Location: Outside the gate to Falconis City
Vanderdious, disguised as an old hag covered in warts and other skin ailments, lumbered through the snow waiting the return of the Rebel Resistance scout Freena. She was do anytime, returning from the Yellow Castle with a last message from Bersun before the heavy snow completely cut off contact. Vanderdious stopped. He could barely make out a figure - no, two! - laboring through the drifts. As they became more visible he could see one was a Black Falcon clad in a black fur coat and hat, an outer patrol guard probably. The other person was clad all in brown without a head cover. Vanderious's heart jumped. The second figure was Lord Barbod, King of the Bulls, without a doubt! Vanderdious huddled behind a large snowdrift and attempted to hear what was being said.
"Faster, you bloody Falcon! My toes are freezing off, megabloks it!"
There was an incoherent mutter, then a thunk.
"Tyco you! If you don't take me all the way to Falconis City I'll turn the snow red with your blood!"
Another mutter. There was a thwack, then thud.
"Bloody Falcon. A Bull always keeps his word."
Vanderdious peeked up from behind the snowdrift. Barbod was now standing over the prone figure of the Black Falcon that lay in a spreading pile of blood. Vanderdious had to act fast. If Barbod died in the storm, the Bulls would certainly perish. But if he blundered into Falconis City, he would be captured, which would do no one good. Barbod obviously could fight for himself, and he had never seen Vanderdious before, so he would never know to trust the Rebel Resistance member. There was only on thing to do.
"Oy, Barbod!" Vanderdious cried in imitation of the Lone Falcon's voice, stripping off his hag costume as fast as possible.
"Lone Falcon?" Barbod shouted into the wind, "Is that you? Where are you?"
"Over here, behind this drift!" replied Vanderdious, now pulling on a Black Falcon tunic from his pouch and placing a black flared helmet on his head, "I think I broke my leg, I can't walk..."
"I'm coming! Tyco snow!" Barbod yelled, “Do ye have a notion where be Falconis City?”
“Aye!” Vanderdious finished applying some instant wrinkles to his and hastily buried the hag outfit. Lastly, he pulled out a bottle of fake blood and splattered it over one pant leg and ripped up the cloth with a knife. He then threw both knife and bottle into the snow and scooped snow over them.
Barbod had appeared, lugging his spear and looking slightly comical in the Black Falcon’s fur hat.
“How’d you get like this, old friend?”
“I took a nasty fall during a stroll…” made up Vanderdious, aware of the lameness of the explanation. He usually lied with ease, but the cold was getting to him and the urgency of getting the Bull King into hiding distracted him. Barbod, however did not question him, but simply pulled Vanderdious over his shoulders. Vanderdious groaned theatrically.
“Where be Falconis City?” bid Barbod.
“To the northeast, that direction.” pointed Vanderdious, “Be careful to wrap your cloak about and hide your Bull Sign.
Barbod did this and plowed forward heavily. After ten minutes walk, the gate came into view. The chilled guards let them pass with barely a glance and Vanderdious continued to give Barbod instructions to the location of the Rebel Resistance headquarters. Once outside the door, Barbod enter ponderously and came face to face with no other than the real Lone Falcon.
“Bloody - what???” cried Barbod
“What the - megablocks…” gasped the Lone Falcon.
Barbod threw Vanderdious to the ground and drew his spear, but was confronted by Gaffner, Mills, and Forden.
“Just wait a second!” Vanderdious scrambled to his feet, fake blood still dripping, and drew his hand across his face, obliterating the fake wrinkles and knocking the flared helm off his bald head.
“Vander..what in Damet-” began the Lone Falcon.
“There was no time!” snapped Vanderdious, “Lord Barbod was about to stumble into the clutches of Durlass’s men! Forgive me for imitating you, but Lord Barbod did not know me, nor could he have believed anything I said if I hadn’t been you!”
“Do not fret, Vander, you did the smart thing.” smiled the Lone Falcon. He turned to the confounded Bull King.
“Well met, Lord Barbod.”
“Indeed, Lone Falcon!” guffawed Barbod suddenly, and threw down his spear. The other Rebels lowered their weapons, smiles beginning to crease their faces.
“Now, old friend, what brings you here?” queried the Lone Falcon.
Location: Somewhere in a snowstorm
Dordrot swore under his breath, which condensed when he exhaled. Why, oh, why did a blizzard have to hit before he could have reached Lord Barbod? His King had been within sight be but not earshot when the clouds had suddenly come together and the ice and snow had lanced downward. Now Dordrot was hopelessly lost, and was without food nor source of heat. His feet were numb, more so were his hands. If he didn’t find shelter soon, he would perish.
Suddenly a form in the whiteness caught his attention. It was a lean-to, a crude structure of branches and twine lashed to the somewhat protective side of a hill. A small amount of yellow light spilled out of it, and wisps of black smoke issued out of other cracks. Dordrot lurched forward, not caring if he found himself in the hands of the enemy. All he wanted was something warm. He found at flap of cloth and pushed inward, nearly falling into a blazing fire. The first thing he hear was a scream, high-pitched, and then an oath.
“Son of a megablock!”
He was hit over the head with a stake, and he knew no more for a good ten minutes. When he did come to, he was wrapped in a blanket and a bowl of soup was nearby.
“Awake, at last, are you? That must have been some whop I gave ya.”
The voice was feminine, strong and confidant. Dordrot sat up and stared at a woman clad in a fading Black Falcon tunic. Her hair was dirty-blonde, her skin deeply tanned and her eyes were ice blue. She saw his gaze on her chest and crossed her arms over her petite, but muscular, form.
“Now doncha get any ideas, yer lucky I dint toss ya nude into the snow and left ye to freeze while I enjoyed some more clothing, but as seeing yer a Bull…”
“Not that…” mutter Dordrot, rubbing his head, “You are just a…BLOODY FALCON!” he shouted as he realized suddenly, the murky cloud of fog clearing in his brain.
“Keep yer pants on, Bull.” said the women, “I’m not dem Falcons, I work fer the Lone Falcon, the Rebel Resistance and all…”
Dordrot calmed down a bit and relaxed some. So he wasn’t so megabloked after all.
“Who are you?” he queried carefully.
“I goes by Freena round ‘ere.”
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