The League of Kingdoms... The Marshian Man Hunter The Red Path
Martian Manhunter 2004 Annual March Year 0-A	Written by Curt Fernlund

This was not good…

No, not good at all.

Jonn sighed glancing frightfully to his right and left as he bit down on his lower lip hard enough to draw tears. His great brow wrinkled as his mind raced, his piercing dark eyes scanning the road for sign of any that might be coming near. Far in the distance he could see a column of smoke rising into the clear blue sky. A flock of birds took to the air closer, churning nearer on mighty wings. Crows no doubt coming to feast.

Jonn sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the smoldering body that lay before him sprawled and eviscerated, burned to a crisp right on the Old Post Road for all to see, anyone to find. He stared, tears forming in his eyes at the smell of burning flesh that stung and the sheer horror of the mutilated body. Charred blood was splayed and splashed about the road, staining the ancient red cobbles a darker crimson. Bits of grass still sparked flame- he would need to tend to that soon, as soon as he could move again and stop staring. He heard the call of the scavenger birds as they circled, lighting in the nearby trees, waiting for him to leave.

The birds did not like him, and for good reason. Crow was a good meal if one might catch enough of them. They waited thus, cackling and cawing, cocking their slim black heads to train their beady bird eyes on Jonn, wishing him away-

Truly he wanted to run. He wanted to run far away and deep into the Red Marsh his home and hide. They would blame him for this he just knew. The men would come with their pitchforks and torches and tromp through the marsh, muck and mire to seek him out, burn him from his home, hopefully slay him. They never managed the last, but Jonn had been driven from his home more times than he cared to count- if he could count of course. He hated the men, the people of Boulder Town when they came looking for him, blaming him for their woes-

The draught, the blazing sun and withered crops…

The flood and never-ending rain…

The strange death of cows staggering and falling, running rampant…

All his fault. Blame the Ogre! The Ogre did it!

Jonn sighed again pinching the soft place above his great nose and just between his eyes. His head was starting to hurt. What had he ever done…

They would blame him most certain. Even though he had only found the burning body, even though he was only on his way home from fishing they would blame him, say he did it-

It was always the same…

The crows were coming closer, a few of the braver birds hopping right up at the body and picking at the smoldering flesh. Jonn screamed, waving his arms and stomping his feet, driving the scavengers back at least for a time. They would return of course, soon enough.

Should he move the body? Take it?

No…

That would just make him even more guilty in the eyes of the men of Boulder Town. Better he just walk away, ignore the burning body with its charred and broken limbs, its chest ripped wide and blood flowing everywhere. Its missing heart…

But he could not. It was horrible, and he had to do something, anything.

The body was small Jonn saw- they all were to him of course as he towered over most of mankind- but this one was very small and thin like a child. A child, who would do this to a child?

The body was burned beyond recognition, but he knew that before long, if it was a child of Boulder Town, the men would come looking. There was a mother somewhere missing her daughter or son- he could not tell which, they all looked alike really- and all too soon the men would come looking, searching for the child even here so far away from the tiny village. They would dare the marsh eventually, to their own dismay. They would become sick and filthy, some might die but they would come none the less, searching doggedly for the missing child. If they found the body they would blame him. If they did not, they would blame him too. That was how they thought, how they worked-

Not again. He would not lose his home again, be blamed for some mishap that he had no part of. He had to find the true killer, take him to the men of Boulder Town and they would leave him be. Maybe they would think him a friend at last, a peaceful being dwelling simply in the Red Marsh, minding his own business. Maybe they would think him a hero, thank him…

No, they would run and scream and burn his house and drive him away just as they always did. Man did not trust those that were different, those they did not understand. The little ones had already run deep into the swamp and hardly any ventured forth anymore staying as far from Man as they might. Too, there were the wood things and the water beauties, the Tree Men and the Fairies. He hardly ever saw a Fairy anymore.

Jonn scared the crows away again; the bolder ones screaming as he waved his arms and shouted before crouching down to look more closely at the smoldering form on the old Post Road. It was definitely a child, a young girl by the looks, the wisps of hair that still fluttered in the breeze, the thick, gasping lips. Her tattered dress was all but gone; her small shoes scattered about the cobbles as though whatever had slain her had knocked her up and back. Her neck was twisted oddly, and the eye that remained stared blankly, forlornly into the sparkling blue sky without a thought or care. The heart was gone Jonn saw straight away.

Whatever had slain the girl had ripped a hole in her chest and pulled the child’s heart free. Jonn could see the dark, empty cavity beyond the shattered bones, the welled blood congealing atop, bubbling slightly from the heat. It was horrible-

Who would do such a thing?

Jonn could see the fading footprints etched into the old cobbles; licks of flame still lapping at the air with some. There were charred marks all around, blackened trees off to the side and shattered stone in the road, burning, sizzling blood still spotting the path leading back and into the trees. It had not been so long ago then, for the spots of grass creeping up through the cobbles to still be burning, for even the little body to still be smoldering. Not long at all.

Whoever had done this was still close then, and Jonn knew that if he hurried he might catch him- them. He saw the footprints tracking through the blood spattered over the road, and though he could not count higher than one- sometimes three- he could tell there were many more than that. He saw the smaller, clawed toe-prints of Goblins running willy-nilly all about the area. By the looks, the chaos and carnage there might be more than all his fingers and toes combined. Too, there was something else…

Jonn stared at the blazing hoof-print burned into the very stone, the old red rock still smoldering slightly. It was split like a goats’, but Jonn could tell that like the Goblins, whatever it was stood on two legs. Smaller than he was too, smaller than the Goblin's by its stride. He could see that. Jonn could not count well, but he could hunt and track with the best of them- or starve in lean years. Despite his woodsman’s knowledge however, he had no idea what ran about on two cloven hooves and traveled with Goblins- and burned stone.

Jonn shuddered staring off through the burning path leading into the marsh. They had ripped a wide swath through the wood, apparently uncaring or arrogant of pursuit. The flames were dying out more or less, the wood still damp from the recent rains, but the trail was still clear and evident, easy to follow.

Jonn looked back to the body, watching in misery as the crows danced about pulling and ripping at the burned flesh. If he ran the scavengers would have the body. If he took the body he would be blamed. If he followed the true killers he might be included in their number by the men that would come and the crows would still have their feast. If he…

If…

Jonn screamed his rage to the clear blue sky, his body shaking at his own confusion and impotence. His head was pounding as he swung and kicked, raging and waving over the fallen body to drive the birds to wing again. They circled, seemingly laughing at the big, stupid Ogre, knowing they would get their feast in the end. Jonn cursed at them, shaking his huge fists in the air, then paused just as suddenly. He frowned, his eyes welling with tears as he looked down at the poor little girl lying dead at his feet-

“I’m sorry,” he said as he bent down, his hand tenderly edging closer to the child’s wide, staring eye. He closed it-

“No!”

Jonn’s head snapped around at the fearful shout and saw the old farmer standing not so very far away, a walking stick in one hand, the other withered and twisted as he held it up in shock as though to ward away what he was seeing. His face was stretched almost comically, his eyes huge and round as his almost toothless mouth flapped in horror. Jonn stood slowly, cautiously stretching his hands out to ease the man before he panicked-

“No!” The man staggered back a step, almost losing his footing. “Monster! Beast! You’ve killed her! Killed my little Jenna!” The old farmer almost seemed to stumble as he moved forward again, his eyes darting between Jonn and the little girl- Jenna. The fear was still there, but Jonn could see the anger too, anger clouding the farmer’s reason and making him brave, bold-

“I didn’t-“

“Ahh!” the old farmer screamed and turned, running slowly at first but picking up speed as he found rhythm with his stick. Jonn could easily have caught up with him though, he was still moving so slow. He could have caught the old man, tried to explain, at least force him to take the body so the crows could not get at it-

Jonn sighed…

It was no use. He would never believe or even listen in the state he was in now. Blood lust and revenge were probably eating away at the fear even now. He would make his way back to Boulder Town and have a few ales to calm his nerves telling the other drunken fools in the Inn how he had tried to drive off the monster, tried to save the girl- Jenna. They would nod and cheer and in the end rise up from their drunken stupor and grab their weapons and farm tools and torches. After dark they would come, marching down the Post Road and wading into the swamp where they would become lost and dirty, tired and afraid and maybe dead. They would find his home in the hollow of one of the great trees and set it ablaze, clapping each other on the back, watching as the fire spread despite the wetness of the wood. Fires set in stupidity and anger almost always succeeded in catching spark.

They would go home then, content in their vengeance, little realizing that the true killers were free and roaming the land. They would drink more and sleep in peace whilst the Goblins slew them in their sleep one night. Serve them right…

Jonn thought about running. It was over, no matter what he did, so he should just move on, go someplace far away like the little ones and the wood folk. He should just run…

Hide…

Jonn looked down at the little girl’s body splayed open at his feet…

Finally Jonn turned from the road and strode into the marsh following the wide path of destruction left in the Goblin’s wake. He left his fishing pole and dinner lying in the dirt at the side of the road. He left the body of the little girl, Jenna. His brow creased as he wiped the tears from his eyes, determination twisting his face grimly, setting his lips to frown. He knew what he had to do, where he had to go.

Behind he heard the sounds of the crows as they descended on their feast. They were laughing at him…

Chapter Two:

Dark John stared out the waxy, yellowed window into the dim receding light, his gaze falling on the massive stone that towered over the tiny town that fell in its lengthening shadows. The great boulder was huge, massive though that in itself was not so miraculous. The land of the Great Flats was littered with monumental stones, some probably far larger than this though they remained half-submerged in the earth where they had been deposited eons ago when the last great sheets of ice had withdrawn north once more. No, what made the great stone that towered over Boulder Town so impressive was that it was almost perfectly spherical and smooth like a massively huge child’s ball left forgotten in the dirt or a gigantic dull pearl, an opal. It had sat thus undisturbed throughout recorded history but for the small town that had sprung up about it.

That in itself was strange and Dark John wondered why Boulder Town was so small and backward having been founded better than two hundred years earlier. It was little more than a bloated farming community though there were two inns and amenities for most any traveler; a blacksmith and wheel-wright, a few carpenters and coopers, trading posts and a market square during the day. The town had no law to speak of, a mayor who was also sheriff though he doubled as one of the innkeepers it seemed as well. There was no jail nor city seat to speak of and the tallest building in the town was a mere four stories and that highest being one small room at the Boar’s Head Inn where Dark John now stood staring out the window. All very strange…

Still, it was pleasant to actually have a soft feather bed to sleep in and a roof over his head at least for one night. And a warm- done if not well cooked meal in his belly. Truly he hated traveling and living at the side of the road night after night, day after day. It was a hard and arduous task, grueling and miserable in the blazing heat or the pouring rain, the bitter cold and winds when the snow became so deep that it was hard to move a single step or even feel your toes. The game they caught was always foul and tasted stringy and raw. William was no cook, though then again neither was he, and Koriand’r refused as she only ate vegetables and fruits and those raw.

And Lord Ganthet were they getting on his nerves…

Dark John forced a thin smile to his lips and slowly turned from the window. It was too dark to see the stone in any detail now anyway through the smoky glass so he turned his attention back on the common room of the inn. He noted that a few heads quickly turned away, eyes shifting back to their plate or cup. He made them nervous he knew- they all did, but he did not care. He was not there for their entertainment or scrutiny. Let them gossip after he and his little band had moved on, but for tonight they would serve.

There were a few dozen people packing into the common room now, more by half than when he had first started staring out the window. Was he so tired that he had not heard them enter, or was he just so focused arrogant that he did not care? Regardless he saw that most of the long tables were filled to capacity, the filthy residents of Boulder Town no doubt all come to see the strangers in all their glory. They were a motley bunch to be sure, but no different really than any other denizens of a hundred other wide spots in the road that they had stopped at in the hundreds of leagues that they had so far traveled. Skin colors darkened and faded, accents changed but in the end Man was the same wherever you found Him; a cowardly superstitious lot that ravaged and raped the land for their own spoils without a care to the indigenous flora or fauna there before them. The citizens of Boulder Town were white-skinned for the most so far north now, dressed in work jerseys and tunics for the most- even the women save for the four buxom maids dancing through the smoky room serving the wretches their evening fare and watery ale. An old man played a violin on the far side of the room on a small stage near the stone hearth adding just a slight bit of culture to the atmosphere of the otherwise raucous environment. He was quite good actually, almost hypnotic with his lilting melodies. Another oddity…

A dark-haired serving wench came bouncing his way, a wide smile stretching her face and almost obscuring the lines of worry etched into her pale skin. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes half-hidden by the make-up she wore; scarlet shadow and rouge to darken her cheeks and full lips. John’s eyes strayed to her bosom bulging from her corseted dress for just a lingering moment before waving her away and moving through the crowded room. He had had enough watery ale and the two bowls of venison stew he had enjoyed at first were already churning in his belly. The young woman frowned momentarily then moved on, a fat leather pouch at her belt jingling as she danced towards one of the long ""tables. She had nice breasts and legs but John was not in the mood for companionship of that sort. He was thinking of sleep as he made his way back to the small table set aside for he and his comrades in the shadowed corners of the room near the fiddler and his stage.

He looked over his companions as he approached, wondering just how he had become saddled with such a queer assortment of comrades. He had had no idea when Lord Ganthet had called the Oan Order together that final night explaining his visions and fears, sending the Brotherhood of the Green Flame out, casting his ‘Lantern Legion’ over the land to find aid. Ganthet had hoped to kindle the dying embers of a legendary flame long thought extinguished; to gather the heroes of all the realms, all the lands into a strong and vast League of Kingdoms as existed over three hundred years ago. He was mysterious and vague of course in his worries, and only Scott the Elder had questioned his motives, pressed him for answers. Ganthet of course had kept his piece and sent them on their way; Rayner the Apprentice, Jord’n the Parallax, Scott the Eld and beautiful Kat the scarlet, even Jenni the novice last of the Order was sent forth. It was John the Steward however that was entrusted with the road to Afeika, to confront Fate in his Tower and gather those heroes he could along his sojourn.

He was to follow the King’s Road north far along the Southern Continent, eventually passing into those northern realms where the road became the Post Road. It was a long, long journey passing through the lands of Okaara and past the very Rock of Eternity, the realm of the Southern Dwarves. It was there that he met William, Captain of the Dwarven Guard. Captain Marvel they called him in his homeland, the vast lattice work of tunnels that laced the very core of the mightiest mountain of the Southern Continent. William was a burly little creature of great strength and speed, but too of remarkable wisdom. He could walk on for hours at a time, never tiring, his weapon forever in hand and at the ready; a great hammer named Shazam, given to him by a wizard that lived in the Dwarven Kingdom. As burly as he was, too he was surly and unkempt, his long dark beard straggly and he smelled in his shining, mystical mail, which he never seemed to remove no matter how hot or cold it got. Still he was true and Dark John trusted the Dwarf at his back.

Together they had traveled through the barren wastes of Okaara where the had met the fabled Warlords eventually. The eld and grizzled warriors had accepted them in their land with some reluctance at first- at least until Dark John had shown them his Lantern and the writ provided by Lord Ganthet. An uneasy truce had existed between the Warlords of the Waste and the Oan Order for decades, but apparently the sealed message of Ganthet had swayed them, and they had given over their best for the quest. Koriand’r seemed annoyed to be uprooted from the life that she knew, but like John and William she did as she was bid, joining the travelers on their journey north. She seemed to slim and feminine at first to Dark John, beautiful with her bronze skin and long hair, her legs and breasts barely contained in the scanty leather armor she wore. She proved to be a fantastic fighter however not two nights later when bandits had set upon their group as they camped on the King’s Road. She had slain three of the ruffians before Marvel or Dark John had even roused, and three more before the battle was done. All with but a simple staff of white oak- it was amazing.

Together the trio had journeyed on north, through the Okaaran Wastes and the lush forests of Green Land. They had made the journey by ship across the Straights and through the Clashing Rocks, finally coming to the Northern Continent where they restarted their travels on the King’s Road, now the Post Road. They had followed the red cobbled way for days, finally reaching Boulder Town on the edge of the Red Marsh and the Great Red Wood where stood the Parliament of Trees. Their journey was far from over however as they still had to cross the Spine of the World and venture into the realms beyond, weeks yet from their goal-- Afeika.

Dark John heard William belch and focused on the Dwarf. His face was filthy as he waved for the Steward to take a seat, crumbs in his long beard and his face stained brown from drooling stew. Across the table Koriand’r gnawed on a raw potato, her mouth open as she chewed. It was hard to believe that she was rumored to be a princess in her homeland of Tamaran though she had never made any claims of any kind.

“We should be to bed,” Dark John suggested, declining the Dwarven Captain’s generous offer. “We still have a long journey ahead and should get what rest we can before-“

All eyes turned as the door to the inn slammed open. Dark John glanced up at the stuffed and dusty boar’s head mounted on the wall above their table, watching it sway. It was huge, and he had visions of it crashing down with the impact reverberating along the walls of the inn but it held fast. He stepped away a bit however, looking to the doorway.

A harried looking farmer stood there silhouetted in the frame. His hair was wild, his eyes huge as he staggered into the common room, sidling up to the bar and demanding a drink. The fat and jovial woman cast him a queer glance before sliding a pale mug of ale before him but the old farmer paid her no heed, downing the mug in a sloppy rush before slamming the stein back to the bar and turning to the crowded room-

“Ogre!” he squeaked, and Dark John heard a collective gasp race about the room. Some men paled and one of the serving women actually fell to the floor in a faint.

“What’re you on about, Daggit? What’s up yer craw?” The bar maid sneered, her huge breasts heaving as she dipped a dirty rag into the farmer’s mug, wiping it dry-

“Out on the Post Road! I saw ‘im!” the old man shouted, his voice crackling with emotion. “He killed Jenna! My granddaughter! Killed ‘er right! Saw it wit’ me own eyes I did!”

“Who Daggit?” the old woman at the bar said, her face going pasty and pale. “Jenna’s dead? Yer not makin’ sense!”

“The Ogre!” he shrieked again, his wild eyes scanning the rapt crowd for any that might dissuade him and what he was saying. There was a hush over the room though. The fiddler had stopped mid-stanza and even Marvel had paused from eating. “I saw the great brute meself. I’d left me Jenna alone for jus’ a bit as I went t’ relieve meself, n’ when I got back I seen the creature bendin’ over her body. He’d cooked ‘er already n’ was fixin’ t’ eat ‘er till I came along. Well, I started wavin’ me stick about n’ shoutin’ t’ high heaven so’s he’d run off but he came at me all green n’ mean. I feared fer me life, so’s I run. I’m old- can’t fight no Ogre no more. But he killed Jenna sure as I’m standing ‘ere now.”

Dark John frowned as a cry of rage and sympathy went up about the room. The old man’s story was probably fairly accurate to a point, but it was stirring the crowd into a frenzy and it would not be long before they became a maddened mob stumbling about in the dark swamp and looking for an Ogre who- if he really existed- was probably long gone. Too, John doubted that the Ogre had killed the old man’s grand daughter. Ogre’s had been relatively docile since the War of Darkness some three hundred years gone. More likely a bear or some other beast living in the marshes, hungry and the child was an easy target with the old man off relieving himself in the bushes-

“I say we hunt down this creature and slay him! Burn him out!”

John the Steward winced, turning to see Captain Marvel atop the table and shouting to the crowd. He was drunk and ready to fight, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed as he waved a chicken leg about like a short sword. Still sitting at the table, Koriand’r smirked and shook her head, her long locks flowing about her shoulders as she chuckled in amusement. John sighed as a cheer of agreement went up in the common room. Men stood tipping over chairs and raising their fists and voices, joining the Dwarf. He had to stop this before it got out of hand.

“I seriously doubt that it was an Ogre,” Dark John said stepping forward and away from William.

“I seen ‘im, sir,” the old man said, his eyes wide in disbelief that any might doubt his word. “Plain as day n’ twice as ugly he was. Used ‘is magical fires t’ cook poor Jenna where she stood. Prob’ly eating ‘er now while we stand ‘ere wastin’ time, poor wee lass…”

“We should hunt ‘im down!”

“Burn ‘im out I say!”

“Burn the whole bloody marsh! Drive ‘em all out!”

Dark John sighed to hear the crowd- and William- shouting for the Ogre’s blood. How did he get mixed up in this he wondered. He just wanted to go to bed, get some sleep.

“Calm down,” he said, but he was being ignored. William was slamming his boot heel on the table top getting the crowd riled and they were all up, milling about and shouting now. Dark John saw a few swords and knives raised high. He glanced at Koriand’r and shrugged towards the Dwarf, nodding. Koriand’r smiled, nodding in return as she stood and plucked the burly little man from the table, wrapping her hand about his mouth to gag him. She was strong. Dark John concentrated, holding out his hand until his lantern appeared, glowing green from the dancing flame contained within. He let the fires flare until the room was bathed in verdant light, shadows dancing on the walls and silence reigned. Finally he spoke when all eyes were wide and turned his way-

“You people need to calm down. My allies and I will investigate, find this Ogre if he truly exists and bring him to justice. We do not need a mob storming the swamps. You will all stay here!” Dark John, Steward of the Oan Legion held his lantern high until all in the room were cowed. He hated to use his powers so wastefully, especially so far from the True Flame, but if these fools went blindly into the marsh he knew that many would not live to see the morrow.

“My allies will go into the Red Marsh and determine what has really happened, and we will go alone-“

“Well, I dunno about that old son.”

Dark John turned to face the old man that turned in his chair. He was clearly nearing fifty summers, his skin jaundiced and wrinkled, his blonde hair faded to gray in spots. He wore a simple dark tunic and trousers, a rain-treated long coat draped over slouched shoulders as he downed the last of his ale. He set the mug aside and stood, sticking a pre-rolled tobbac stick between his lips and lighting it from a candle on the bar before he fully faced the Steward. He did not seem impressed by the green flame crackling within Dark John’s lantern-

“Seems only fair t’ me that one a’ the town folk ought’a go along t’ keep ya honest, lad. Lord knows what yer band a’ misfits is about anyway-“ There was a gasp that ran about the room, but the old man seemed uninterested as he drew on his tobbac. Dark John seemed to think the man drunk at first, but he could see the clarity in his eyes, the crystalline blue sparkling in the smoky candlelight.

“Who are you?” Dark John asked, waving Koriand’r back. The man had balls he would admit, and he was more than a little intrigued at his audacity in the light of the lantern.

“Me?” he smirked, blowing smoke into the room as he shifted to get comfortable. “I’m nobody son. A disinterested party what wants t’ keep you honest n’ look out for ‘is mates. I’m the town healer, name’s Constantine…”

Chapter Three:

Jonn stood erect, head bowed and docile. It had been many months since he had stood before the assemblage, not since he had first come to the Red Marsh and chose to live in their midst. He had told his story to the assemblage and now awaited their decision, their wisdom. He recalled just how long that might take…

Lord Holland sat in his throne, the hollowed out stool of an ancient tree that had been felled by lightning ages ago and carved into the massive and intricately carved monstrosity that was his seat of power. Lady Ivy sat at his right, her own throne only slightly less, looking regal and beautiful as the sparkling glow flies flitted about the clearing. Woodrue was there as well, standing in the shadows, and Black Thorne and Sallis, the rejected one. The whole Parliament was present it seemed, and Jonn trembled before them licking dry lips and shaking, sweating…

He was not one of them and not even one of their creatures that inhabited the wood and marsh. He knew he was an outsider, but they had accepted him those many months before when he had come to the Red Marsh that ringed the Great Red Wood. They had accepted him and let him live in their midst, perhaps out of pity having just lost his mate, his cub to the Men. Whatever the reason though, he had been a good and true citizen to the wood and as such expected the same rights that any of the other folk that still dwelled within.

Jonn sighed, casting his gaze ever higher into the thick, towering trees. The Great Red Wood was a huge forest that covered miles of land along the western coast of the continent. The trees within were huge and many said that they had been planted eons ago when the Elves had first come to Metarun. Here in the Parliament stood the tallest and proudest, the eldest in all the forest and quite possibly in all the world. Jonn stared at the crisscrossing branches that created a web-like lattice far above where he stood. Leaves bloomed fully creating a glorious display of color reaching deep into the shadows. Only slight patches of starlight could be seen above, the foliage was so thick and dense. With his night vision straining Jonn could see the shadows moving, things living in the trees looking for purchase to watch.

A glow fly fluttered close, her delicate gossamer wings beating softly, colors swirling and changing through the membrane in soft glowing pastels. The little Pixie giggled as Jonn smiled, then sped away as Lord Holland grumbled, clearing his throat-

“We are not… without… knowledge…” he started, then seemed to consider. Jonn’s head snapped up, his attention on the Wood King, waiting for him to continue. He moved slightly and Jonn heard the sound of branches snapping, the rustle of leaves.

“We have heard… seen… the animals burrow deeper… bury their stores far below… The birds take wing… already… and the light thickens soon… Our own move on… Fewer every day… It saddens us…”

Jonn saw the Queen reach out and grasp her lord’s hand, squeezing slightly, wearing a melancholy smile and a far away look. Her pale green skin glistened as though washed in morning dew.

“There have been others, Ogre Jonn,” she said, her long brown hair washing across her shoulders and breasts as she eyed him curiously. “There was a merchant, a Gnome found slaughtered just days ago in the fashion you have described, and before him, a wood cutter’s small son. It has been going on for some time.”

“But,” Jonn stuttered, his eyes roving, lighting on each of the Parliament, “But if you knew, and allowed it to continue-“

“What is a wood cutter’s whelp to us, Ogre?” Black Thorne said, his voice the sound of wood splintering. “Or a merchant? The Men get as they deserve. They cross our borders unhindered, cut away at the Green without thought or care. They drive the people from their hollows and holts with their fire and offal. Man is not welcome here, and I for one welcome any that would turn them away.”

“But,” Jonn paused again, gathering his thoughts, “But I saw the mark of Goblins and something more besides. Goblins are far worse than Man, surely?”

“I was Man once,” Woodrue said with a slight whimper. “Goblins are horrid, vulgar creatures. Monstrosities created from dark thoughts indeed, yet still they do just to survive. Man kills for sport, for the thrill, not for life. Goblins do as they do in retaliation- against the Man!”

“No…”

“Goblin and Man are disturbed reflections on a stagnant pool,” the Lady Ivy cooed, crossing her long legs. “Both are foul to the Green. Both do not belong. Let them slay one another, we shall not become involved.”

“The shadow… spreads…” Lord Holland said, continuing his original thought. "I have seen…”

“Lord?” Ivy asked, her hand stoking her lover’s arm softly.

“The Great Dark… returns… I have seen…” There was a small golden spark in the deep shadows of Holland’s dark eyes that seemed to focus on Jonn. He swallowed, his gaze flitting around the gathered Parliament and saw that same spark in the blood red orbs of Sallis.

“We shall not… ignore… As in my… youth… we shall join… Fate…” Lord Holland twisted his head to stare directly at Jonn. A flower bloomed on the Lord of the Green’s shoulder, quickly withered and fell away.

“Seek… Fate…”

“Who?” Jonn asked, but he saw that he was too late. The body of Lord Holland settled into his throne, the spark quickly fading from his eyes as the frame of wood and mud collapsed back, decaying and disintegrating. Lord Holland had returned to the Green, the audience at an end. Black Thorne scowled and spat sap, his cut wood body drifting back into the trees even as Woodrue began to wander away. In moments, only the Queen remained, and Sallis. Jonn licked his lips and stepped forward-

“I- I do not understand. Fate? I should seek my fate? How? Where?”

Ivy smiled, rising from her throne, gathering a vine about her arm and watching as small flowers appeared. She sniffed-

“Fate is one of the Eld, Ogre. An Elf of great power residing in Afeika I believe, or perhaps the Star Citadel, I do not know. He was the one to stem the shadow’s tide when last it did threaten to envelope the land. He and other mighty warriors from the world over and abroad. My love and lord did aid him then, and I believe he would that you aid him now.”

“Me?” Jonn gasped, almost staggering back as the Queen stepped from her throne. “I’m just an Ogre, what can I do?”

“’Twas a Hefflin turned the Dark Tide last, Ogre Jonn, the least warrior amongst the mighty. Do not count thy indecision as impotence. The tiny acorn becomes a mighty oak, remember,” she said, spiraling with her arms spread wide as she motioned at the towering trees surrounding them, “and the slightest breeze makes the forest grow, spreading seed out amongst the Green. One seed Ogre, one acorn might change the world…” Ivy smiled, the vines now wrapped about her, tiny white flowers blooming at her touch. Jonn could smell the glorious, calming fragrance, his eyes watering at the beauty as the glow flies flitted up, up and away. And then she was gone…

Jonn stared at the spot where she had been, now just a soft mound of earth in the clearing where flowers bloomed and roots dug to take hold. He glanced up and saw the rejected one still there, staring at him. His body was mud and slop, strangling vines and poisoned leaves in the rough semblance of humanity. His eyes were wide and staring as he seemed to reach out, almost groping. He hesitated though, his hand falling to his side as he turned and shambled off into the dimming Green.

“Fate,” Jonn said finally, rubbing the back of his neck in confusion. All he had wanted was help in tracking and slaying the Goblins. Now it seemed he had a quest. He did not understand…

Finally, with a shrug Jonn turned and stalked off back into the forest. He would do what he had to do, whatever he had to do. Find Fate apparently, whoever he was, wherever he was. Afeika…

He had no idea…

Chapter Four:

The Constantine pulled the two worn shimmer stones from one of the many pockets of his great, shabby coat and started to rattle them about in his hand. He rubbed them together, grinding them as he concentrated, a smarmy smirk curling his lips-

A spark and the two small stones seemed to catch fire, though it was weak and wavering. The Constantine leaned his head down, touching the tip of his rolled Tobbac into the tiny sparkling fire cupped in his hand, puffing to get the dry leaves to light-

“Must you?”

Constantine smiled, looking at the black-skinned monk as he held his slim fag away, blowing on the stones to put out their flame. He dropped the stones back into the pocket of his coat as he took a long drag from his Tobbac, pale blue smoke billowing about his face when he finally spoke-

“Yeah, I must,” he said with a conceited sneer. “Wind keeps shiftin’, luv, n’ it ain’t a walk in the roses standin’ down wind a’ you lot. When was the last time you washed those robes, monk?”

Dark John scowled and sighed, his throat rumbling in disgust. Why he had agreed to let the fool Hedge Mage come along he had no idea. He had seemed a boon at the time, but his attitude and personality had quickly turned grating. John tried to ignore the bumpkin, focusing rather on his task and the odd marks burned into the cobbles of the old Post Road.

Marvel and Koriand’r were off following the obvious trail hoping to pick up the scent of the Goblins and their Warlord though the dark folk had a lead of hours. That left Dark John teamed with the Hedge Mage, and he was quickly regretting that. The man was a total fool, oblivious, arrogant and useless. Best to ignore him…

Dark John stood, willing the green glow of his Lantern just a slight bit brighter as he stared down at the bloody and burnt tracks etched into the dark crimson cobblestones of the road. There were obviously Goblins about, their prints all too familiar of late, but the marks of cloven hooves were a surprise, as were the overwhelming prints of the Ogre. It was indeed a fearsome force that they followed. The body was fairly useless. Regrettable of course, it was just a child- a little girl barely ten summers, but the scavengers had gotten to the remains; the birds and vermin that inhabited the swamps, the insects. They were crawling over the corpse, but Dark John could still see that the child’s heart had been ripped from her chest. Definitely magic involved then, and of the worst kind; Necromancy!

“Not a pretty sight, eh darkie?”

Dark John turned to glare at the other. He had heard the word often enough, more so the farther north he traveled. His sacrament robes seemed to mean less than the color of his skin so far from home. Still it was grating, and he was getting sick of the insults, especially from one who was supposed to be helping.

“Do you have any insight into any of this, Constantine? If not, kindly keep your comments-“

“Only that it appears these Goblins are runnin’ with some ‘eavy power backing ‘em up. Satyr maybe, an’ that’s gotta be an Ogre. There’s been one livin’ here ‘bouts the last year or two. Odd, though, as he never bothered no one before. What ya s’pose they want with the girl’s heart? Virgin I imagine, strong magic that.”

John the Steward grunted, somewhat surprised that the Hedge Mage had that much of a clue. A young, virgin heart was indeed powerful magic, and Dark John shuddered at the thought of what the dark horde might be attempting based upon what Ganthet had said. To raise their Dark Lord however, where would they stop?

“The Ogre is obviously running with the horde. His footprints are everywhere.”

“So’s his fishin’ pole, unless I miss me guess,” Constantine said indicating the willowy wooden pole and several scavenged fish tied to a line set beside the road. “Looks more t’ me that the Ogre found the body first n’ ran t’ the swamp. No signs of a fight really. Maybe he’s trackin’ the Goblins.” Constantine took a long drag on his Tobbac, bobbing his eyebrows as Dark John eyed him queerly. It did seem that way at a glance, but-

There was a flash of light, a crack of thunder that split the otherwise still night. Constantine and Dark John both turned and eyed the lingering after image of the jagged bolt emblazoned in their sight wavering out above the swamp-

“What in the name of the Keeper was that?” Constantine asked, his Tobbac stick almost falling from his gaping lips.

“Lightning,” Dark John said raising his Lantern high to track the magical energy. “Magical lightning, a tell tale sign of Captain Marvel’s mystical mace; Shazam!”

“Yer kiddin’…”

Dark John sneered, “He got it from a Wizard. But to see the lightning they’ve found trouble. Let’s go!” Dark John of the Oan Order ran off towards the swamp, the green glow of his Lantern lighting the way as he followed the trail left by the Goblins. Constantine took a final drag from his Tobbac and cast it aside with a quick flick of his fingers before following just a bit more slowly-

“Lead on old son…”

Chapter Five:

Jonn staggered back again as the burly little man slammed his mace into his shoulder. Lightning flared and crackled, and Jonn screamed out as the impact burned, left his skin charred and smoldering. He kept to his feet, his hand going to his wound as he stared wide-eyed at the hairy little man brandishing the big, studded mace-

“Hah!” he shouted, his eyes wild with bloodlust, ready to fight, “You’ve made a grave mistake creature, straying from your friends. Feel again the Strength of Solivar as I smash your misshapen skull to bloody pulp!”

The Dwarf screamed, raging as he charged forward, his mace whirling about like a dervish. Jonn barely stepped back and out of the way as the weapon smashed into a tree, shredding bark and splintering the living wood. Without missing a beat however the Dwarf shifted his feet and whipped about again, an arching blow that grazed Jonn’s midsection as he tried to dodge.

He did not understand why the Dwarf had attacked him, nor why his woman seemed to stand off to the side with that amused look on her face, curling her lips. She was a tall one, barely dressed in rag tag armor that seemed to serve no purpose, almost covering her more private parts and bits of her golden skin. Her long dark hair was wild, flowing down her back, and her bright green eyes seemed to sparkle as she watched the Dwarf swing and shout. The Dwarf seemed an odd companion to such a beautiful Human- if that was what she actually was- short and stout, covered in hair and ragged chain mail and helm. Traveling partners no doubt, but definitely not citizens from Boulder Town. Mercenary soldiers then? Jonn had seen those before, after the last war.

The mace slammed into a stone at Jonn’s side causing him to yelp and dance back again. The Dwarf had the battle lust upon him, swinging his weapon wildly, brutally, but that made him miss his mark more often than not. Jonn assumed that was the only reason that he was still alive. But why were they attacking him? He had been doing nothing, making his way back to the road he had stopped for a cool drink at a slow running brook when the Dwarf had screamed and charged forward. Jonn had tried to speak, to ward him away but neither he nor his woman seemed wont to listen. Jonn had since been trying to simply stay alive-

“You’re fast Ogre,” the Dwarf said, rolling the handle of his mace in sweaty palms as he took deep ragged breaths, “Perhaps the fastest of your foul breed I’ve ever faced. You’ll be dead jus’ the same, once I hit a solid blow.”

Jonn stared at the Dwarf as he stalked forward again, his eyes blazing with an almost insane gleam. He did not understand, “Why are you hitting me?” he said, backing away, trying to ward the Dwarf back. Then he understood-

“No,” he gasped, “No! I’m not one of-“

The Dwarf raised his mace high and leapt right into the air. He screamed his rage as he arched forward, his muscles tensing as he hefted the mighty mace ready to deliver the killing blow. Jonn screamed, his eyes going wide as he raised his hands higher, then gritting his teeth as the Dwarf struck. Jonn was driven to his knees as the mace slammed into his wide hands, but his strength was enough to stay the blow. He saw the Dwarf’s eyes grow wide-

“What trickery-“

Jonn ripped the mace from the Dwarf’s hands before the little man might gather his wits. He reached out, snaking his long green fingers into the Dwarf’s beard and hefted him up. The Dwarf screamed, but Jonn ignored it-

“Stop hitting me!” he shouted, his voice deep and dark. He heaved his mighty Ogre muscles and whipped the Dwarf about, slamming him against a moss covered rock jutting from the forest floor. Without a thought to the little man’s moans he whipped the Dwarf about again- by the beard- and slammed him into a stout tree. He pulled the Dwarf up, lifting him overhead and finally smashed him into the ground at his feet. Jonn saw the Dwarf’s eyes bulge, then roll, finally disappearing as his eyelids fluttered closed.

Jonn the Ogre stood wiping sweat from his brow as he hefted the Dwarf’s weapon in his other hand. It seemed lighter than he would have expected for all the damage it had been doing. Something slammed hard into the back of his skull and he staggered forward, moaning.

He had forgotten the woman…

Koriand’r stepped back, bracing as the huge Ogre staggered forward and dropped to his knees at her blow. She frowned, hating to hit any opponent from behind- even a creature of the dark- but after she had seen the child’s body she felt that the hulking monster deserved no quarter. Still, She would not beat him wantonly as he knelt before her, stunned as he obviously was. Any foe deserved that much.

She had heard of Ogre’s of course, and had been taught of them by the Warlords of Okaara that had taught her to fight, but she had never actually seen one. He was impressive, huge in his way, and apparently well versed in fighting as he had beaten the Dwarf. No great feat in defeating the little man, even with his allegedly mystical mace. He was all wild blows and rage, though he did have his strengths- he was strong and had a remarkable amount of stamina and speed. The Ogre was apparently the better creature however.

She had heard from her teachers how Ogre’s were both strong and resilient, and now she had seen first hand how the brute seemed to absorb the Dwarf’s mightiest blows, how his body seemed to ripple like water whenever he took damage. She had heard that they could blend into the forest, become almost invisible. Some even had a ghastly vision that burned if they concentrated. Koriand’r of Tamaran had faith that she would defeat the beast long before he might implement that.

Koriand’r whirled her Star Staff overhead with blinding speed, watching as the creature rubbed at the back of his neck, looking up with plaintive eyes-

“Surrender brute,” she sneered, “I give you one chance.”

The Ogre looked up at her, wincing in pain. Were those tears in his eyes?

“Why are you hitting me?” he said, struggling to rise as Koriand’r whipped her staff about and down in a high arch. Remarkably the Ogre raised his arm, and still holding the Dwarf’s mace blocked the blow with a shattering reverberation-

“Stop hitting me…”

Koriand’r stared at the brute, marveling. He held the Dwarf’s mace easily, high, wedged against her Star Staff. According to Marvel, the mace was a mystical weapon, and only those deemed worthy might wield it, yet here was this Ogre waving it about with no trouble at all. Was he worthy, or was this a bizarre fluke? Perhaps the Dwarf was bragging again. She would certainly find out.

Koriand’r flipped up and back, tucking the staff tightly to her belly, then arching it out as she spun. It took but the slightest concentration to employ the magic, sparking a star bolt out at the creature. The Ogre winced and screamed but held the Dwarf’s mace high and the bolt glanced away, the energy dispersing in a wild shower of sparks. Koriand’r spun the staff about again, planting her feet as the Ogre quickly tried to gain his.

She imagined that her teachers, the Warlords of Okaara were having a good laugh at her expense, giving her, their greatest student a shepherd’s staff. She had hated the thing at first, refused it, but they had forced it upon her so she had chosen in the end to use it to her benefit and prove them all fools. She was the mightiest warrior that the Okaarans had produced in three centuries and she would not be daunted by some pacifist tool. She would make the crook a weapon to be feared…

Though not apparently by the Ogre. He was heaving deep breaths but he held the mace ready to defend. Oddly, he did not attack-

“Stop hitting me,” he grumbled his countenance dark now, trying to look fierce. “I’ve done nothing to you, or to him,” he shrugged towards Captain Marvel and Koriand’r saw the Dwarf warrior struggling up onto his elbows shaking his head. “I’ve done nothing to anyone-“

“Liar!” Koriand’r shouted charging forward as she swiftly spun her staff. She struck, a wide swinging arch, which the Ogre easily blocked, but that was just a feint. As the Ogre shifted his weight she slipped beneath his swing and kicked out, the heel of her boot slamming hard into the creature’s knee. The Ogre yelled out in pain, but Koriand’r winced as well, her teeth rattling. It was like kicking a granite wall. Still she shunted aside the pain, whipping the staff about again and hooking the crook behind the brute’s ankle. With all her might she tugged up and back, pulling the Ogre’s leg out from beneath him. He yelped in surprise and fell to the muddy path with a thud.

Quickly Koriand’r sprang to her feet and slapped the Dwarf’s mace out of the Ogre’s long reach. It barely moved despite her effort, but just enough as she spun the staff again and planted the tip in the Ogre’s throat, planting her foot on his massively wide chest to pin him to the ground. He looked up at her with his eyes wide and dark and surprisingly seemed to almost wilt in defeat-

“Kill me then, since you won’t listen,” he said sounding hurt, “I won’t fight you. I’ve done nothing.”

“We saw the remains of the child you killed creature, saw your tracks in the blood,” Koriand’r sneered. “We’ll deal with you, then track your horde fiend. What did you do, eat her heart?”

The Ogre sighed trying to shake his head as best he could. “I’ve killed no one. I came upon the body as well. When I was wondering what I should do an old farmer happened on me- the girl’s grand father. He thought I had killed her, because I am an Ogre. It was Goblins though, and something else.”

Koriand’r considered remembering the hoof prints that had been burned into the cobbles. “Ogre’s have been known to cavort with the dark folk in times past. Who’s to say you’ve not joined their foul ranks now?” she said, pressing the point of her staff into the softer skin of his throat-

“No one I suppose-“ he gagged, gritting his teeth.

“No on but me!”

Both the Ogre and the Okaaran warrior turned to the gravely rough voice that cut through the tense scene and otherwise silent night. Marvel, the Dwarven Captain of the Eternity Mountain Holt strode forward clumsily, almost limping, his silver and red chain mail sparkling in the first soft rays of the newly risen moon. He stooped less than half way and gathered his mace, hefting its weight as he stared at it intently in the dim. He then turned to his companion-

“Release him, princess. Though I was sorely injured I saw him wield my mace against you. By the magic invested in my mighty weapon by the Wizard of the Rock of Eternity, none but those that are worthy or pure may do so. Misshapen brute he may be, but he is not evil.”

Koriand’r sneered, almost laughed, “You’re a drunken sot and a bully, Dwarf. You are hardly worthy-“ Marvel held out his mace towards his companion, his voice on edge-

“You try then, warrior…”

Koriand’r sniffed but stepped off of the Ogre. Still she kept her staff trained on the creature as she reached out and gripped the leather bound haft of the mace-

And promptly fell to the ground with its seemingly incredible weight. She stared at the weapon in surprise, then at the Dwarf and seeing his smirk knitted her brows and got a better grip on the mace. She grunted, trying in vain to raise the weapon but could do little more than tilt up the handle. She stood, setting her own staff aside as she gripped the thing, heaving, screaming but with no success. The old and battered mace would not budge.

“This is your doing, Dwarf!” she snapped, turning on her smaller comrade. “You’ve invoked some magic in the thing.” Marvel simply shook his head and retrieved his weapon from the dirt, easily hefting it again.

“It is a magic to keep so mighty a tool out of evil’s hands. Yon Ogre is pure of heart, at least worthy.”

Koriand’r turned back to her foe, her eyes growing wide to see the creature standing, her star staff in hand. He looked at the shepherd’s crook for a moment, then held it out for her with the slightest smile-

“I’ve done nothing, harmed no one,” he said solemnly as Koriand’r took her own weapon in hand again. “I was following the path of the Goblins and then asked the Parliament of Trees for guidance-“

“Parliament of Trees?” Koriand’r asked, but before she could get her answer she heard the snapping of twigs off in the brush and spun about, her staff raised high and ready. She saw two men step from the brush and foliage, following the wide broken path cut by the escaping Goblin horde. Dark John the Steward she recognized straight away with his green glowing lantern and flowing robes. It took her a moment to recall the other; the Hedge Mage that had joined them in Boulder Town, Constantine.

“Thas’ right, Luv,” Constantine said, his voice croaking as he sucked at one of his Tobbac sticks. He seemed to have an endless supply of the foul weed rolled, ready to smoke. “The Parliament of Trees sort of run things in these parts. Seems the Ogre’s got high friends.” Koriand’r glanced at John the Steward and he nodded, though he did not seem happy to agree with the mage.

“We have heard of the Parliament even in far off Oa. They were a force for good in the Great War against the shadow three hundred years ago. One hopes they will be again.”

Dark John and Constantine stepped into the small clearing where Koriand’r stood with the others. They all turned to look at the Ogre then, hoping he might have some information now that they all knew that he was an uneasy ally. The beast simply shrugged-

“The Parliament was little help, I’m afraid. They told me I should seek Fate in Afeika and offer my aid. I am the bulk of their army-“

“Not quite, Jonn!”

All eyes turned, the assembled warriors spinning about seeking the source of the tiny, squeaking voice that had drawn their attention. There seemed no one in sight.

“What wizardry is this?” Marvel shouted brandishing his mace. “are we assaulted by some invisible stalker? Yahh!”

Everyone stood to fore to see the Dwarf fall back and clutching at his ankle. He hopped on one leg grimacing, then toppled to the ground blood seeping through his fingers as he clasped his hands over his wounded ankle-

“There!” Koriand’r pointed with her staff at the tiny figure standing bravely in the midst of giants. He stood barely a hand span tall, dressed in blues and reds trimmed in soft leathers. He wore a sparkling medallion about his neck and carried a gleaming sword that he was wiping clean on a blade of grass. He seemed unconcerned that the giants had seen him, actually nodding to the Ogre-

“The Rejected One sent me Jonn, sent me to come help-“

“Adam…” Jonn the Ogre said, a smile twitching the corners of his lips. “I have not seen you in ages. I thought you were dead.” The tiny man chuckled as he slipped his sword back into his scabbard. He eyed the Dwarf- eyeing him- and stepped just a bit out of reach.

“Not dead, Jonn,” Adam stated moving closer to stare up at the gathered giants. “Jus’ moved on, deeper into the wood. Thought you might follow soon enough-“

“A tiny man…” Koriand’r said bending at the waist and placing her hands on her knees. She cocked her head, her long hair falling, her breasts threatening to burst from her halter. “He’s so cute…”

Koriand’r saw the tiny man lick his lips and actually step away, finally just a bit afraid. She wondered why-

“Pysk…” Constantine said smirking at the tiny warrior. “Ain’t seen one a’ yer kind in an age I’ll say. The big, Green Mojo sent ye then?”

The tiny man shook his head, still keeping a leery eye on the gigantic Okaaran warrior. “Sallis came t’ me. Said Jonn might need a bit of help. I’m that bit.”

“Yer name’s Jonn?” Constantine said looking first to the Ogre and then to the Monk of Oa. The Ogre nodded. Constantine chuckled, “This could be fun. Me name’s John too, son, but best ye call me Constantine.” The Hedge Mage shrugged and nodded towards Dark John, “He’s John too. The three Johns, gotta be somethin’ in that.”

Dark John grimaced, nodding to the Ogre. “Dark John if you must, or simply-“

Light flared and thunder cracked sharp and fast. All eyes turned to the bright starry sky then flashed back as Dark John’s voice choked, fire erupting about his throat. He dropped to his knees clutching at the thin leather strand suddenly wrapped about his neck and crackling with amber fire-

“How touching…”

The voice seemed to crackle and pit flame, a sultry, smoky voice of burning hatred. The assembled warriors stared at the creature, a demon holding the pommel of the spiked, fiery whip. She was tall, and would have been beautiful with her ebon black hair and scarlet skin, beautiful but for the swirling, swishing tail and her cracked, and cloven hooves. Her entire essence was of burning, smoldering passion- all save her laugh, cold and cruel…

“All the world’s heroes come out to play. Your mothers should have told you that when light thickens it is time to return home and cower under your beds,” she chuckled, licking her lips as she jerked back on her whip sending Dark John sprawling back to the dirt. “Your mothers should have taught you to fear the night, children. You should fear the darkness and those things within, for now they are coming for you…

Chapter Six:

There was a rustling in the brush, movement, shadows swirling and taking shape. The warriors turned about, gathering closer as from the surrounding swamp and forest came the dark horde, the warriors and legion of the flaming woman. They were ugly, all gangly limbs and knotted joints. Their skin was graying and decayed like mould, their sickly yellowed eyes red-rimmed and bulging. Patches of coarse fur covered random bits of their scale-ridden flesh, seeping puss and never-healing sores. Wide, gaping mouths slavered bristly with jagged, crooked teeth. They hunkered and snarled half-mad, but the warriors could see the slightest spark of intelligence that set them just above common beasts. They were the distant cousins of Elfin-kind, twisted by foul magicks in an age long forgotten; the corrupted warriors of another lost would-be god…

“Goblins…” Constantine muttered drawing on his Tobbac as he eyed the surrounding force emerging from the brush. “Thought I smelt somethin’ foul.”

“Thought that was you, mage,” the Dwarf grumbled with a twisted smirk.

“How could either of you tell. Now be silent,” Koriand’r said striding past, her long brown hair fluttering in her wake. She held her crook before her at the ready as she approached the demoness, stopping only when the Goblins stepped up brandishing sword and crossbow. Koriand’r looked down at the Steward just a few feet away, saw him wincing, grimacing and clawing at the flaming whip constricting about his throat. He could not seem to free himself, almost groveling midway between the two women. Koriand’r ignored him-

“Who are you, demon? What are you that you side with these scum and slay children?” Koriand’r stood fast, tall and proud but ready to defend as well or attack. Her skin sparkled in the pale moonlight; an eerie sight coupled with the whip’s dancing yellow fires and the crimson glow of the demoness herself.

“My maker called me Skorch Tamaranian, for obvious reasons.” The demon laughed as she raised her free hand and a small ball of fire sprang to life in her palm. Koriand’r’s eyes went wide, almost in shock to hear the woman’s cackling words-

“Do not seem so surprised, girl. I know your homeland well, far to the south in the Sea Beyond.” The demoness smiled, drawing her whip tighter still as Dark John tried once more to rise. He screamed as the yellow fires flared about his neck. Koriand’r could hear his whimpering again, mumbling for pity no doubt.

“I was once like you, girl,” the demoness continued with a sneer, “tall and beautiful with golden skin. But then the shadows came and I was remade in the glorious vision of my Lord, Darkseid!”

“A Warlord?” Marvel said, his eyes flicking about as the Goblins hunkered nearer. He was starting to sweat as he tightened his grip on his mace.

“Hmmph,” Constantine snorted drawing on his Tobbac seemingly unconcerned or caring. “Thought Fate imprisoned all the Warlords with their master. Guess he missed a few, eh?”

“A few magician,” Skorch chuckled running her tongue along her sharp, glistening fangs. “A select few, now gathering our Dark Lord’s armies.” She motioned with her hand, gesturing at her surrounding horde and they howled their appreciation. “The shadows lengthen once more. The darkness grows, and when it becomes bloated and complete then shall come the awakening-“

“An the Dark shall envelope all… Bloody right,” Constantine scowled, scrutinizing his smoldering Tobbac stick closely. “We’ve all read the scripture, Darlin’. An’ a bigger load a bollocks I never ‘eard-“ Suddenly Constantine jammed the burning end of his stick into the fleshy part of his palm. All heard the sound of sizzling flesh; the quick smell of burning blood as the Hedge Mage seemed to wince. Some of the Goblins staggered back in surprise, others lumbering closer to the smell of burning meat.

“Are you insane?” Jonn the Ogre said reaching for the mage. He winced himself feeling a sharp prick of pain in his ankle and glanced down to see the Pysk doubling up, crouching for cover at his feet. Jonn looked again at Constantine and the mage grinned, winked-

Inlustrare!

Legend and rumor said that Goblins and all creatures of the shadow hated light. They could stand it, but their eyes were weak, more accustomed to the darkness. Like the Dwarves they lived in the caves and caverns, the labyrinth underearth, but they were scavengers and defilers. Where the Dwarves created vast kingdoms and beauty in their underground, the Goblins ravaged the earth and corrupted the rock. Too, in the light they became sluggish and foul, their tempers flaring as though the very heat and bright were searing their brains. And magic light was the worst of all…

The clearing exploded in light. Sudden, blinding light flooded the swamp and woods centering on the mage and the burning spot on his hand. The Goblins screamed in agony, some actually running, breaking rank and seeking the cool shelter of the forest far away. Those that stood their ground shrieked and smoldered, the eldritch illumination searing into their decaying skin setting them to burn ablaze. Skorch screamed as well, but in rage barking orders at her horde as they fled or staggered in agony and surprise. Even the warriors winced at the sudden glare, even the mage, all but one-

Koriand’r leapt up and over the Steward as Skorch shouted at her minions. She flipped, almost flew as she arched over the priest, her arm lashing out as she spiraled. She whipped her crook about in a wide, fast sweep and too late the demoness looked up at the strange whistling noise. Koriand’r, Princess of Tamaran and warrior of Okaara slammed the head of her shepherd’s crook across the face of the demoness Skorch. The Warlord screamed with the impact, falling back as Koriand’r landed in a crouch-

Tears streamed down Captain Marvel’s cheeks as the Dwarf Commander shouted a whoop of rage and charged forward. Like the Goblins, but less, the Dwarf’s eyes were better suited for the dark and the sudden glowing magical illumination burned at William’s sight. Still he saw the writhing shadows of the Goblins, their pain far worse than his own. He could hear their wails of agony guiding his aim as he swung his mighty mace- Shazam- and every blow struck true-

Adam the Pysk danced the Dance of the Blades, riding the winds as his light, tiny body allowed him. He sailed from Goblin to Goblin, a fleeting flash of red and blue, his golden sword shining as it drew deep of ochre blood. Once his kind were numberless, the Little Folk; Fairies and Pixies, Brownies and Pysks and those others, living the way of the Green in the endless wood. There were Elves then too of course, and Giants in the mountains and rock. Then came Dwarf, and later Man, and little by little the Small Ones were driven back and out, seeking the quiet places, the Hidden Realms. Those that remained, like Adam, learned to adapt, to fight for their lives. They learned the way of the sword, and though small they learned where to strike. Adam’s blamed flashed out, gleaming as he struck and wherever he struck a Goblin fell clutching throat, or wrist or stomach- bleeding-

Jonn the Ogre saw the carnage, the violence that erupted as the warriors laid into the Goblins and their mistress with all their fury. He watched in horror as the Dwarf lashed out screaming in rage and smashing anything in his path. The girl Koriand’r was magnificent, her staff whirling with a beauteous grace, her lightest tap it seemed sending the monsters sprawling at her feet. Even the Pysk seemed a killing machine, a warrior through and through, laying low the dark creatures that found his mark.

Jonn was not averse to killing, to defending himself or his loved ones. He was not above fighting if the cause was true and just, but this seemed naught but slaughter to him. Senseless violence and genocide, the slaying of Goblins. And when the Goblins were done, dead and gone, he wondered who might be next. The Hefflins? The Giants perhaps? The Ogres?

A Goblin reared up before him, scimitar raised high, screaming and ready to strike. Jonn lashed out, his fist smashing through the creature’s face shattering bone. The Goblin staggered back, sword falling from his grip as his hands and arms went limp, as he collapsed to the ground. The monster shook once, his misshapen body spasming as its brain shut down and its stomach expelled its waste. Jonn watched until it finally lay still.

“First time son?”

Jonn looked up at the Constantine, saw the mage watching him, his lips twisted in a look caught between smile and frown. He still held his Tobbac, his other hand still sparked but the illumination was fading, casting the mage in queer shadows. He looked tired, haggard-

“It don’t get any better,” the Hedge Mage said with a shrug and blowing smoke, “but it does get easier. Too easy sometimes…”

The Ogre watched as the magician walked off muttering some strange words that Jonn did not understand, nor remember. Where he passed however a Goblin screamed and burst into flame or collapsed in a writhing heap of twisted, broken limbs. He was heading for the demon, still cursing and battling the girl. Jonn followed…

Chapter Seven:

“brightest day…”

John the Steward gasped, struggling for breath with every word. His throat burned as he unwrapped the tether of blazing whip from about his neck. The yellow flames had seared his skin, scarred him, marked by the demoness like a collar, and even still the flames burned into the skin of his hands raising welts and sores. He tried to ignore the pain. He would be free...

“In blackest night…”

He cast the burning leather aside with a grimace, a curse of satisfaction. He rubbed at his throat, trying to stand, to gather his wits, but his legs were not yet willing…

“No- no evil shall escape-“

Ganthet had told them, warned them all. Yellow would cancel their Lantern’s power, cast a pall over their light. They had laughed later at that, but they had learned, leaned hard. Arisia had paid the price early on, suffocating in amber, a victim of the Spider Guild. And Tomar and Abin, both victims of the rogue, Sinestro. Sinestro the Warlord, locked away in Stone Heights forever and ever…

“Escape my sight…”

A long time ago…

“Let those who worship evil’s might,”

Once upon a time…

“Beware my power-“

Light crackled from Dark John’s lantern as he gripped the handle tighter. A green flame erupting, growing brighter and spreading out into the already fading illumination of Constantine’s spell. His face was a mask of determination, sweat dripping from his brow as he concentrated, ignoring the pain he felt…

“Green Lantern’s Light!”

The world exploded, a verdant wash that erupted like a volcano of brilliance upon the clearing. Dark John saw the remaining Goblins writhe, screeching in agony, begging their foul mistress for help as the Light fell upon them. What the Constantine had started, John the Steward would finish with a blaze of glory a thousand times more pure and bright than that of any Hedge Mage. His was the magic of Man, but Dark John commanded the Green Flame of Oa. His Lantern would expel the foul creatures, and true he saw them waver and dissolve, melting in the light of truth and justice!

There was a final piercing scream, then silence…

Chapter Eight:

They could hear Marvel breathing, great heaving gasps as he stood hunched over the smoldering remains of the Goblin he had been fighting. Dripping in sweat and blood he stared at Dark John, his eyes ablaze, his blood lust not quite sated.

“Damn…” he rasped, trying to gain his breath, “damn you priest… I was just… hitting my stride.’

“It’s over then?” Adam asked, kneeling in a pool of ichor and waste that had once been a Goblin. He wiped at his brow, looking up in pain and exhaustion, his own frenzy waning.

“Not quite son,” Constantine said, motioning towards the demoness with his glowing Tobbac stick. The woman had backed towards the brush, edging towards freedom and had somehow snared Koriand’r in her clutches. The princess seemed dazed, her great breasts heaving though she did not struggle as Skorch backed away and dragged her along. The demon had her razor-sharp talons against the girl’s soft throat-

“Back away warriors or I slay her now,” the demoness said, licking her lips with a grin.

“Slay her and you die, witch,” Dark John responded as he stood on wavering legs. He held out his Lantern though, the fire within still bright and apparently painful as the demoness winced.

“I’ll die happy, priest,” Skorch said, her nails pressing into Koriand’r’s throat and drawing blood. A slight rivulet trickled forth and ran down her chest as the girl moaned, trying to regain her senses. Skorch laughed backing away, her long tail swirling behind-

“Fools,” she hissed, laughing at the assembled heroes as they inched closer, not daring to attack for fear of their injured comrade. “This is why my master shall rule! This is why Darkseid shall rise up and inherit Metarun, and the shadows shall encompass the world. You are all worthless and weak, cowards!”

They saw the demon’s hand sizzling, smoldering and heating up. Koriand’r started to squirm in the Warlord’s grasp, feeling the burn as her flesh started to scorch. “Let this one be the first, a martyr for your cause,” Skorch sneered raising her arm ever so slightly to dig deeper into the girl’s flesh. She laughed-

A hand shot out of the darkness behind her, big and green. The warriors looked on in mute shock as Jonn the Ogre stepped from the foliage, seemingly invisible as he had blended with the dark shadows of the wood and swamp. His countenance was dark and foreboding as his hand encircled the demoness’ throat, his fingers locking tight as he hoisted her up and off the ground with no seeming effort at all.

Skorch tried to scream but the Ogre’s grip choked her off. Instinctively her hands went to her throat and she relinquished her hold on Koriand’r who slumped to the ground. Skorch, kicking and screaming erupted in flames. Her long tail flitted about slapping uselessly at the huge, angered Ogre. Jonn flexed his fingers as Dark John pulled the Tamaranian away from the fires sprouting at the Ogre’s feet.

Jonn winced at the pain of the flame but held fast. The demon lashed out, flailing arms and legs kicking and scratching as she struggled for breath. Blood gushed from Jonn’s mouth he was biting down so hard. His hand was on fire. He saw Marvel running forward to help and shook his head, clenching his eyelids shut against the pain, the fear…

“Mariah…” he whispered, and another, “Kimm…”

Jonn the Ogre strained, grimacing as he closed his fist. He tried to ignore the squirming, burning form dangling at the end of his outstretched arm, tried to block out her shrill, choked shrieks that just as suddenly cut off as molten blood washed over his hand. The weight suddenly went limp, the tail slithering about his leg as it fell away. He would remember the awful snapping sound he had heard for the rest of his life, but he would remember one other thing as well forever-

“Jenna…”

Jonn dropped the dead weight to the ground, the smoldering twisted body hitting the scorched earth with a wet thud. The others rushed forward then, finally. Well, Marvel and Adam did, laughing and cheering at his heroism and bravery, his quick thinking. Dark John the priest stood with Koriand’r, his hand at her throat tenderly, his lantern softly glowing. They were both watching him, and he saw the princess nod and smile slightly in thanks, her crook back in hand and safe. Only the Constantine did not come forward but was rather looking at a strangely shaped jar that he had found, earthenware clay and glazed with a tight-fitting lid-

“We’ve won a great battle here today,” John the Steward said as he finally strode forward and placed a hand on Jonn’s shoulder. It was warm still. “We’ve slain a horde and their Warlord and stopped whatever foul plans that the demoness was hatching for her Dark Lord. We should all be proud-“

“We all deserve a drink, I say!” Marvel said slipping his mace through his belt then stroking his long beard. It was still matted and damp with blood and sweat.

“I think the Dwarf might have the right of it,” Dark John nodded his agreement, looking at the assembled warriors. They all looked to have gone through hell. “We have rooms back at the Boar’s Head Inn. I say we all travel there and let the good folk of Boulder Town know that the Goblins have been defeated, the demon child slayer slain and the Ogre- our new friend Jonn- exonerated. After a good night’s rest and healing we can all travel to Afeika together, on the morn.”

“I’m for that,” Adam said leaping up onto the priest’s shoulder, “and I’m with you, if you’ll have me?”

“Of course,” Koriand’r said, leaning close to the little man, her earlier fascination returning. “I am hoping we will become fast friends-“ She saw the Pysk actually blush and backed away, looking about in sudden embarrassment, “All of us, of course. We are a good team-“

“Like the old days, eh?” Constantine said, strolling back to join the group again. Jonn noted that he no longer held the jar. “We the new heroes then? We the new League gonna face down the Great Darkness?”

“There will be others,” Koriand’r said, smiling at the Pysk as he moved to her shoulder and got a grip in her hair.

“Right,” he agreed, “the Sallis said there would be more-“

“As did the Wizard; a boy, a dark knight, others from around the world…”

“A League of Kingdoms then, gathered to fight evil,” Dark John said nodding. He smiled, looking then to the Ogre, “And what of you, friend Jonn? Will you join our cause?”

Jonn looked down, then about the clearing. The swamp was afire in spots yet, but the flames dwindled and waned, all but dead. Still the waste and carnage were evident. The bodies of the Goblins were seeping into the dirt and only the smoldering corpse of Skorch remained. Jonn did not see her whip, but saw the Constantine smile when their eyes met.

“I- I’ve been alone for so long…”

“High time then, son,” Constantine said, reaching up to put an arm around the Ogre. It was a stretch. “We all need friends old lad, even an old arse like me. C’mon then…”

Jonn sighed, nodding finally. He had nothing left here anyway, and if the Darkness took hold he would have even less-

Less than nothing…

“We go to Afeika then? To join Fate?” Jonn asked, and the Constantine smirked-

“That’s right, mate. Orf t’ see the Wizard…”

END

Next Issue: This story continues as the League Assembles in the JLA 2004 Annual.  But don't forget to watch out for the 2004 Annuals of other JLU2001 books.