle of the road. With skin tanned by the sun and simple commoner's garb, these men appeared to be farmers. They were chatting quite excitedly amongst themselves when on spotted the four adventurers on horseback. He pushed past the others, a smile on his face, and walked up to the group.

“Gods be praised, adventurers!” The man was tall and lanky, his balding head having but a few wisps of brown hair, “Myna smiles upon us to send you in our time of need.”

The other farmers began to gather around the man, all looking up to the companions with hope.

“Slow down now,” Cydd said, “what's going on?”

“Forgive me, my excitement has made a fool of me,” the farmer bowed his head slightly in shame, “My name is Darand, I am a farmer in these parts, as are all of us here.”

“What is this need you have Darand?” Brenton asked.

“Two days ago, two of our boys disappeared, Roland, who has seen ten summers, and Timothy, who has seen half that. They were off playing in the old ruins up upon the hills there,” Darand pointed to the rising hills to the east, “they did not return home, a few of us went looking in the area, but alas, we found nothing.”

“Old ruins?” Cydd asked, interest peaked.

“Yes, old foundations and the like, been here longer then probably these farmlands, most curious are the standing stones, carved with weird lettering.”

“You often let your children play among ancient and unknown standing stones?” Brenton asked.

“Not at all Father, in fact it is forbidden” Darand stammered, “but you know how curious children can be, not all are so mindful of their parent's teachings. Our search for them has yielded nothing, and we sent someone to inform the Cillimar guard but they have not yet returned. We were planning another search ourselves today, but perhaps you can find it in your hearts to help us? We are not nearly as resourceful nor skilled as you, you may succeed where we have failed.”

“And will there be some reward for our service?” Cydd asked almost before Darand could finish talking.

“These are farmers Cydd, are we truly going to take what little they have for attempting to save their children?” Brenton's disdain was obvious.

“Just looking for a little compensation is all, not asking for much,” Cydd explained.

“We should be able to get something together for you, more importantly, we'll send word to Cillimar of your deeds, there are places there that will pay well for adventurers of good repute,” Darand told them.

“See? Doesn't always have to be monetary gain, you really need to stop being so greedy Brenton,” Cydd smiled.

“We have no time for this,” Eyrnod stated softly yet firmly, the first he had spoken in what seemed like days.

“Why not?” Maormo countered, “Not only will we get to help these weaklings here, we might get the chance to slaughter something.”

“It is a waste of our time,” Eyrnod's face was obscured by his hood, but the apathy in his voice made his emotions obviously, “we should continue on to Cillimar, we can reach it before nightfall if we leave now.”

“We are not going to let innocents suffer out in the wilds,” Brenton retorted.

“You are not, perhaps, when you finish with such trivial matters, seek me out in Cillimar,” with that, Eyrnod spurned his horse forward, riding off past everyone without looking back.

“Never did understand that man,” Cydd shrugged.

“It's what the magic will do to your head,” Maormo tapped the side of his head with his finger confidently.

“Our friend does not speak for us all,” Brenton turned his attention back to Darand, “we will find your sons and bring them back.”

“Thank you brave adventurers, blessings of Gorhan be upon you,” Darand proclaimed.

“Save your blessings for after we return,” Cydd said.

“Yeah and make sure dinner's ready when we get back too,” Maormo added.

“Good idea, I like how you think sometimes,” Cydd smiled.

“Of course, we shall hold a feast in your honor,” Darand said proudly.

“Well we're not going to find them staying here, let's go,” Brenton tugged the reins of his horse, guiding it towards the hills to the east, the other two followed. Darand and the other farmers watched as they disappeared beyond a small hill, smiled upon their faces.

The hills they traveled were mostly empty, a scattering of brush and rocks dotted the uneven terrain, the sudden change in gradients keeping the lands from being cultivated. It was nearly an hour into their journey that the lands became too steep and rocky for their mounts to move about safely and the group dismounted near a small copse of trees.

“Now Thorn, I want you to keep an eyes on these horses while we're away, okay? They cost us quite a bit of gold and it's coming out of your food funds if they disappear,” Cydd explained, kneeling in front of his dog. Thorn barked happily back to his master and Cydd scratched him behind the ears, “Good boy, I swear he listens better then Maormo.”

“I do what?” Maormo turned around to face Cydd, looking at him blankly.

“Thanks for proving my point,” Cydd patted Maormo on the back, smiling.

Thorn trotted off back towards the trees, passing Brenton, who gave him a few reassuring pats on his side. The dog stopped in front of the horses, laying down in the soft grass but keeping his head up and alert.

“Looks like we'll be proceeding on foot then, hopefully the ruins are not much further,” Brenton said scanning the steep hillside.

“Only one way to find out,” Cydd added, turning towards the hill and beginning his ascent, the other two following behind.

The climb was not an easy one for Brenton or Maormo. Though the rock outcroppings held firm in the ground and the hill not too steep, their heavy armor and large weapons slowed their progress considerably. Cydd was having a much easier time of it, swiftly hauling himself up between rocks and constantly looking back down to shout words of encouragement to his much slower companions. After a few hundred feet the hill began to even out and as Cydd crested the surface he could see the towering peaks of the Ul-Dominor Mountains. Cydd dusted some errant grass off his armor and looked around, noticing the crumbling ruins of old stone foundations covered in knee-high grass.

“I suppose these would be the ruins then,” Cydd stated, walking along the foundation edge.

“And these would be the standing stones,” Brenton said from behind him.

Cydd turned around, the Brenton and Maormo had reached the top as well and were standing in front of a large menhir. Seemingly carved from a single piece of stone, it towered over all of them, Cydd guessed about ten to fifteen feet high. It was made from a dark gray stone and was as big around as a large oak. Crudely round in shape, it's most striking feature was a series of runes carved into it, the were graceful and curved and unlike any rune Cydd had seen before. Brenton was slowly tracing his finger along one of them.

“What's it say?” Maormo asked, leaning in to get a better look.

“I don't know, I don't recognize it,” Brenton answered.

“But I thought you could read,” Maormo looked at the carvings with the same confusion he did for any other written word.

“Well yes, but not this, this isn't a script I'm familiar with,” Brenton stopped tracing the runes.

“Lot of good you are then,” Maormo crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked away. “Hey, there's more!”

Maormo pointed to another standing stone further north along the hilltop, several hundred yards away. Beyond that they could see another before a scattering of trees broke their view.

“Indeed there are, do you think the boys followed them?” Cydd asked, scanning the horizon.

“Perhaps,” Brenton said, “I see no evidence of them being here, and they're certainly commanding enough to capture someone's attention. It's as good a lead as any right now.”

The sun rose higher in the sky as they followed the stones, warming the air around them. A gentle breeze rustling nearly by trees and a myriad of bird calls were the only sounds to be heard beyond their own footsteps. Each stone was similar to the first, rising to the same lofty heights and covered in the same runes. Beyond the second, they spotted a third and fourth and continued to follow them, the mountain peaks rising high above them to the right and seemingly endless farmlands sprawled out in the distance to their left. There was no evidence of the children and the group was beginning to grow dismayed as they passed the fourth stone. As they worked through some heavy brush towards the fifth stone their luck finally changed.

This stone was different then the others, though it's size and shape were the same, the runes here were glowing a soft blue light. The stone looked as though it had been moved, the grass around it was trampled flat and to it's right there was a hole dug into the ground, a set of earthen steps leading into the darkness.

Of more import though, was the person standing in front of stone. He was nearly as tall as Maormo but was of a much more slender and lithe build. His hair was long, brown, and straight, gathered up in a ponytail that ran down to the middle of his back. He wore a suit of splinted mail, a quiver hung from his back, full of arrow, and a short sword sat in it's scabbard on his side. On the ground at his feet sat a backpack and leaning against it was an intricately carved bow. The bow was made from two pieces of wood, joined in the center. Half appeared to be like a vine, brown bark with small decorative leaves carved into it, the other half, like the sky, blue at the tips and fading through the colors of the sunset until the center was a star speckled black. The bow's handle was carved to look like a crescent moon.

Cydd placed his index finger to his lip and carefully pulled a dagger from it's sheath. Maormo, sensing the potential for battle, likewise did pulled his bastard sword form it's scabbard, though not nearly as quietly. The man swiftly turned around, dropping a piece of parchment and pen he held in his hand. With a quick flick from his foot, he kicked his bow up into his hand, the other hand already pulling and arrow from it's quiver and nocking the arrow before anyone could react. It was then the group saw the man for what he truly was, his angular face, piercing green eyes, and tall pointed ears betrayed his heritage, he was an elf.

“Alright, I think we should just all calm down,” Cydd said, raising his hands slightly, but not letting go of his dagger. Brenton reached for his mace, but did not draw it. Maormo, dropping his guard, stood in awe.

“What brings you here?” the elf asked, his voice was soft, yet stern.

“I could ask you the same question,” Cydd replied, “these are mostly human lands.”

“And since when has the lands around Cillimar been outlawed to elves?”

“That's not what I'm saying, rather, we don't often see many of your kind outside your homelands.”

Maormo leaned over towards Brenton, “she's beautiful,” he whispered.

“That's not a female,” Brenton whispered back, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows all elves are female. You really need to get your mind off your girly god and pay attention to the real world,” Maormo told him, never taking his eyes off the elf.

“If you must know,” the elf began, “I was following these stones, they're quite remarkable, unlike any I've ever seen.”

“You haven't seen two young human boys while you were exploring have you?” Brenton asked, stepping forward to join Cydd, keeping his hands out away from his mace.

“No, I have not,” the elf lowered his bow, but kept the arrow nocked.

“How did you get that stone to glow?” Cydd asked, nodding towards the menhir behind them.

“I didn't, it was like this when I came upon it, I was trying to copy the runes down when you so graciously interrupted me.”

“Then perhaps the kids did it, somehow,” Cydd said to Brenton, “or something from below did when they noticed them.”

“I'm afraid you're right,” Brenton agreed, “if that's the case, we're going to have to investigate where those stairs lead.”

Brenton looked back to the elf, “we meant no quarrel with you elf, but finding these children is important to us and has left us on edge. Forgive the way our introductions began and let us try a different approach. My name is Brenton, I am a cleric in service of the goddess Aristemis.”

“You may call me Poeas, I am in service only to myself and my own curiosity. And apologies are not necessary, after all, it was I who drew on your first.”

“Only because you were slightly quicker then us, this time,” Cydd smiled, sheathing his dagger, “I'm Cydd.”

“And I'm Maormo darling, and it is indeed a real pleasure to meet you” Maormo blurted out, stepping up to stand with his companions. Cydd stared at Maormo, his mouth open as if he was going to say something.

“Uh, yes, a pleasure,” Poeas replied, the sternness in his voice fading to confusion.

“And not to once again be abrupt, but we need to find these kids, and I do not wish to waste any more time then necessary,” Brenton said.

“And this search will take you down there?” Poeas asked, pointing to the passageway into the hill.

“I believe so, I fear that is where they now are,” Brenton answered.

“Then, if I may, allow me to accompany you. Not only to help these innocent human children, but also because I am curious to this place's connection to the stones and who put it all together.”

“You are welcome to tag along, but know this, the children are our priority, not digging up old history, we will not be standing around waiting for you to perform research.”

“Understandable, I only need some time to explore and perhaps copy a few notes, my abilities will more then make up for any time seemingly wasted.”

“Then welcome aboard,” Cydd said with a grin.

“Yes!” Maormo shouted, triumphantly throwing a fist into the air.

Poeas gathered his notes from the ground, placing them in his backpack, which he slung over one shoulder. Cydd moved slowly towards the edge of the steps, the sunlight barely illuminating the passage beneath him. He could barely see an earthen floor some twenty feet below ground. Cydd pulled a torch from his backpack, lighting it with flint and steel he pulled from pouch on his belt. Poeas walked up behind him, his bow at the ready. Cydd, putting back the flint and steel, unsheathed a dagger.

“Don't worry elf, I'll gladly watch your back,” Maormo said with a smile, approaching behind the other two. Brenton sighed, readying his shield and mace.

“Let's find these kids,” Cydd said, stepping down into the darkness.